Yesterday's Partner

I have been working a case for sixty-eight days.

Every morning a partner arrives. Same suit, same tie, same shoes, same handshake. He has just been read into the file by the chief. He knows everything I have written down. He does not know me.

We work the case all day. He is sharp. He catches what I miss. I catch what he misses. Together we make progress.

At the end of the shift he leaves. I stay. I write up the day in the file.

The next morning a different partner arrives. Same suit. Same tie. Same handshake.

The first time, on day two, I asked the new partner if he remembered yesterday. He read the file. He said yes. He was telling the truth and lying at the same time.

The chief explained it later. The partners are issued by the agency. They get one day each. The agency thinks this is fair.

We are good at the case. Better than two regular detectives would be. We catch each other's blind spots. Every morning my partner sees the file with fresh eyes. Every evening I tuck it in.

I do not know if my partners know they are not the only one. I do not ask.

Best friend is not the right word. Yesterday's partner is closer.