Coming of Edge 4: Warring Prospector

Patrick sat at his desk and stared at the screen. He frowned, then closed the app and re-opened it.
“Weird.”
He remembered that a friend once told him that data could be stale, outdated. A reset would be needed. He asked his assistant to check the problem and take care of it.

The bot went through the software’s inner workings, regularly reporting its latest insight. Patrick watched attentively, his fingers fiddling with the tip of his nose absentmindedly.

It did not help. The Adamczyk case was gone. He cross-searched the address, birth dates, even symptoms from the medical records and the Polish and refugee connections. Nothing had Milena and Rozalia in it.

“Fuck me.” He stood up, quickly nodded at his co-worker Lisa, and strutted past other desks to the small office of his superior. He knocked at the open door: “Stephan, do you have a moment? It’s urgent.”

His team lead looked up from his screen. His expression was showing instant annoyance, which quickly resolved into resignation. He answered, “Sure, come in.” He gestured to the empty chair.

Patrick took the chair. “Sorry to bother, I have a slight problem. I was just planning the case files I have to attend to this week. And, uh, the Adamczyks are gone.”

“Uh, help me with this one?” Stephan raised an eyebrow and reached for a jar of jellies, which was almost empty. As he opened it, a sweet scent escaped the glass. He took some and popped them into his mouth.

“It’s the one we talked about because of the Lublin background. We were not sure if my assignment was the smart choice.” He made circling gestures with his index fingers, explaining.

Stephan stared at a spot in the upper corner, searching his memory.

“The floating girl,” Patrick prompted.

“Ah, that one!” His superior shook his head, then turned to look at Patrick again. “That was the same case? And it’s gone? Hmm.” He scratched his chin. “Spell the name for me, would you?” Some more jellies from hand to mouth.

Patrick did and Stephan typed. Patrick felt greasy keyboard keys in his imagination and shuddered.

“Okay. There is nothing related to that name. I have results for Adams, Adamy, …” Stephan’s voice trailed off.

“It’s Adamczyk. C, z, y, k.” Patrick tried not to cringe.

“Hm, no. I would try to search for other stuff – Year and country of birth, home address, first names. Why don’t you try that?” Stephan suggested unabashedly.

“Yep, turns up nothing as well,” Patrick managed constructively. He understood that individuals needed to see evidence by themselves, make their own insights; it did not change anything about the frustration he felt waiting for them to reach his conclusions.

“Seems like a higher pay grade. Let me call Bianka.” Stephan turned the screen, so Patrick could see as well. Their superior answered the video call.

“Hey you two, what can I do for you?” Patrick liked her. He found her to be blunt, smart and widely underestimated. Stephan answered: “Good morning Bianka, Patrick has a question and I can’t answer it.” Stephan nodded to him.

“Moin Bianka, I was just planning the assignments for the week and the Adamczyk case file is completely gone. I wanted to follow up on…” he started.

“Yeah, it got pulled. Is there no remark in the files?” She wore a frown of cynical distance.

“We cannot see the files anymore. They were there last week,” Patrick answered.

“I’ll have a look,” she nodded.

In the following pause she apparently searched for the data herself and sighed. “Ah, here it is. Apparently the mother is working illicitly and their appeal was declined. Let me check the user rights.” She trailed off while the two men watched her doing magic off-screen. “Okay, that should've fixed it. Someone messed up the clearance, you should have it back again now. Anything else?” She smiled.

“No, thank you Bianka,” Stephan said goodbye and closed the connection. Then he checked the “Adamczyk” query again, this time it showed results.

When Patrick returned to his desk he could not shake off the feeling that his team lead felt relieved that the files were now available; relieved, that his employee had left his office.

Patrick picked up his coffee mug at his desk and slumped to the pantry. There was a loose end at his threading thoughts, it dangled and irritated him. He was sure the mother was working illegally, so that seemed plausible. But most of the refugees did, as many of the people on provision. Why did someone bother following up on her?

He poured himself a coffee, added oat milk and headed back. In his thoughts he realized too late that a co-worker greeted him in passing. He sat down at his desk, drank slightly over-burnt coffee and stared at the suspended screen.

He stared some more, fiddling with his nose again.

Then he quickly logged in and pulled up the now-recovered, declined case file. There was nothing irregular. Milena’s unofficial employer’s address was noted. The full report on her work activity, the witness statements, evidence. This was thorough.

He read the statements and cross-checked the address. It was a cleaning service. He dialed the provided phone number.

“Good morning, my name’s Hainer. I need to speak to Milena and she’s not answering when I call her on mobile. It’s urgent, about her daughter.”

–

“But she told me she works at your place, just in case I needed to contact her. She gave me this phone number.”

–

“Yes, I am waiting.”

–

“Yes, I am still here. It’s okay.”

–

“Hello, my name’s Hainer. I need to speak to Milena.”

–

“She’s not there? I am really starting to worry. Did she call in sick?”

–

“Wait, what do you mean she never worked at your place? She told me… hello?”

He put his phone down.

He inhaled and exhaled sharply. They were gone. Rozalia was gone. He had found her. It was his case. He wanted to know what she was. He wanted to help her. He wanted to save her.

He let his head hang for a moment and swallowed. Then he opened the video report from his visit. Tears welling in his eyes while he watched it, immersing himself in the emotional memory of bonding with the mother.

In the exact moment when he had entered the room of the daughter the footage switched over to the conversation he had with her mom before he was leaving their home. It was incomplete. The girl was missing.

He kept staring at the screen. It was hard to form thoughts. Even harder to do something. Meanwhile the screen went dark to save energy.

Then he took his cup and stood up. He walked to the window. It was cloudy today, cold and wet but not freezing. The trees were naked. The neighborhood felt like it was hibernating even though cars were passing below and people did their chores. A mother in thick wool pushed a carriage and walked her dog. Pedestrians waiting at traffic lights to cross the street. Someone lifting a large skewer of frozen meat to a Döner carryout.

He turned and looked at his co-worker sitting at a desk across his. She was focused, occasionally typing on her keyboard.
“Hey Lisa.” he addressed her. She snapped out of focus and turned her head to look at him. She smiled her wide smile.

“What can I do for you, Patrick?” Her usual upbeat, overdone tone felt contradictory to his inner turmoil. Still, he was thankful for it. A part of him wanted to be wrong, to be pulled out of it.

“Do you remember my case with the Polish girl two weeks ago?”

She narrowed her eyes, briefly. “Sure. The floating girl, yeah.”

He nodded to her. “What do you make of it?”

“Well, I am not sure. Sounds crazy.” She stood up and came around the desks, leaning against his. “And the video was ambiguous. Could have been touching the floor, might not have been. Why?”

“You do remember that part in the video?”

“Yeaaah.” She grinned and nodded. “You pretty much freaked out about it.”

“What if I tell you that part is gone?” He fixed his eyes on her intently.

Lisa frowned. “Gone like… corrupted?”

He went back to his desk and showed it to her.

She had an eyebrow raised. She was processing. “Where’s the girl?” she asked, looking at the screen beside him.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled and stared across the room.

“Don’t you have some home visits planned for today?” There was a cocky hint in her voice which had returned to its upbeat style. She walked back to her place, grinning at him.

Patrick looked at her and chuckled. He emptied the cup. Then he packed up his tablet and put on his jacket. “Thanks, Lisa.”

She beamed at him. “With pleasure.”

On his way to Dulsberg he had to remind himself not to speed. He felt impatient, swore at traffic lights and slow drivers. He clenched his teeth and gripped the wheel. When he arrived at his destination he hastily parked the car in a no-stopping zone by an exit. Then he approached the red-bricked apartment building he had visited about two weeks ago. The heavy door looked exactly the same. He checked the intercom board.

The tiny info panel where he rang the bell last time was empty.

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