Adelaide Literary Magazine No.7 Volume One_Summer2017

Adelaide Magazine

while carving the roast turkey that was the com- “StarƟng today, there’ll be zero tolerance for this
pany’s magnanimous contribuƟon to the fesƟvi- kind of thing—is that clear?”
Ɵes.
“Zero tolerance—I hear you.”
“I have to tell you, Jack, I’m very displeased.”
“I’ve warned you repeatedly, too, about such
Lyons had barely had Ɵme to seƩle his considera- carelessness and, as it doesn’t seem to have sunk
ble bulk across from him when Rocker thrust yes- in, I’m sorry, but I can’t recommend you for a
terday’s front page under his goatee. raise this year.”

“NoƟce anything amiss with the wild art?” Though Lyons had more than once in our hearing
spoken dismissively of Rocker as “not a strong
The three-column stand-alone picture in quesƟon man,” he preferred signing off on his evaluaƟon
was what the photogs called a TFC, for too fuck- to making a sƟnk about it. This was because, as a
ing cute. In it, at a holiday fundraiser for some college dropout, he’d always be grateful to the
local charity, an eager ten-year-old perched on company for having permiƩed him to rise to a
Santa’s knee was confiding his heart’s desires to managerial post. And anyway he could live with-
the jolly old elf. out the extra piƩance, his wife being a second-
grade teacher with a top-of-the-line pension and
“Don’t tell me that’s you behind the beard?” contractually guaranteed pay hikes.

“I’m not joking, Jack. What’s wrong with that Moments later, Rocker, without taking his Santa
pic?” hat off, descended the stairs to the publisher’s
office on the ground floor to be evaluated him-
Realizing he’d beƩer get serious, Lyons gave the self. The publisher’s office was liƩle bigger than a
photo the professional once-over and promptly closet, but, as it stood at the intersecƟon of four
discerned—what had escaped him the day be- corridors leading, respecƟvely, to the newsroom,
fore—that Santa’s grin and beard were both sus- the pressroom, the ad department, and the clas-
piciously askew. sified department, it was, unmistakably, the
nerve center of the paper.
“I’d say Saint Nick’s had one too many.”
“Close the door,” Scroop said.
“I’d say so, too—but that’s not what I’m talking
about. It’s the kid. Look at the kid. Are you blind? His nose needed a shave. That was the first thing
Can’t you see? His fly’s open!” that struck you when you went one-on-one with
him—the coat of fur that covered his long-
In spite of himself, Lyons burst out laughing. pinched nose from the nostrils to the bridge. It
was as if you’d surprised him in the act of turning
“You think that’s funny?” into a werewolf. But his cold gray eyes soon
made you forget this disconcerƟng anomaly.
Lyons got control of himself with difficulty. “I’m
sorry, you’re right, that should never have run.” “So, Bob,” he said to Rocker, in the quiet voice he
never had occasion to raise, because we all hung
“It’s your job to catch embarrassments like that. on his words, no maƩer how soŌly he spoke,
How could you miss it?” “how would you assess the past year?”

“I guess I’m not in the habit of checking out liƩle Rocker at once sensed a trap. Though he met
kids’ crotches.” privately with Scroop almost every day, he knew
beƩer than to relax around him, because there
Rocker wasn’t interested in excuses. The truth was no telling when he’d pounce.
was that, like many papers, the Dose was
blessed—or cursed, depending on your point of “I’d say,” he ventured cauƟously, “it wasn’t half
view—with a handful of readers, reƟred school- bad.”
marms, for the most part, who had nothing beƩer
to do with their lives than to comb through each “Then you’d be mistaken.”
issue for open zippers and their typographical
equivalents. Rocker ached to tell these biddies off “We won seventeen awards! That’s up four from
every Ɵme they called up to reprimand him—only the year before.”
the publisher’s policy toward subscribers could be
summed up in one word: obsequiousness.

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Revista Adelaide

“Bob. Bob.” Scroop’s tone was somewhere be- moving it inside. Let’s see more local faces on the
tween weariness and contempt. “Do I really have front. Let’s hear what’s happening at the Legion
to remind you we don’t put out a paper to win posts, the support groups, and the service clubs.”
awards? We put it out to serve our readers, and
their number conƟnues to dwindle. So I ask you. Malleable though he was, Rocker might have
Who am I to hold responsible for this decline, if gagged on this suggesƟon, if his eye hadn’t been
not you?” distracted by the last paragraph of his evaluaƟon.

Rocker succeeded only in irritaƟng Scroop by “I’m not geƫng a raise?”
poinƟng out that the Internet, in combinaƟon
with the implosion of the economy, was hurƟng “You can’t really think you have one coming when
papers everywhere. circulaƟon is down for the third year in a row?”

“We’ve been the sole newspaper in Grenadine Rocker found it impossible to argue the point, but
County for a hundred years,” Scroop said. “If we he leŌ Scroop’s office not altogether in despair.
can’t hold on to our share of the market aŌer all AŌer all, his job sƟll paid three Ɵmes as much as
that Ɵme, then something is seriously the maƩer Lamm’s and twice as much as Lyons’s, and it
in this building, and the buck stops with you.” came with a number of perks, including member-
ship in a health club at which he was under orders
For a moment, Rocker had the sick feeling he was to swim daily laps on the company’s Ɵme, lest he
about to be fired, but he was too serviceable an die of a heart aƩack at fiŌy-five, like his immedi-
instrument for Scroop to consider dispensing with ate predecessor but one.
him.
His immediate predecessor was fired aŌer a year,
“What it comes down to, Bob, is you’re in a rut. for losing it in a fit of liberalism and calling the
Any ideas how you can dig yourself out?” county commissioners wing nuts.

“Lyons has been aŌer me to let him tackle a rede- AŌer Rocker’s departure, Scroop put on his suit
sign.” jacket and headed out for his own evaluaƟon—
because, in business, even the boss has to answer
“No.” Though the paper hadn’t changed its ap- to someone. As oŌen as not it’s the IRS, but, in
pearance for three decades, Scroop was unshaka- Scroop’s case, it was Ennis Vanderwarker, presi-
ble in his convicƟon that our demographic was dent and owner of the Daily Dose.
too old and shortsighted to be able to make out
headlines in anything but ham-fisted HelveƟca A plush corner office was scrupulously maintained
bold. “The answer isn’t cosmeƟc—it’s to reinvent for Vanderwarker on the second floor off the
the wheel. Here, look at this.” newsroom, but he was almost never seen in it.
Now over seventy, he spent most of his Ɵme in
He held up a copy of some daily in the midwest his million-dollar home on the grounds of the
that was devoƟng a porƟon of its front page to a Granford Golf Club, and Scroop, in pulling up to it,
box headed “Wish Your Kid a Happy Birthday.” found the circular driveway crowded with cars
belonging to members of Livia Vanderwarker’s
“News out of Washington is all very well, Bob, but Bible-study group. Despite the lateness of the
it’s not what people want from their local paper year, the ladies had taken advantage of the unu-
anymore. They want to read about themselves. sually mild aŌernoon to move their weekly
They want to read about their kids. They want to meeƟng onto the lawn, and Mrs. Vanderwarker—
know where they can find bargains. They want to in her fiŌies, with frosted hair—waved at Scroop
know what restaurants have the fewest cock- as he made his way past them to the front door of
roaches. In a word, they want the newspaper to the house. Like Lamm, Vanderwarker had married
be their friend. Are you ready to be their friend, his wife out of the secretarial pool and, though
Bob?” the marriage had produced no offspring, it had
been successful in the sense that, aŌer years of
“If that’s what it takes.” struggling, she’d finally prevailed on him to give
up bourbon before lunch.
“Good.” Scroop tossed a copy of his evaluaƟon at
him for his signature. “I’m not saying you should
drop the government news enƟrely, but start by

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Adelaide Magazine

“No need to close the door,” he said, aŌer leading his knee, looked thoughƞully out the sliding-glass
Scroop into his study. window. In Granford, the grass is always lushest
in winter and, on the emerald-green lawn, the
A wiry ectomorph afflicted with restless-leg syn- Bible students were intent on the tesƟmony of a
drome, Vanderwarker had inherited the Daily middle-aged guest speaker who’d made a career
Dose from his mother, whose father had started out of repenƟng the aborƟon she’d had at six-
it in the back of his print shop when Granford was teen.
sƟll liƩle more than a muddy fronƟer town. Con-
glomerates eager to snap up the country’s few “We’ll weather this latest crisis, Tom,” he said
remaining independent dailies were always ro- finally.
mancing him, but so determined was he to keep
the paper in the family that he said no to the “That we will, Ennis. We’re carrying next to no
handsomest offers, even though his only heir, a debt, and that’s bound to help us through.”
ne’er-do-well nephew, had long since made it
clear he cared less for inkpots than fleshpots. “The main thing is the town will conƟnue to have
its newspaper.”
“Well, Tom,” he said, tapping the spreadsheets on
his desk, “the numbers are far from encouraging, “Amen.”
but, by consolidaƟng so many posiƟons, you’ve
managed to keep us in the black. I congratulate “Because, without us, how are people to under-
you.” stand what lines can’t be crossed?”

Scroop inclined his head modestly. “I learned long “Granford’s in no danger of being deprived of
ago you can always ask people to do more for the that guidance on my watch.”
same pay. Nobody works to capacity. They only
think they do.” “I know that, Tom. I know I can depend on you.”

“Having the supervisors look for pretexts to with- AŌer Scroop, with a flourish, signed off on his
hold COLAs saved us a bundle, too. Life may be evaluaƟon, Vanderwarker saw him out to his SUV
geƫng more expensive, but you bet I agree raises and then strolled onto the lawn, where the ladies
from now on should be based exclusively on mer- were just rising from their meeƟng.
it. Needless to say,” he added, “your own ten
percent is assured.” “Won’t you join us in our closing prayer, Ennis?”

Scroop again nodded in grateful acknowledg- He was only too happy to stand at his wife’s side
ment. as she and the others formed a circle and bowed
their heads in silent devoƟon. True, it didn’t al-
“Now, as to this idea you’ve had of moving press- ways happen that the spirit consented to descend
Ɵme back two hours,” Vanderwarker went on, “I upon them at such moments, but today, perhaps
have to say I don’t see any downside to it.” because of the parƟcipaƟon of the master of the
house, it did and, as one, they liŌed their linked
“Yes, and the upside is we’ll be on the street be- hands aloŌ. Some began to stammer and others
fore lunch, which should boost single-copy sales. to weep, but Vanderwarker, like the good journal-
All those businessmen and out-of-town shoppers ist he was, came straight to the point.
eaƟng their solitary sandwiches in the restaurants
will have us at their elbows now.” “How am I doing, Lord? How am I doing, Jesus?”

“Where we belong. But you’re sure the change in About the Author:
Ɵme won’t cause problems on the desk?”
Stephen Baily has published short ficƟon in over
Scroop shrugged. “Those guys are animals, and thirty journals. His novel "Markus Klyner, MD,
they’re already coming in before dawn, so what’s FBI" is available as a Kindle e-book. He lives in
geƫng up a liƩle earlier to them? Besides, if they France.
don’t like it, there’s another paper seventy miles
up the freeway.”

Vanderwarker swiveled in his chair and, jiggling

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Revista Adelaide

CARNIVAL

By Shayna Boisvert

The evening was approaching midnight; outside, with the rest of the guests present. She couldn’t
an owl let out a haunƟng call, and darkness bled stop her face from falling into a frown. It seemed
in from the stained glass of the ballroom. Rosaline another year and masquerade had passed and
conƟnued to search the room for the one figure she sƟll did not know the face nor the name of
who made these events bearable for her. Men in the hidden man.
fine suits and women in eye-catching pearls
swept across the dance floor, obscuring her view. ***
Their masks hid their disƟnguishing features from
one another. Silver chandeliers hung from the “Rosaline, are you all right? You have barely
ceiling their lights and gems spread out like spider uƩered a word the enƟre night.”
webs. A grand staircase stood solemnly in the
corner. The smell of bon-bons and fine perfume At her younger sister Jane’s quesƟon, Rosaline
permeated the air, accentuaƟng the sounds of shook herself from her thoughts. “I am sorry Jane.
smooth shoes gliding across the floor. I never meant to ignore you.”

Somehow the man always managed to disappear The short curly-haired girl smiled at her gently.
just before the big reveal and Rosaline never saw “Oh, I knew you were not doing it on purpose.
him again unƟl the next masquerade the follow- What is bothering you?”
ing year on Carnival. Tonight, she had watched
him all night unƟl she stepped away for just a Rosaline took a shy sip of her tea, which her sister
moment to use the restroom. When she returned had made for her. It was vanilla, and the warm,
he had vanished. Again. spiced scent brought her comfort. She sighed and
savored the taste of the black tea mingling with
She heaved a great sigh, her dress Ɵghtening the soŌ notes of the Vanilla. It was like a dance
against her chest. taking place upon her tongue. She finally looked
at her sister, frowning. “He disappeared again last
There wasn’t anything parƟcularly noƟceable night.”
about the young bachelor she admired. Although
his dark auburn hair and obsidian eyes had man- Jane knew exactly who Rosaline was speaking of
aged to ensnare her upon occasion, it was his without even needing any more details. “What
similar disposiƟon that truly aƩracted her to him. happened this Ɵme?”
Rosaline enjoyed watching him parƟcipate in a
baƩle of wits with the other guests. His dry wit “I stepped away to the wash room for just a sec-
and smooth baritone voice reminded her of a ond and when I returned he was gone.”
former acquaintance of hers.
Jane’s dark inky eyebrows inched their way to-
The clock struck midnight and bells rang through- wards an equally dark hairline. “Oh no, not again,
out the room. Rosaline removed her mask along How many years has it been now?”

Rosaline grimaced. “Four.”

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Adelaide Magazine

Jane let out an exasperated breath. “Rosaline “You know exactly what I am talking about, An-
Gray, four years? Don’t you think it’s about Ɵme na.” The speaker lowered her voice slightly and
to figure out who—?” Rosaline had to strain to hear. “At the masquer-
ade, I know for sure I saw him. He was talking to a
Rosaline couldn’t help it; she cut her sister off. brown-haired woman. Is he alive? Is Oliver
“But what if he doesn’t wish to be found?” Michaels truly alive?”

Jane offered her a small, reassuring smile. The clinking of beer mugs and the sliding of bod-
“Rosaline, dear, if he truly did not wish to be dis- ies against the booth seats nearly drowned out
covered, do you think he would aƩend the Carni- Anna’s answer, but Rosaline heard her last three
val Masquerade every year?” words. “…he is, Lila.”

“Maybe he aƩends out of some sort of obliga- Rosaline’s heart began to beat so fast she could
Ɵon?” Rosaline stammered. hear it in her ears like ocean currents beaƟng
against the rocks. All the blood drained from her
Jane laughed soŌly. “We all aƩend out of some already pale face. Her former classmate was alive,
sort of obligaƟon; we all have different moƟves and quite possibly her savior for the last four
and desires that obligate us to go. Granted, those years of Carnival masquerades? How could this
moƟvaƟons are different for everyone, but we all be? She had seen him die. During the war she had
there for some reason or another.” been a field nurse, and had gone to help Oliver
where he had been shot. Rosaline had gone to
Rosaline snorted. “That is true. If it was sociably fetch help when she saw she could not help him
acceptable, I certainly would not aƩend.” on her own, but Oliver Michael’s body had never
been recovered. There had been an explosion,
Jane’s husband walked in then, and she ran to blocking the way, no one had been able to go out
greet him, flinging her arms around him. Rosaline and aid him, and when the baƩle ended, the sol-
looked away; she felt as if looking at their private diers who went to retrieve his body had never
moment was intrusive. Perhaps Jane was right; been able to find him.
maybe she needed to find out who this mysteri-
ous man truly was.

Weeks aŌer the masquerade, right before Easter, At the Ɵme, she with the rest of the party had
Rosaline walked into a local cafe. A liƩle before thought that someone from a nearby village must
noon, her boss had poked his head out of his have collected his body and buried him or per-
office and gave all the nurses the rest of the week haps unfortunately that an animal had somehow
off to enjoy Easter with their friends and family. goƩen hold of him. Now, six years later, she dis-
He had told them that, unless there was an emer- covered that they all may have been very wrong
gency they were called in for, they could not re- in their assumpƟon.
turn unƟl aŌer Easter had passed. That they were
being paid for this leave had stopped her from “Miss, may I get you something to drink?”
quesƟoning him. The fact that she would now
have three more days to start her search for the Rosaline looked up, startled at the person who
mystery man was just a bonus. had spoken. It was the waiter. She looked down
at the drink menu in her hands.

As she sat down at the bar, she overheard a “Are you okay?”
strange conversaƟon. She paused. It was a con-
versaƟon that she was surprised to hear in a place Rosaline shook her head soŌly. “No. I do not be-
without much privacy. lieve I am. I am sorry to waste your Ɵme, but I
must leave.”
“Is it true?”
She quickly stood up, reached into her bag, and
Rosaline couldn’t tell who the whispered voice of grabbed a few spare francs. Before she leŌ, she
the first speaker was, but she knew the second— dropped the coins into the waiter’s hand.
her childhood friend, Anna Mansfield. Whom she
had once been close friends with but that was not She stepped out into the March air. A breeze
the case now. They had a terrible falling out years blew by and chilled her bones, quite frigid for the
ago, end of March. She franƟcally looked around for

“Is what true?”

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could suggest no reasons for this supposiƟon. his wife went to the police suggesƟng Mrs. Jacob-
“Just a gut feeling,” was all he could offer. sen had dispatched her husband, either in a fit of
jealous rage or to keep him from leaving. Espe-
Three months aŌer Jacobsen's disappear- cially because Jacobsen's wife was known to ex-
ance, the owner of a block of cheap apartments perience violent episodes, the suggesƟon made
discovered a laptop computer connected to a her a suspect for a short Ɵme. The police soon
telephone line in an apartment where the rent established to their saƟsfacƟon—and I agree with
had gone unpaid for a month. Suspicious, the them—that Mrs. Jacobsen did not kill her hus-
man turned the laptop over to the police, who band. At that point, everyone involved seemed
eventually idenƟfied it as Brian Jacobsen's. Their to forget all about her. That, I’m embarrased to
forensic hacker was, however, unable to find any admit, includes me. Not unƟl earlier this year did
soŌware on the machine capable of making a the thought occur to me that, even if she was not
’phone call. One thing I learned about Brian Ja- involved in her husband’s disappearance, she
cobsen, though, is that he was a skilled computer might be able to shed some light on the circum-
programmer—quite capable of wriƟng a program stances surrounding it.
to dial a number and deliver and then erase a pre-
recorded message, and probably capable of craŌ- Not surprisingly, Darling Jacobsen (and I
ing one that could then subsequently erase itself ask you, what kind of parent names their child
without a trace. Darling?) did not want to talk with me, when I
first approached her. With the help of a couple of
Two of Jacobsen's other friends, a fellow shared friends—one of whom I had known before
named Graham in the city and Ray, a rural friend Brian Jacobsen disappeared, the one, in fact, who
a few miles from Jacobsen's home, showed me got me involved—and repeated promises that I
postcards they claimed—correctly, I think—were did not suspect her of any slightest involvement, I
wriƩen by Brian Jacobsen. The cards were post- eventually persuaded Mrs. Jacobsen to vouchsafe
marked within a week of each other and nearly an hour of her Ɵme to converse with me. Blonde,
four months aŌer his disappearance. They were blue-eyed, fair-skinned, portly, and possessing a
mailed from two small towns not far from each classically beauƟful face, Darling (sorry, I sƟll
other in northeastern Australia. Brian Jacobsen's stumble over that name, although we are com-
wriƟng them does not, of course, mean he mailed fortably on first-name terms) Jacobsen ap-
them. If he didn’t, however, their existence sug- proached my table at a restaurant on the coast,
gests a confederate in Queensland willing to hold where we had agreed to meet.
them for Jacobsen and mail them in his absence.
To date, I have been unable to locate any such Once she recognized that I bore her no ill
person—but absence of evidence is not evidence will and harbored no suspicions about her, Mrs.
of absence. Jacobsen relaxed enough to see that I wanted no
more than to help her and all of us to find out the
A colleague from my military intelligence truth about her missing—or, as I am now con-
(now, there’s an oxymoron) days now living in vinced, late—husband. I don’t suppose we will
Cairns, who feels he owes me, has resources all ever be close friends, although she’s a nice
over Far North Queensland looking for Brian Ja- enough person, but we have developed a good
cobsen, or any trace of him, in the course of their working relaƟonship. We talked an hour or two
other work. In four years, none of them has twice or three Ɵmes a week for twelve weeks,
turned up anything. If Jacobsen actually made his and I learned a great deal. We sƟll meet every
way to FNQ, he couldn’t have stayed there long. month or so.
Those guys are good—if Jacobsen spent any Ɵme
at all in Queensland, they’d know it. In our fourth and fiŌh sessions, the widow
Jacobsen (as I think she is) described her inter-
Several months ago, I began pursuing a views with the police and other authoriƟes. She
line of inquiry that lay neglected for almost three told me she had answered all their quesƟons hon-
years. Not that earlier invesƟgaƟons—mine, the estly but had not volunteered any informaƟon
police’s, and others—had failed to look at possi- beyond their specific queries. In retrospect, that
ble connecƟons with Brian Jacobsen’s wife. A is hardly surprising. In the following, sixth, ses-
woman who had tried to lure Jacobsen away from sion, Darling Jacobsen revealed that at the Ɵme of

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Adelaide Magazine

her husband’s disappearance she was involved in situaƟon and Brian Jacobsen's state of mind in the
a romanƟc liaison with another man. weeks and months leading up to his disappear-
ance.
The news about her romanƟc liaison
caught me by surprise, a real eye-opener. I won- Darling Jacobsen confirmed my earlier re-
dered why that had never come out in any of the search disclosing that three of Mr. Jacobsen's
earlier invesƟgaƟons. Later work revealed that, musical composiƟons had met with commercial
even though most of their friends resented what success a few months before his disappearance.
Mrs. Jacobsen had put her husband through, they The success did not make the Jacobsens rich, but I
closed ranks and acted as if her indiscreƟon had contend it provided enough funds to leave him
never occurred. I asked her if her husband was confident she would do OK without him—and to
angry, expecƟng he would have been furious. allow him to spend freely for a few months.

She said, “No, he wasn’t angry at all. It was Mrs Jacobsen also disclosed that her hus-
amazing—he was amazing. He never got angry band was devastated by her preferring the com-
about my liƩle romance—the only one I had in pany of another man. Gradually and with many
twenty years of marriage—but he was profoundly apologies for my intrusive quesƟons, I succeded
sad.” in geƫng Darling Jacobsen to disclose details
about her relaƟonship with her husband in the
“That does seem unusual,” I said. “Why months before he disappeared and also about the
was he not angry?” Iberian beauty who tried to take him away from
her.
“He said he recognized that I didn’t fall in
love with someone else on purpose, that nobody “I don’t think he would have paid any
makes a conscious decision to fall in love,” she aƩenƟon to Graciana at all, if I hadn’t been
said. “He knew I didn’t mean to hurt him.” spending most of my Ɵme with Alex,” she said.
“She’s gorgeous and all, but he never fooled
“Did he not say he wanted you to stop around, never once.” She took a deep breath and
seeing this other fellow?” conƟnued, “I don’t think he ever really got in-
volved with her. He probably cried on her shoul-
“Oh, yes, of course he did, but he also said der more than anything.”
he wanted whatever was best for me. Every Ɵme
we’d talk about it, which was a lot, he repeated With the informaƟon Darling Jacobsen
that he wanted me to be happy.” provided, I was finally able to track down Graci-
ana López. Other business took me to Europe,
“And that meant being with your new ro- and I made a side trip to Spain to meet Dr. López
mance,” I said, leƫng the words and context pro- in Barcelona. She invited me to talk with her in
vide the quesƟon in lieu of the absent inflexion. her office at the University of Barcelona, where
she taught at the Medical School.
“Yes, or at least I thought it did then.”
Darling Jacobsen broke down and wept at that Tall, slim, and briskly efficient, with a clear
point, and I offered her a handkerchief. She used olive complexion, Graciana López lived up to Mrs.
it and thanked me and said, “Oh, god! I was such Jacobsen's descripƟon of “gorgeous”. She wel-
a fool. I had a wonderful marriage to the most comed me with a smile and a handshake and
wonderful husband on the planet, and I threw all seemed almost eager to discuss Brian Jacobsen.
that away—for what!?” That provided a stark contrast to Darling Jacob-
sen, in both appearance and aƫtude—Graciana
As Mrs. Jacobsen wept, I asked if I should López seemed willing to tell all she knew from the
leave her in peace and come back another Ɵme. outset.
She nodded and thanked me. I walked her to her
car, told her I’d see her in a few days, and leŌ. We met almost daily for two weeks, some-
Ɵmes in her University of Barcelona office or in a
Although I feared Mrs. Jacobsen might not meeƟng room at either Pompeu Fabra University
want to see me again, aŌer the emoƟons evoked or at the Hospital Clinic or in one of the many
by our previous interview, she allowed me to visit nearby cafės. I learned that Dr. López met Brian
and resume quesƟoning her early the following
week. Subsequent conversaƟons with her began
to disclose important details about the Jacobsens’

148