The first stop was the records room at City Hall, where I found record of Clara Carver being born to Roy and Margaret Carver. A little earlier than that I saw Roy had married Margaret Sullivan, and that they'd bought a tiny place in the 'burbs. Fast forward three years after Clara's birth and there was the divorce, shortly before the foreclosure on the house. A bit farther on was the marriage of Margaret Sullivan to Richard Tate, whose profession, listed on other records, was "banker".

It occurred to me then to look for Roy's profession. None listed on anything but the home purchase, and that was just "investor". Business records were a bit more work to get through, but I found Roy's name as partner or co-owner of a lot of small enterprises, few of which lasted for more than a year. None of them existed now; most had been gone before that day in the diner.

I began to see how Roy's world had fallen apart...his wife leaving him when money kept bleeding out, his home one of the casualties, and maybe all the money he had left going into his little girl's lunch that day. But what had happened after that? Suicide, Skid Row, John Doe? Maybe his ex had a clue.

The Tate residence was a decent condo on the west side. Maggie Tate, the former Margaret Carver, was home with two kids and a nanny. She seemed pretty happy with her current life, so she wasn't too happy to see me.

"I don't know what you want from me. I left Roy Carver a long time ago."

"I'm working for your daughter, Mrs. Tate. She wants to find him."

"Can't say why. He wasn't any use to me. I can't imagine he was to her. And by the way, my daughter's in the living room."

The kids, a boy and a girl, were in the living room playing with the nanny. Maggie had taken me to the den to talk about her former marriage. She didn't want any of her old life touching her new one. She sat in a leather armchair with a tall glass of something she'd mixed for herself. I wasn't offered any hospitality.

"I saw that Roy was an investor. Were his failed businesses the reason for the foreclosure?"

"Investor? Where'd you get that?"

"It was on the purchase application for the house..."

"Hah! Investor! I wondered what he told the bank! No, investing means making money work for you. Roy just drove it over a cliff..."

Maggie's take on Roy was different from mine. Roy, it seemed, didn't invest. He didn't even gamble. He pushed his luck, consistently and deliberately. He was a daredevil, a tightrope-walker, trying to see how far he could run before he fell. Stocks, yes, but also cards, dice, ponies, high-risk lending and pie-in-the-sky shoot-the-moon startups. He did better than anyone could expect, but if you shoot at the moon til you run out of ammo, you're going to miss a lot.

He pushed his luck, he pushed his money, and he eventually pushed Maggie too far. She wanted to know where her next meal was coming from, how long the roof would stay over her head. So she finally just walked out one day, got an uncontested divorce, and in time came to marry a totally unexciting money manager. She had her roof, she had her kids, she had her 9-to-5 man, and she had the occasional tall glass of something when it got too boring.

"I don't know where Roy is and I don't care. I don't know his friends...I don't think he had any that lasted longer than the money did."

"I see. Well, thank you for the time, Mrs. Tate. Did you want to pass anything on to your daughter?"

"I told you, my daughter's in the living room. Kindly show yourself out."

I let myself out. I also let myself think a few uncharitable words about Maggie Tate, but I tried to give her a break. I didn't know what her life had been like. I'd been hungry and on the edge a couple times too, but I was the one that put myself there. I hadn't been dependent on someone else while a kid was dependent on me. So I tried to walk away from judgments about Maggie Tate, mother of two and former mother of one.

I went down the list of co-partners and co-owners from Roy's investments. A lot of them were dead. A chunk of them were in prison. Some were in the wind. A few of them I could chase down to little businesses scattered around...businesses that didn't seem to do much business. A book store that didn't sell many books, a laundromat that didn't take in a lot of laundry, that sort of thing. Seemed some of Roy's former partners were now partners with the mob, maybe running front businesses for the Grimaldi outfit. I'd look into it better if I needed some leverage.

None of those small businessmen were talking to me. They were too busy for long conversations, and aside from "I ain't seen him in years" had nothing to say about Roy Carver. I had to wonder if maybe Roy had put his money in the wrong place and was at the bottom of the river.

I was walking down the street trying to get things settled in my head when a black sedan pulled up alongside me. A window rolled down and an ex-boxer's face asked me, "You Warren?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Mister Magnum. You want his number?"

The back door opened. I decided not to argue with Mister Magnum.