thought of in forever...like long lost lovers.
“They don’t keep those files in the system as long as you’d think,” he went on as he drummed his hands on the arms of his chair. “If it’s been ten years or more it definitely wouldn’t be there.”
Ten. My unlucky number today, or so it seemed.
“How would I go about getting a hard copy of the case file?” I wondered aloud. There had to be a way. Whoever sent me this message had done so for a reason. Wanted me to find out what had happened though I couldn’t yet comprehend why or how. Either that or my John Smith sender intended to lure me into a trap. He definitely hadn’t given me a hell of a lot to go on. And, he could be a she . There was no way to know for certain. The fact that a he had shipped the package to me, didn’t mean he knew what was inside it.
“Depends upon the judge,” Max explained. “The cases are usually filed by court, then by judge. If the one who presided over the case is retired it might be more difficult to locate the files. But they have to be out there somewhere.” He shoved his glasses into place. “Find the judge and you’ll find the file.”
Since I had no more idea who the judge had been on the case than who the man in the photograph was, the task could take some time. Frankly, I wasn’t even sure the number represented a court case. I was guessing on that one. But Max had come to the same conclusion so I would work under that assumption. My dad had served as a judge. I should have remembered more about how the cases were filed.
“Sorry I couldn’t give you any more than that, Mrs. C.”
Steven’s friends had called me Mrs. C., for Carter, my married name. That I was no longer a missus or a Carter didn’t enter Max’s logic. I didn’t bother correcting him.
“I could try tapping some of my other contacts.” His fingers flew across the keys, taking his system back to his home site. “I know a dude in the Bureau.”
“I’d really appreciate it, Max.” He’d scanned the photo. Any databases he could think to try later would be great.
“Let me know if you come across anything.” I tucked the original photo back into my bag and gifted him with a big smile. “It was good to see you. You’ll have to come to dinner some time when Steven’s home for the weekend.” These days that didn’t happen very often. Hey, maybe I could use Max coming to dinner as bait to lure my son home.
I pushed to my feet, grateful to be out of that stiff chair. My ass would be deliriously happy in about ten minutes when the feeling returned. “I owe you one.”
Always polite, Max hurried to stand, shoving his chair back so fast that it banged against a nearby file cabinet. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot before he appeared to find his voice. “Ah...Mrs. C., would you mind autographing something for me?”
My brow scrunched into a frown. Autograph something? “Sure, Max...but...” Why in Sam Hill would he want my autograph? If Steven had told him another one of those wild stories about his mother once being a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader I’d have to ground him until he was at least thirty. But he hadn’t done anything like that since his senior year of high school. I was praying he hadn’t regressed. Taking advantage of a naïve friend, even one who was twenty-three and likely a bona fide genius, wasn’t very nice.
Before I could ask for further clarification Max had rummaged around in a drawer and pulled out a glossy eight by ten photograph. I blinked once, twice, then looked again to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
A candid shot had been taken of me on a joint undercover operation with HPD. I remembered the op vividly, though I didn’t recall a photographer. The black leather micro mini skirt and fishnets were highlighted with hot pink thigh high boots
“They don’t keep those files in the system as long as you’d think,” he went on as he drummed his hands on the arms of his chair. “If it’s been ten years or more it definitely wouldn’t be there.”
Ten. My unlucky number today, or so it seemed.
“How would I go about getting a hard copy of the case file?” I wondered aloud. There had to be a way. Whoever sent me this message had done so for a reason. Wanted me to find out what had happened though I couldn’t yet comprehend why or how. Either that or my John Smith sender intended to lure me into a trap. He definitely hadn’t given me a hell of a lot to go on. And, he could be a she . There was no way to know for certain. The fact that a he had shipped the package to me, didn’t mean he knew what was inside it.
“Depends upon the judge,” Max explained. “The cases are usually filed by court, then by judge. If the one who presided over the case is retired it might be more difficult to locate the files. But they have to be out there somewhere.” He shoved his glasses into place. “Find the judge and you’ll find the file.”
Since I had no more idea who the judge had been on the case than who the man in the photograph was, the task could take some time. Frankly, I wasn’t even sure the number represented a court case. I was guessing on that one. But Max had come to the same conclusion so I would work under that assumption. My dad had served as a judge. I should have remembered more about how the cases were filed.
“Sorry I couldn’t give you any more than that, Mrs. C.”
Steven’s friends had called me Mrs. C., for Carter, my married name. That I was no longer a missus or a Carter didn’t enter Max’s logic. I didn’t bother correcting him.
“I could try tapping some of my other contacts.” His fingers flew across the keys, taking his system back to his home site. “I know a dude in the Bureau.”
“I’d really appreciate it, Max.” He’d scanned the photo. Any databases he could think to try later would be great.
“Let me know if you come across anything.” I tucked the original photo back into my bag and gifted him with a big smile. “It was good to see you. You’ll have to come to dinner some time when Steven’s home for the weekend.” These days that didn’t happen very often. Hey, maybe I could use Max coming to dinner as bait to lure my son home.
I pushed to my feet, grateful to be out of that stiff chair. My ass would be deliriously happy in about ten minutes when the feeling returned. “I owe you one.”
Always polite, Max hurried to stand, shoving his chair back so fast that it banged against a nearby file cabinet. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot before he appeared to find his voice. “Ah...Mrs. C., would you mind autographing something for me?”
My brow scrunched into a frown. Autograph something? “Sure, Max...but...” Why in Sam Hill would he want my autograph? If Steven had told him another one of those wild stories about his mother once being a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader I’d have to ground him until he was at least thirty. But he hadn’t done anything like that since his senior year of high school. I was praying he hadn’t regressed. Taking advantage of a naïve friend, even one who was twenty-three and likely a bona fide genius, wasn’t very nice.
Before I could ask for further clarification Max had rummaged around in a drawer and pulled out a glossy eight by ten photograph. I blinked once, twice, then looked again to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
A candid shot had been taken of me on a joint undercover operation with HPD. I remembered the op vividly, though I didn’t recall a photographer. The black leather micro mini skirt and fishnets were highlighted with hot pink thigh high boots
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