It only took one day of sheltering behind my four office walls to get restless. A man can only stick to one place for so often before he turns into a rat. Seth's cousin has, so far, proved to be the most boring executive to walk the Earth. I've found nothing in his background to use against him. No one can be that clean. Cleaning up after yourself always leaves a mess somewhere else. It's only a matter of time before I track it down. But with my eyes aching like they've just cycled the London-Brighton marathon, I decided enough was enough.
I've been hanging around The Gladstone, trying to get a lead on the Baltam case. An afternoon cradling whiskeys and watching barmaids is no bad thing. After about an hour of flashing Baltam's photo around, I hit upon a lead. Some Korean almost coughed up his drink when he saw the picture. Poor kid. He let slip that Baltam's boy is being held by some group calling themselves 'The Eigonvector Gang'. And here was me, thinking I had an easy case on my hands. The kid ran off when he got a glimpse of Faith inside my jacket. Hopefully he'll be wise enough to keep his mouth shut. My guess is, if the gang founds out he's squeked, he'll have more to worry about then holding his drink down.
These Eigonvectors will take more looking into. I'm still jumping at shadows after Thompson's games. Next time I walk into a darkened corridor, I want to be damned sure who turned out the lights.