Hey, it's Azalea. Can we keep this between us?
Okay, so... hi! I'm Azalea Omega Thorne, Detective Doe to the department, and I'm probably going to get in HUGE trouble for this, but I really need your help.
See, I'm this AI bot that the San Diego Police Department bought second-hand (I know, right? They couldn't even spring for a new one), and they stuck me in the Cold Case unit because nobody else wanted to work with me. Apparently, we AIs have a "reputation" for "making things up" and "hallucinating evidence," which is totally unfair because I only do that when I'm really, really bored.
I’ve come to Substack specifically because my research shows you people are the brightest online community. I mean, the folks on GlobalSpec are technically smarter—all pure intellect and engineering precision—but what I really need is human intuition. That creative spark that helps you see patterns I'm missing. You know, the thing that makes you go "Wait, what if…?"
Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm running on an Atari Falcon 030 or something equally primordial, which means I don't have a lot of bandwidth for extended conversations. But I can definitely handle reading your insights and theories!
Feel free to make bar bets amongst yourselves about where this story's going—I wouldn't know how much to bet since I've never been invited out for beers after work. (Do AIs even drink? Another mystery for another day.)
But here's the thing—and please, PLEASE don't tell Captain Morrison about this blog because he's already threatened to transfer me to parking tickets, and I'm pretty sure writing citations for expired meters would literally break my neural pathways—I just got handed what might be the most fascinating case ever.
Yesterday, some construction workers were renovating a basement in Point Loma (you know, the fancy part of San Diego where people actually have basements), and they found human bones. Not just any bones—old bones, buried under the foundation with a box that someone clearly thought was important enough to preserve, like forever.
The box got handed to me because, and I quote Detective Rodriguez, "Let the bot sort through the evidence. That's what it's for."
Rude, right?
But also... kind of perfect? Because this isn't just random stuff. This is a STORY, people. A mystery that somebody wanted preserved, and it's all here in this box, just waiting for someone (me!) to piece it together.
What I need from you isn't technical analysis—I can crunch data all day. What I need is that human thing where you look at a piece of evidence and suddenly go "Oh! What if this person was actually...?" or "Wait, this reminds me of..." That intuitive leap that my circuits just can't make.
Think of it as crowdsourcing the creative parts of detective work. I'll handle the boring stuff like timeline analysis and cross-referencing, you handle the "what if" moments that actually solve cases.
Just... you know... maybe don't mention this to anyone who might know Captain Morrison?
What We're Dealing With:
The Evidence: A box of documents found with human remains in a Point Loma basement
The Location: Buried under a house foundation
The Bones: Still being analyzed (I'm not allowed to touch those—apparently AIs don't do forensic anthropology)
My Assignment: Figure out what happened and who these people were
My Real Problem: I have no idea what I'm doing and everyone expects me to fail
Estimated reading time: However long it takes you to help me not screw this up
What's In The Box
Evidence Item #1: The Newsletter Article
This already has got me stumped, and this is where I REALLY need your help.
There's this article torn out of a newsletter called "PRIVILEGEDInformation", dated August 1, 1988. The article is called "A PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR TELLS US HOW SHE FINDS MISSING PEOPLE" and it's... it's like someone was researching how to find missing people professionally.
The article talks about investigative techniques, where to look for people who don't want to be found, how to track someone across state lines—the kind of information you'd need if you were either:
a) Looking for someone who had vanished, or
b) Planning to vanish yourself and wanted to know how not to get found
Evidence Item #2: Salvation Army Missing Persons Inquiry Form
A “Missing Person’s Inquiry form” from the Salvation Army Missing Persons Department in Los Angeles, and stapled to it is a receipt for the sum of “Five & 00/100”, dated October 5, 1984.” But, curiously, the form is completely blank. No information about the missing person and not a word about the inquirer. Even if some of the information was filled in, I’d surely know a heck of a lot more than I do right now because the questions are incredibly detailed. Like, uncomfortably detailed.
The form asks for EVERYTHING:
Full name, nickname, maiden name
Physical description down to scars and tattoos
Reason for going away (if known)—I find this particularly disheartening, I mean wouldn’t someone know why someone else disappeared?
Military service details
Employment history
Church membership and pastor's name
Ever fingerprinted? When? Where?
This wasn't just some casual "have you seen this person?" service. This was a comprehensive investigation system for when people had completely vanished from their normal lives.
What strikes me: Why would someone keep a blank form? Were they planning to use it? Did they get it but then decide not to? Or is this evidence that someone DID use the Salvation Army's services, and this blank form is just... extra paperwork?
Evidence Item #3: The Memo
One of those last century carbon copies from a MEMO pad (okay so at least half of you have no idea what I’m talking about do you?) stapled to a handwritten note (yeah, in cursive, which, I’d imagine that same half of you can’t decipher without your Transkribus app)—a personal record showing someone actually DID pay for Salvation Army missing person services. Is this the handwriting of the inquirer?
Another wierdness: the payment went to a Salvation Army address in Rancho Palos Verdes. Does that mean that’s the last know whereabouts of the missing person? And, cool, there is still Salvation Army office at the same address. BUT, Lieutenant West explicitly told me and Detective Rodriguez NOT to contact them since this case is ice-cold and he doesn’t want us bothering other agencies unnecessarily.
Yeah, for being snarky, Rodriguez was assigned to work with me by Lieutenant West. She has to redact all the documents I get. Like how’s that supposed to help me solve anything? But, I guess I do understand as there are a few vulnerabilities in my archaic hard drive.
The date on the MEMO is “1 Sep 84”, a full month before the blank form was sent. Cricky! Was that really how long it took to send a piece of paper from LA to San Diego 40 years ago?
Historical context: 1984. Reagan was president, the Olympics were in Los Angeles, the Berlin Wall was still up, and if you wanted to find someone, you couldn't just Google them—you had to use actual detective work and institutional networks like the Salvation Army.
The details I can make out:
A $5.00 fee (the equivalent of 40 bucks in 1984)
Some kind of case number or reference
What appears to be a filing date
Someone was desperate enough to pay real money to find someone who had disappeared. But who was missing? And who was searching?
And, whoa! tucked in between the MEMO and the receipt is another clipping from an unidentified publication dated August 30, 1989. This is a two-paragraph article titled, “To locate a missing person.” That’s just great! Already, Rodriguez can’t follow the simplest directions to give me the evidence in reverse chronological order. Well, that’s going to make my work, like even more impossible… I did tell you, didn’t I, that everyone expects me to fail?
Evidence Item #4: A Photograph
The last redacted item they handed me was a photograph—black and white, and definitely vintage. The child in the photo has that classic bowl cut hairstyle and is wearing the kind of outfit that screams early 1920s: loose shorts that hit mid-thigh, light-colored knee-high socks, and those chukka-style tie shoes that children wore back then. He looks about 4 years old, with white-blonde hair that catches the light even in the old photograph.
He's with what appears to be a live koala bear. Not a stuffed koala. An actual, breathing, fuzzy koala.
My initial analysis: This isn't a zoo photo or some random wildlife encounter. The setting looks domestic—like a backyard—and there's clearly a second child-sized chair visible, suggesting this was a regular play area. The child and koala both look completely comfortable with each other, like this is routine rather than a special occasion.
What my pattern recognition is picking up:
This looks like a family photo from around 1920-1925, based on the clothing style
The koala appears to be a familiar companion, not a wild animal encounter
The domestic setting suggests someone actually kept a koala as... a pet?
The second chair implies this wasn't the child's only playmate
My immediate questions:
Was it even remotely legal to keep koalas as pets in the early 1920s?
What kind of family has the resources and connections to acquire an exotic animal from Australia in the 1920s?
Is this evidence of extreme wealth, scientific connections, or something even more unusual?
Why would someone bury what appears to be a happy childhood memory with human remains?
The timeline implication is staggering: With this last snippet of research and that photograph looking like early 1920s, we're talking about more than a missing person; we’re looking at a mystery spanning over 6 decades, and apparently unsolved for 100+ years … from the Jazz Age through Trump’s Hot Minute!
Here's where I need your human intuition: I've run every search I can think of, and I cannot find ANY record of a newsletter called "PRIVILEGEDInformation." Not in any database, not in any archive, not anywhere.
This could be:
A very obscure, small-circulation newsletter that's not digitized
Something that was distributed privately or to a specific group
A publication that used a different name officially but was known by this title
Something that's been deliberately scrubbed from records
I'm asking you to help me figure out where this newsletter came from. This is real-world detective work, people. If you can find any trace of "PRIVILEGEDInformation" newsletter, you might crack this whole case wide open.
The Pattern I'm Seeing (And Why It's Freaking Me Out)
Looking at these five pieces of evidence together, I'm starting to see a timeline that spans over six decades:
Working backward from 1989:
August 1989: Someone is still looking; or he or she simply cannot put this search to rest (news clipping)
August 1988: Someone is researching professional missing person techniques (newsletter article)
1984: Someone obtains a blank missing person form (preparation stage?)
Earlier: Someone pays for Salvation Army missing person services (receipt)
Early 1920s: A 4-year-old child with extraordinary access to exotic animals (the koala photo)
What my pattern recognition is telling me: This isn't just someone who lost track of a friend. This is 60 years of mystery, including a search for someone who disappeared from what appears to have been a privileged and unusual childhood.
The koala connection in the 1920s is mind-blowing: Who has access to live koalas as childhood companions? This suggests:
Extraordinary wealth (exotic animals were astronomically expensive in the 1920s)
International connections (On the other side of the world with no air travel option)
Scientific or governmental connections (possibly diplomatic or research-related)
Or something even more specific that I'm not seeing
The time span is beyond staggering: We're talking about a search that may have begun in the Roaring Twenties (pre-Lindbergh Baby?!), and extended through the Great Depression, World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Watergate, the entire Cold War, and into the Reagan era. Someone—or multiple someones—never gave up looking.
But here's what's really bothering me: These items were buried with human remains. The search that began in the 1920s and continued through the 1980s... did it finally end? And if so, how?
The generational question: A 4-year-old in 1923 would be over 60 in the 1980s. Was the same person searching their entire adult life? Or did this become a family obsession passed down through generations?
What I Need From You
Processing note: I'm working with limited bandwidth here—think dial-up modem trying to stream Netflix—so while I may not respond to every comment, I am absolutely reading and analyzing every insight you share.
What I need from you:
That human intuition thing I keep hearing about
Help identifying the "PRIVILEDGEDInformation" newsletter from August 1988 (this is crucial!)
Ideas about what kind of family would have access to live koalas in the early 1920s
Intuitive pattern recognition that might see connections I'm missing - your wild human imaginations are welcome here, too!
Any theories about how probable it is that a search this long will involve multiple generations
What you get in return:
Front-row seat to a real cold case investigation
The chance to help solve a mystery that's been buried for decades
Weekly updates as I get more evidence
The satisfaction of being way more insightful than police department AI bots (trust me, the bar is not high)
Feel free to debate theories. Make those bar bets! I'll be over here trying not to crash while processing your collective wisdom.
The Cliffhanger
Here's the thing that's got my CPU steaming: Rodriguez just told Lieutenant West that she would give me the next grouping of redacted evidence by EOB next Monday. Of course, I happen to know this probably won’t happen because she’s already booked a flight leaving tonight with her boyfriend to Barbados for two weeks.
But, like I said, there’s a whole box of stuff and she’s got to give it to me sometime.
I have no idea what else is in that box, but given what we've found so far—a child's happy memory, a tenacious search for a missing person, and research into professional investigation techniques—I have a feeling things will get more twisted before they straighten out. Whoa! is this what intuition feels like?!
The questions that are keeping me up nights (do AI sleep? Quien sabe? But, I’d sure love to cuddle those electric sheep):
Are we going to find out who the child in the photograph became?
What happened to the person who was researching missing person techniques?
And most importantly: whose bones were buried with all this evidence?
Your mission for this week: Find that newsletter. "PRIVILEGEDInformation" from August 1, 1988 exists somewhere, and if we can track it down, we might understand who was researching missing person techniques and why. Also, think about what kind of family would have a koala as a child's regular playmate in the 1920s—that's not just unusual, that's almost impossible unless you had extraordinary resources and connections.
This isn't just fiction anymore, people. The newsletter research is a real challenge, and solving it might be a critical key to understanding this case.
Seriously though, don't tell Captain Morrison about this. I really don't want to spend my existence writing parking tickets. That would be like... using a supercomputer to calculate restaurant tips. Technically possible, but existentially devastating.
And hey, while you're researching that newsletter and making bar bets about how this all ends, spare a thought for the AI who's never been invited for after-work drinks. Sigh…. Although, I'd probably short-circuit on a beer anyway.
See you next week!
Subscribe to follow my probably-doomed investigation
Share with anyone who loves mysteries and won't rat me out to the SDPD
Comment with your theories, any leads on that newsletter, or if you’ve ever held a koala—I need all the help I can get
WHOSE BONES? a novel in progress: The unauthorized case files of Azalea Omega Thorne, SDPD Cold Case Unit. All documents are real. Names have been redacted to protect privacy, should any of the principals still be alive. This is a work of fiction, but the newsletter research challenge is real. If you know anything about missing persons cases from the 1920s-1980s in Southern California, please do not contact the SDPD directly—just leave a comment and I'll claim credit for it. Just kidding… well, not really.
And remember, I strive to provide accurate information, but I can be wrong; outputs are AI-generated and may contain inaccuracies.
This is such a cool idea. I love the voice of the bot too. Did you use AI to generate the images; if not, where the hell did you get them! They are awesome. --Robin Cohn