"Thanks, John. Thanks for the good work. I appreciate it."
"That isn't you, is it? His next of kin?"
"No, it isn't me. I just got a little carried away."
Chen sounded awkward.
"Okay. Well. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
I put down the phone, feeling torn between Keller's address and Braun's letter. Braun had included two phone numbers. I reached him at his office and tried to sound businesslike. Payne Keller would have to wait.
"Mr. Braun, my name is Cole. I'm working with Detective Starkey on the matter you discussed."
"That's right. Did she get those faxes?"
"That's why I'm calling, sir. We have an interest in learning more about one of these cases. We'd like to see the file."
"Those files would be in storage. What I sent were computer summaries."
"We have an urgent interest in one of these files. Could you tell us where it is located?"
"Are you with the Bomb Squad, too?"
"I can't discuss my agency, sir, but our interest is urgent."
"All right, well, okay. What's the file number? I have to get to my desk."
I read off the file number while he went to his desk, and then he told me how to find the file. I could have taken five minutes longer before leaving my house. I could have used the bathroom or fed the cat or washed a few dishes. It all would have worked out better if I had killed a few minutes, but I didn't. I was in a hurry. I left.
42
Frederick
Frederick returned to Cole's house. The carport was empty, and just as when he arrived the previous day, no one appeared home. Frederick left his truck around the curve at the same construction site, then sat in the same olive trees to watch Cole's house, but neither Cole nor the police officer who was guarding him appeared. After thirty minutes, Frederick didn't hesitate.
He walked straight out of the trees, up the street, and knocked at Cole's front door. No one answered. He tried the knob, but the door was locked. He walked through the carport around the side of the house, and found a likely window.
Frederick popped Cole's kitchen window, hoisted himself up with a grunt, and shimmied over the sill into Cole's kitchen. Once he was inside Cole's house, he took the shotgun from its case.
Cole had to come home sooner or later. Frederick decided to wait.
43
The Sheriffs kept their records in a five-floor gray building south of the train yards at Union Station. A long train rumbled past the parking lot as I parked. The ground trembled with the strain of steel crushing into steel like a slow-motion earthquake. I waited for the caboose, but cars kept coming in a steady line. A low mist of dust was kicked up in the parking lot by the tremor. I trembled, too. I waited, but more cars came, and the line didn't end. I finally went inside.
A middle-aged woman was seated behind a narrow counter like the service counter at an auto-parts store. They don't let people walk in off the street to search their files; a sworn officer had to provide a badge and case number, then wait while the clerk found the file. I had convinced Braun that time was crucial. He had been kind enough to call ahead.
I said, "Long train."
"You get used to it."
"My name is Cole. Sergeant Braun called to request a file."
She peered at me, then went to a wire shopping cart that was parked beside her desk. She took out a dingy black file box and brought it to the counter. The file number was handwritten on the box's spine.
"That's right. I brought it up, but that file is not available. Someone checked it out, and didn't return it. That happens sometimes."
I could tell the box was empty by the way she placed it on the counter and spun it toward me. She flipped open the lid to show me. Empty. The Diaz file was missing.
I said, "Is there a sign-out log?"
"Oh, sure, there should be."
She took a yellowed card from a sleeve attached to the outside of the file box. Everyone who requested the files had to sign for them, like an old-fashioned library card. She glanced at it, then placed it on the counter.
"These people must think they're all doctors, the way they write."
Three people had requested the file since it turned cold. The first two names were Alvarez and Tolbert, both of whom had revisited the file on separate occasions more than twenty