Raymond watched one of the partners cross the lot to a white Lexus carrying a garment bag and a stack of videotapes. He looked rushed, barreling out of the lot without taking in his surroundings. When the car disappeared around the corner, Raymond sat back, sipping coffee from his travel mug and letting his mind wander.

In spite of the bricks lining the bottom, the trunk had floated almost a hundred yards down river before it finally sank in the Potomac.

He had returned to the river the next day for a casual look around. The water appeared deep and murky. No one would miss her for weeks, if at all. No one would find her for years, if ever. It had been a good spot, he’d decided, even though it had been chosen in haste. And he liked the idea that she was still in Washington, within view of the cameras every night on the evening news. Watching TV would be more fun knowing she was there. Still, he’d heard something just as the trunk vanished below the surface. A whistling sound. He remembered checking for a pulse and not finding one. Beneath the blond hair, her face looked battered. From what he could tell, her neck had been snapped. He smiled at the thought of her going into the water alive and promised himself that when the night was over, he would return to the Iwo Jima Motel and call his wife. Better make sure that she and the kids were okay before taking a long hot shower and getting some sleep.

The world could be a scary place. One could never tell.

The cassette in his tape player switched sides. It was an audio book by his favorite author and included the ten key steps he would need to achieve success in his business and personal relationships. Raymond had listened to all six tapes in the series many times before. Side 1 covered defining the problem issues in his life. Side 2 would be addressing his goals and how to reach them.

As the tape started, he studied his hair in the rearview mirror. He’d been gray for ten years, but liked the new cut. A long crew that had a hint of spike to it. He was forty-five now. And his new cut had done just what his stylist suggested it might: change his self-image by making him look ten years younger without a dye job.

He glanced at his teeth, bright and clean, listening to the tape and deciding that he’d better save it for later. Goals were important and he’d become distracted, his mind skipping over all the good parts. Planning a business strategy was the key step. The one losers always glossed over. He returned the tape to its vinyl case and slid it beneath the seat. Then he picked up his file, opened it to a photocopy and had another look.

It was an article dated six months earlier from The Washington Post.