Arturo really loathed breaking into a parallel Quinn's apartment. Not enough to keep him from doing it, but enough to make it distasteful.

It wouldn't have been so easy if Quinn didn't live in such a bad part of town. No security guards in sight. And the things that most likely went on here... the Professor really didn't want to think about.

The possibility that the killer could turn invisible (or at least act without being seen) was a definite breakthrough for Quinn. But it still didn't explain the presence of his fingerprints on the weapon. Unless, of course, the Quinn of this world was the one who was invisible. Which was the whole point of breaking and entering.

Arturo rummaged through another man's things as casually as he could manage. The place was sparse enough to make it a short job. Of course it was possible that he just couldn't afford much, but the Professor was betting that...

Yes. His clothes were missing. Quinn had cleared out, probably in a hurry. He left something scrawled on a piece of paper. "Directions to Upton Sinclair International Airport," Professor Arturo read aloud.

The aging Englishman sighed. He didn't know what he had expected to find here. Clues, perhaps. Some way to become invisible? As ridiculous as it might sound, he had anticipated its discovery here.

Oh, well. He hadn't finished looking through the patent rejections. There could be one dealing with invisibility that could lead him to the real killer. He could only hope.

***
Wade's arm was feeling somewhat better. Still bruised, but healing just fine. The rest of her body was tired. She had looked all over her apartment for the manila envelope and found nothing. It was extremely frustrating.

"I don't even know why I'm doing this," Wade said aloud. Except that she did know. She may not be the Wade Welles who started out on this case, but she was going to see that justice was served.

Deciding to do another sweep of the room, Wade examined everything with extra care. No secret panels behind the wall, nothing behind or under the couch, no secret bottom to any of the drawers. It seemed hopeless.

Finally, she looked under an end table and saw a drawer that she hadn't before. She tried to open it, only to discover it was locked. "Great," Wade muttered. She shook the lock in anger and then abandoned the exercise in futility after it accomplished nothing.

She sat on her couch, running her fingers through her hair. There had to be a way...

A thought hit her. There was more than one key in the envelope she had picked up at work, the one with the key that had let her in this apartment in the first place. Perhaps she had changed more than one lock.

Wade retrieved the smaller key and proceeded to stick in the lock. Success!

Sure enough, it contained the manila envelope. "Maybe I shouldn't open it," Wade said to herself. From what that guy Bruno said on the phone it's pretty important. However, her curiousity got the better of her. She opened it up.

There were more pictures inside of the girl who had been murdered, only she was alive in these photos. In some there was a man with her. He looked familiar, but where could she possibly have seen him before?

Then she recognized him. It was Police Chief Gounard. If these pictures could be believed, they had been intimately involved. Wade stuffed the photos back in the envelope and walked out the door.

***
Rembrandt Brown entered Wade's apartment and slumped into a chair. It had been a long, tiring day of playing insipid, uninspired music. The Crying Man thought that he would probably rather be flipping burgers at whatever passed for a fast food joint on this world.

'Where's Wade?' he thought. She should be here. Unless she decided to get a job to take the pressure of making money off of him. That would have been a relief, but Remmy sincerely doubted that that was the case.

Professor Maximilian Arturo knocked on the door (Rembrandt had forgot to return the key to its hiding place) and Remmy let him in. "You look as tired as I feel, Mr. Brown," Arturo mused.

"Pipes are sore, too," Rembrandt added hoarsely. "Wish I could drink something other than ice water, but we can't afford it. If Wade's double didn't have a freezer, we'd have starved to death by now."

"Patience, Mr. Brown. You'll be paid tomorrow and then you can quit that loathsome job of yours," the Professor said with much relish.

"We slide in two days," Rembrandt said wistfully. "If we can get Quinn out of jail by then that is. Speaking of, how's the case coming?"

Arturo thought it interesting to note that Rembrandt did not even consider leaving Quinn behind as an option. Of course, why should he? He still believed that this Quinn was the one who'd been sliding with them for years. "I have a lead suspect for who could have murdered Mr. Brighthod. A Mr. Charles Carson, whose patent for a suit of invisibility was rejected by the late patent office clerk."

Rembrandt's brow furrowed. "You think the killer could turn himself invisible?"

"I have reason to believe so, Mr. Brown, yes," Arturo answered. He then proceeded to tell Remmy what had happened.

The Crying Man shook his head. "Hate to say it, Professor, but if your testimony about the invisible guy writing something on the wall is what's key to this case, it's not going to fly."

Arturo nodded in recognition. "Perhaps that won't be necessary. If I could trick him into confessing..."

Rembrandt scoffed. "You've been watching too much 'Matlock', Professor." Arturo shuddered at the implications of that statement.

"Nonetheless, I will be interrogating Mr. Carson tomorrow. With any luck, whatever information he gives me will allow Quinn to go free."

"Here's hopin'," Rembrandt replied to Arturo's statement. The Professor, however, wasn't willing to rely on luck. If they couldn't prove Quinn's innocence by the time they were supposed to leave this world, they would just have to get him out some other way. Whatever the cost.

***
It was late and foggy. The perfect ambiance for a covert meeting. Right now, Wade was getting ready to meet Bruno down by the docks. Within a few moments of her arrival, he stood beside her. She took the envelope out of her coat and handed it to the other man. He examined it carefully.

"You opened it," he stated with mild disappointment.

"Yeah," she answered. "So now I know."

Bruno snorted. "You don't know anything. Not yet anyway. If you want to see something, see a real eye-opener, you gotta come with me." Not wanting to argue the point and quite curious about what it was, Wade agreed.

Bruno and Wade drove in almost complete silence. Wade didn't know where she was going and she didn't know much about this Bruno guy. She suddenly wondered whether she'd made a big mistake in coming with him. Rather than dwell on that, though, she decided to make small talk.

"Who's the girl?" Wade asked.

"What?!" Bruno responded protestingly. "You gotta be kidding me, right?? You're the one who met her, not me."

Wade shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This could get hairy, but her curiosity had to be sated. "My memory's failing me. Who is she?"

Bruno sighed like he was playing along with a little child's game. "Jennifer Lewis. Just a girl, like hundreds of girls on the streets of San Francisco. Got in some trouble, went to the police for help. You and Gounard to be exact. Only our esteemed Chief of Police got a little too protective, if you get my drift."

Within a few more minutes, Bruno stopped the car. "Here we be." He opened the door, collected a flashlight and some shovels from his trunk and then locked everything up.

"What are we doing here?" Wade said, looking quizzically at the shovel Bruno had just handed her.

Bruno turned on his flash light. "Chief Gounard owns this little stretch of property. Some of the neighbors saw a couple of men digging out here late at night and got suspicious. The cops didn't do anything about it, big surprise. No offense to you, of course."

"Of course," Wade replied dryly.

"This is the spot," Bruno stated flatly, shining his flashlight on a patch of dirt that stood out like a sore thumb against the tall grass. They started digging.

It wasn't long before Wade's arm hurt like hell. Bruno had to take over most of the digging, but eventually they found something. "Not sure I want to look," Wade said, creeped out by this more than she was willing to admit.

Bruno reached down into the hole and opened the bag a little. It was a body. Wade felt revulsion, but didn't scream. As Bruno ran the flashlight beam up and down the body, there was no doubt that it was the same girl from the photographs. Bruno started to cover her back up.

Wade came close to physically stopping him. "What are you doing? We have to report this to the police...we have to find out who killed her."

"You are the police, aren't you?" he replied sarcastically. "Besides, we don't have enough proof yet. And for who committed this murder, we're going to need lots of it."

"And just who do you think did it?" Wade asked, playing dumb rather well.

"Gounard. Now help me dig." Wade did so with a mounting sense of dread.

ThomasMalthus