I spend the next hours poking around the warehouse building, trying to see what I can find.
The building is dark, and looks to be mostly deserted. I figure that, save for a couple of offices above the warehouse floor, the place has been used simply for cold storage. Square boxes line the warehouse spac, eerie in their silence. I wander the floor, but find nothing in the gloom. Except for dust and old ink.
Seeing Charlie has confused me. She's a magnet to my compass, and I struggle to tell down from up. I follow her subtle scent to the office I found her in. A bank of TV monitors flashes idly in one corner, pictures undiscernable in the snowy haze. By TV light I examine the stack of papers she was leafing through. Most of it is medical papers and jargon: well beyond me, but top of the pile contains a likely starting point. It outlines a meeting at the other end of town, tomorrow night. I don't recognise the names, but finding something that isn't two years out of date suddenly feels like good news. I take a few otehr papers from the pile for good measure - something about coma patients, perscripted drugs, and insurance histories. Bedtime reading.
Outside, the rain is tapping against my window. Why are my eyes so grey? Purple lead me here, it was a solid bet. But I've found nothing but confusion.
I'm just about to leave when I find Pandora's box. A suitcase lies discarded in the corner, hidden by loneliness. I crack it open and leaf through the paperwork inside.
My only surprise at the peice of paper I find in my hands is the fact that it surprises me. It's a list of senior staff for the insurance company. On it, I recgnoise names from the meeting details I picked up earlier. But the big suprise is that, right at the top of the list, up with the wolves in the pack, is The Scotsman.
I take my leave with a shiver running up my spine. Why does the Scotsman want to bring down his own money spinning machine? I suspect I'll find the answers in the lonely hours, tomorrow night, and I know that I won't like them.