Think Of a Number (2010) by John Verdon

cops and create a bunch of turmoil is what this sicko wants. Bring the bulls into the china shop and watch everything get smashed.”
    “If that’s all he wants,” said Gurney, “be thankful.”
    Mellery reacted as if he’d been slapped. “You really think he’s planning to … do something serious?”
    “It’s quite possible.”
    Mellery nodded slowly, as though the deliberateness of the gesture could keep a lid on his fear.
    “I’ll talk to the police,” he said, “but not until we get the phone call tonight from Charybdis, or whatever he calls himself.”
    Seeing Gurney’s skepticism, he went on, “Maybe the phone call will clear this thing up, let us know who we’re dealing with, what he wants. We may not have to involve the police after all, and even if we do, we’ll have more to tell them. Either way it makes sense to wait.”
    Gurney knew that having the police present to monitor the actual call could be important, but he also knew that no rational argument at this point would budge Mellery. He decided to move on to a tactical detail.
    “In the event that Charybdis does call tonight, it would be helpful to record the conversation. Do you have any kind of recording device—even a cassette player—that we could hook up to an extension phone?”
    “We’ve got something better,” said Mellery. “All our phones have recording capability. You can record any call just by pushing a button.”
    Gurney looked at him curiously.
    “You’re wondering why we have such a system? We had a difficult guest a few years back. Some accusations were made, and we found ourselves being harassed by phone calls that were increasingly unhinged. To make a long story short, we were advised to tape the calls.” Something in Gurney’s expression stopped him. “Oh, no, I can see what you’re thinking! Believe me, that mess has nothing to do with what’s happening now. It was resolved long ago.”
    “You sure of that?”
    “The individual involved is dead. Suicide.”
    “Remember the lists I asked you to work on? Lists of relationships involving serious conflicts or accusations?”
    “I don’t have a single name I can write down in good conscience.”
    “You just mentioned a conflict, at the end of which someone killed him- or herself. You don’t think that qualifies?”
    “She was a troubled individual. There was no connection between her dispute with us, which was the product of her imagination, and her suicide.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Look, it’s a complicated story. Not all of our guests are poster children for mental health. I’m not going to write down the name of every person who ever expressed a negative feeling in my presence. That’s crazy!”
    Gurney leaned back in his chair and gently rubbed his eyes, which were starting to feel dry from the fire.
    When Mellery spoke again, his voice seemed to come from a different place inside himself, a less guarded place. “There’s a word youused when you were describing the lists. You said I should write down the names of people with whom I had ‘unresolved’ problems. Well, I’ve been telling myself that the conflicts of the past have all been resolved. Maybe they haven’t. Maybe by ‘resolved’ I just mean I don’t think about them anymore.” He shook his head. “God, Davey, what’s the point of these lists, anyway? No offense, but what if some muscle-headed cop starts knocking on doors, stirring up old resentments? Christ! Did you ever feel the ground slipping from under your feet?”
    “All we’re talking about is putting names on paper. It’s a way to get your feet
on
the ground. You don’t have to show the names to anyone if you don’t want to. Trust me, it’s a useful exercise.”
    Mellery nodded in numb acquiescence.
    “You said not all your guests are models of mental health.”
    “I didn’t mean to imply that we’re running a psychiatric facility.”
    “I understand that.”
    “Or even that our guests have an