A private detective wanted money we didn’t have.
That’s why his disappearance made no sense.
Four months earlier, he had disappeared without packing or leaving a single note. His purse, his phone, his clothes and his medications were still at home.
Everyone who knew her agreed that walking away without telling anyone was the last thing Evelyn would do.
I came home and spent days talking to the police, but they had little to offer beyond vague guarantees. She was an adult, there was no clear evidence of violence and all possible clues seemed to end before it began.
That’s why his disappearance made no sense.
A private detective wanted money we didn’t have.
So I did what I could.
I printed hundreds of missing people posters and took them wherever I went. I hung them in supermarkets, bus stations, laundries, restaurants and all over my university campus.
I gave copies to my co-workers and kept several folds inside my bag in case I met someone new. Before each shift, I would check my phone and pray that one of those posters would have produced a miracle.
He never did.
I printed hundreds of missing persons cartels.
