Page 8 of Conquer

Three

Sam

I wentinto the office and gave Gordon a halfhearted wave, hoping he wouldn’t ask me any questions. He barely looked up, his apparent concern from earlier gone.

I thanked God for small favors, knowing I didn’t have the capacity to deal with Gordon and recover from seeing him.

Adrian Hunter.

If that was his name.

I again searched my memory, certain I wouldn’t have forgotten him, but at a loss as to what else to do. I began to chew my nails, a nervous habit I had never been able to break, especially when I was churning over a tough problem like Adrian.

After a moment, I unlocked my computer and typed his name into the database. To my shock, his picture came up immediately, and I wasted no time flipping through his sparse file.

State police, if the database was to be believed. I decided not to take it at face value because my gut told me there was more to him than this file revealed.

I stayed at my desk for the next couple of hours, each second ticking by in quarter time. Finally, when I thought enough time had passed that I wouldn’t look suspicious, I stood and walked to the office library, a place that I could count on to be deserted.

I closed and locked the door and then quickly dialed the number.

“Records,” came a gruff voice over the phone.

“How is my favorite record keeper?” I asked, not able to keep the smile out of my voice.

“Better now that I’m talked to you,” the record keeper, Ed Stanley, replied.

“You flirting with me, Ed?” I asked.

He laughed. “I don’t have a shot.”

I laughed as well and spent the next few minutes chatting with Ed about his wife and kids, especially his two granddaughters.

Ed had worked for the state for at least forty years, and when I’d first arrived, scared and timid, he’d taken me under his wing. It had surprised me at first, a record keeper with as much influence as Ed, but over the years, I’d learned what Ed had sought out to teach me, namely that information was king. And as record keeper, Ed had the king’s ear.

That made him a valuable ally, but even more, he was a friend. Someone I could trust.

“As lovely as it is to talk to you, Sammy,” Ed said, “I know you didn’t call to ask about my girls.”

“I might have,” I said, smiling into the phone.

“And I might still be able to run a three-minute mile,” he replied laughing.

From his old pictures, I knew that there had been a time when he probably could have, but that was long before I was born and he had settled into his pleasingly plump stage, as he like to call it, comfortable with his advancing years.

“I have a name. Can you tell me about it?” I asked.

“I’m guessing this isn’t on the up and up?” he said.

“Ed, would I come to you with something that wasn’t on the up and up?” I asked.

He laughed, his answer to that question. I didn’t skirt the line often, but I wasn’t above calling in a favor when I needed to.

“Who is that?” he asked, and I could easily imagine how he looked behind the keyboard, face set in a serious expression, the jovial old man that he tried to portray gone and the steel-minded investigator that he was firmly in place.

“Adrian Hunter.”

I listen to the softly muted sound of the keys before he went silent. “I’m not seeing much. Looks like state police,” he said.

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