face in the picture.
He looked in the envelope but there were no more photographs. He checked the list of documents and exhibits in the file. Item 37 read “Photograph of Lt. James Spencer.” But the photograph wasn’t in the file.
Sam took some paper clips from a container on the counter and clipped the deposition of the man on the beach, the picture of Slade and the two letters to Dorothy Spencer with the inventory identifying the parchments and then rang for the clerk.
A young enlisted man appeared at the counter.
“I have some documents I’d like to have copied.
Also, I can’t seem to find one of the photographs identified on the exhibits list in the file.”
The clerk took the file and looked at the list and then through the photos in the envelope. “i don’t know what could have happened to it, sir. I suppose it’s possible someone could have removed it along the way.” The clerk continued
to rummage through the papers clipped in the folder. “Most of these files have been sitting in a warehouse for years, and there’s no telling who may have looked at them or had possession of ‘em over that time.”
“Are there any other files on this case?”
“No, this is it, sir. I think the lieutenant probably told you, another gentleman asked for the same file last week.
He was quite insistent that he see everything and we turned the place upside down to make sure that nothing else existed.”
“Do you know if the other man asked to copy any of the documents?”
“No, I don’t think he did. I would have done the copying if he had.”
“I don’t suppose that I could get a picture of James Spencer from any other navy files.”
“Not likely. Most of the personnel records from the last war would have been carted off to central warehouses in the Midwest a good ten years ago. Those that weren’t essential for military or veterans’ benefit programs would have been destroyed.”
Sam continued to paw through the file while the enlisted man disappeared to make the copies.
Three minutes later Bogardus collected his copies and headed for the parking lot.
Pausing at the car he casually turned to check the entrance to the administration building. The absence of any marine guards scurrying down the stairs behind him confirmed his theory. Someone had lifted the photograph of James Spencer and the navy had never missed it. Nor had they learned their lesson. Undoing two lower buttons on his dress shirt, Bogardus slipped the fingers of his right hand into the shirt and removed the navy file photograph of Raymond Slade. He studied it for several seconds, then placed it in the file folder with the copied materials. Xeroxed copies of black-and-white photos just didn’t cut it.
A half hour later Sam was back in the city. It was nearly four in the afternoon when he arrived at the office. A note was taped to the back of his chair, an invitation from Pat to meet her for dinner. Sam had no illusions; he knew she wanted to discuss business.
There was also a telephone message from Angie. The note under the name told him to “Call before leaving the office.”
He dialed his mother’s number and after a single ring he heard the familiar high-pitched voice.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Oh Sam, I’m glad you called.” He had to pull the phone away from his head to prevent damage to his eardrum. Angie possessed a piercing voice, particularly when she was excited or agitated, which as she grew older seemed to be nearly all the time. “I want you to come over to dinner tonight. I have a pot roast in the oven, potatoes, carrots—your favorite.” She spoke in a rapid staccato. “I haven’t had a chance to sit and talk with you in such a long time, I thought that perhaps we could …”
“Mom, I can’t make it tonight.”
“… just visit like we used to. Remember how it was before you went off to law school, before you met that girl? We had such wonderful times, just the two of us.” The elevated pitch of her
He looked in the envelope but there were no more photographs. He checked the list of documents and exhibits in the file. Item 37 read “Photograph of Lt. James Spencer.” But the photograph wasn’t in the file.
Sam took some paper clips from a container on the counter and clipped the deposition of the man on the beach, the picture of Slade and the two letters to Dorothy Spencer with the inventory identifying the parchments and then rang for the clerk.
A young enlisted man appeared at the counter.
“I have some documents I’d like to have copied.
Also, I can’t seem to find one of the photographs identified on the exhibits list in the file.”
The clerk took the file and looked at the list and then through the photos in the envelope. “i don’t know what could have happened to it, sir. I suppose it’s possible someone could have removed it along the way.” The clerk continued
to rummage through the papers clipped in the folder. “Most of these files have been sitting in a warehouse for years, and there’s no telling who may have looked at them or had possession of ‘em over that time.”
“Are there any other files on this case?”
“No, this is it, sir. I think the lieutenant probably told you, another gentleman asked for the same file last week.
He was quite insistent that he see everything and we turned the place upside down to make sure that nothing else existed.”
“Do you know if the other man asked to copy any of the documents?”
“No, I don’t think he did. I would have done the copying if he had.”
“I don’t suppose that I could get a picture of James Spencer from any other navy files.”
“Not likely. Most of the personnel records from the last war would have been carted off to central warehouses in the Midwest a good ten years ago. Those that weren’t essential for military or veterans’ benefit programs would have been destroyed.”
Sam continued to paw through the file while the enlisted man disappeared to make the copies.
Three minutes later Bogardus collected his copies and headed for the parking lot.
Pausing at the car he casually turned to check the entrance to the administration building. The absence of any marine guards scurrying down the stairs behind him confirmed his theory. Someone had lifted the photograph of James Spencer and the navy had never missed it. Nor had they learned their lesson. Undoing two lower buttons on his dress shirt, Bogardus slipped the fingers of his right hand into the shirt and removed the navy file photograph of Raymond Slade. He studied it for several seconds, then placed it in the file folder with the copied materials. Xeroxed copies of black-and-white photos just didn’t cut it.
A half hour later Sam was back in the city. It was nearly four in the afternoon when he arrived at the office. A note was taped to the back of his chair, an invitation from Pat to meet her for dinner. Sam had no illusions; he knew she wanted to discuss business.
There was also a telephone message from Angie. The note under the name told him to “Call before leaving the office.”
He dialed his mother’s number and after a single ring he heard the familiar high-pitched voice.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Oh Sam, I’m glad you called.” He had to pull the phone away from his head to prevent damage to his eardrum. Angie possessed a piercing voice, particularly when she was excited or agitated, which as she grew older seemed to be nearly all the time. “I want you to come over to dinner tonight. I have a pot roast in the oven, potatoes, carrots—your favorite.” She spoke in a rapid staccato. “I haven’t had a chance to sit and talk with you in such a long time, I thought that perhaps we could …”
“Mom, I can’t make it tonight.”
“… just visit like we used to. Remember how it was before you went off to law school, before you met that girl? We had such wonderful times, just the two of us.” The elevated pitch of her
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