Mike flipped through the pictures. They were very high quality. And they proved what Mike suspected.Still looking at the pictures, Mike asked, "And yo...u have video too?"The PI motioned to the manila envelope he had placed on Mike's desk. "Yes, I got that. They went to a hotel, but the curtains were partially open. The DVD is in the envelope, along with more pictures."Mike gave the PI a wad of cash. "This is what I owe you. I'll handle it from here."After the PI left, Mike locked the door of his. “It depends.”“I thought you’d want something in return. All right, what’s your price.”“No price. At least that’s not what I was meaning. Just hold this a minute, okay?” I said as I took her hand and put my coin in her palm.“Okay,” she said, looking at it carefully. “What do you do? Hypnotize people with it?”“Nope. Just hold it and tell me if you feel anything.”“Feel anything? Like what? It’s not cold or hot. It’s not soft, and it’s not wet.”“So, you don’t feel anything ... unusual?”“Am I. And then, with Zara back in New York and me with my nose back at the grindstone, we went back to exchanging notes and postcards. But, looking back, I realise that the frequency of our correspondence had begun to diminish. I guess we were both pretty busy. And then it was February again. The idea of sending Zara a Valentine’s Day card was more of a joke than anything. Ironically, the card that I sent her had come all the way from America — and I was sending it back again. How silly was that? But. The melting pile groaned but didn’t move, clutching her chest she heaved a sigh of relief. Heaving the mass of sodden bloody body away from the door was hard the already large person was weighed down by heavy wet clothing. Using surplus gas she started a fire and pulled the soaking mess near it. The snow had melted and the person she could tell was a man lay shivering and bloodied. She remembered in girl scouts you had to remove all wet clothing to warm a person so she began to cut away his.