With a firm handshake and a gentle glance, I meet the man whose story I am here to hear. His stature is short but his stories more than compensate... The years of hard cases, dead bodies, and difficult decisions have been worn off by the warmth of this country. For hours we sit outside under an umbrella. And I listen. A few questions here, a laugh there, but mostly I just let him talk about things no one here could understand. I watch as his face becomes softer and he relives hour after hour of a different lifetime. I can sense that now is his time to set the story straight, to open up to a world he had to close off. And I love the fact that he just handed me a monstrous stack of paper to go through about his life and his investigations. Very few people have seen what I have in my hands now. And I know that more than this is me investigating his life... what is really happening over the next few hours is his investigation of me: how much detail will I remember from these pages? How thoroughly will I read what he gave me? Will I ask the right questions when we meet again after dinner? And ultimately, am I the right person for him to tell his story to...?
Yes.
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