In drawer #3, and filed under “C,” was an archive of compromises. Cross-referenced with debts, footnotes and regrets: a history of none-the-wiser. There’s evidence here of accelerants near a half-empty book of matches. No suspects, I fear, but the motive is clear. Automatic request. We are here to serve. Even if you don’t die, we’ve got plans for you: a summons bearing the name that you can’t hide. The signal is jammed, the dialogue canned, but our inquest cannot be hindered. We have to record; we cannot afford to miss out on what’s remembered. Analysis shows that the witness knows the name of the perpetrator. The damage is done. There’s nowhere to run. We’re tapping the phone lines. We’re tapping the phone lines when you’re gone. We’re drawing our own lines. We’re tapping the phone lines when you’re gone (and there’s no way around it).