"Hi, Richard." Glen raised his hand. "Thought I'd come and give you an update."

"Come in. Patricia's at the shops." Richard opened his palm to indicate that Glen should enter. "Would you like a coffee? I think I'm going to need one."

"Thanks. I missed lunch. A coffee would be great." Glen Pavardy followed Richard along the hall and into the kitchen. He sat at the bench while Richard filled the kettle and scooped teaspoons of instant coffee into some cups.

"Sugar?"

"Three."

Richard grinned. "Sweet tooth?"

"Just in coffee. I've got into the habit because the stuff we have to drink at work tastes like shit. A lot of sugar disguises the fact that it's recycled piss."

Both men chuckled. With the coffee made, they sat at the kitchen table. Glen wasn't sure where to start, so he did his usual trick of jumping right in.

"Truth is, Richard, we haven't made much headway. The best we've got is a set of unidentified fingerprints." He grimaced. "They belong to someone and will appear on the system one day." He peered at his coffee and said, "I don't know how to say this, Richard, but I haven't got a good feeling about Beau's disappearance. He mixed with some shady people, and he's a drug taker."

"Was."

"Okay. Was a drug taker." Glen took a mouthful of his coffee. "This is good."

"Moccona. Patricia's favourite." The two men's eyes met across the table.

"Richard, I'm not going to beat around."

"Appreciate it."

"Beau's phone, Medicare card, bank accounts, credit cards or anything that carries his identification haven't been used in the six months he's been missing. I gotta be honest. It's not a good sign."

Richard slid his mug in a circle on the table and sighed. "He could have money on him."

"He could." Glen cocked his head. "But, enough to live on for six months?"

"You said a big withdrawal was taken out of his bank account. I'd say he's living on that."

This time, Glen sighed. "That could be what's happened, but ten grand isn't much in the scheme of things. If he's hiding somewhere, he'd have to pay rent, buy food and need a car. We've been to all his known friends and associates. Not one person has seen or heard from him." Glen took another breath. "The reality is, six months is a long time, Richard. A long time to not use anything that identifies you."

"What about false documents?"

"Yes, he could have, but they're never perfect."

"So, you're saying he's dead?"

"I think we need to consider the possibility. You need to prepare yourselves for that outcome. I've gone through all the evidence. Beau's drug addiction, his involvement in a fighting syndicate, the characters associated with that same group, an abandoned car, and blood splattered on an isolated road. Drag marks with signs of a struggle and a reasonable amount of cash missing to suspect he paid someone off for something. And, as I said, none of his IDs has been used." Glen tapped his fingertips together and looked at Beau Hawkins' father. The man looked tired. Older. "I'm sorry, Richard, if we add it up, it doesn't total an even number."

Richard ran his hands down his face. "What am I going to tell Patricia? Gone like that." He snapped his fingers and covered his mouth as if saying the words were taboo.

"Don't tell her anything yet. None of it is concrete, but I think you should prepare her for the worst."

Richard nodded again. He pulled his hands away from his mouth as he gasped, "Okay."

Glen shuffled. His coffee was untouched. It didn't seem right to drink it somehow. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything positive to tell you. I wish I had. I wanted to let you know where I was at. We check each week to make sure his ID hasn't been used. We're running cold on this one. Someone will come forward. There's always someone who knows something or finds something." Glen felt he was babbling. He stood and said, "I'm sorry, Richard. Thanks for the coffee."

Richard nodded a farewell and let Glen find his way out. When he heard the door close, he buried his face in his hands.

Josh, his youngest son, found him sitting at the table with his face hidden, his body shuddering. There was nothing the son could say to the father. He sat beside him, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and let the man he admired the most in the world express his grief.