[Part I of this short story draft.]
Max and I wandered around for at least an hour, trying to find the body. But finally we decided that we needed to go ahead with the next step of the plan. So I called Danny's wife.
"Caroline, have you seen Danny?"
There was a moment's silence on the other end. "I thought he was with you."
"Well, he was," I said, "but then he...well, he sort of wandered off by himself. I thought he might have gone home."
"No," she said slowly, "he isn't here."
"Well, it's probably nothing," I said. "Who knows with Danny? I'll look for him. Call me if he comes home."
I decided to continue looking for the body; Max went home to bed. A few hours later Caroline called. I called up Max, who had been sleeping and was not happy to be awake. For my part, I couldn't help but admire how calm he was. I certainly couldn't have gone to sleep after everything that had happened.
"Hmmnnhfnn," he said when he answered the phone. Or something to that effect.
"Max, I found out what happened to Danny."
"Danny checked himself into the emergency room."
There was silence. Then clearly and distinctly: "How did he survive?"
"I don't know. We might be safe, though; Caroline said something about amnesia. But you can never tell with that woman." And you can't, either. What sort of crazy woman would marry Danny Rastari? "I'll have to check it in person. You just stay put, and I'll call you to let you know what's happening."
And that was how I came face to face in the hospital room with Danny Rastari, the man I had just pushed off the bank building. He was infuriatingly cheerful.
Part III is to come.