Robert Whitlow - Deeper Water

"It's checked out in my name, so let me return it to her. Are you going to use the firm car?"

"Unless you give me the keys to your motorcycle."

Zach managed a slight smile. "This is a more explosive situation than you realize. A getaway on a motorcycle might be your best means of escape."

"And I'm not going to be reckless, on or off a motorcycle." I stepped toward the door. "I'll talk to you before doing anything else. I promise."

THE FIRM CAR had been checked out by the runner going to the federal courthouse. She wouldn't be returning for an hour and a half.

Bob Kettleson's paralegal had left me a note on the library door. I went to her cubicle where she handed me a memo instructing me to research the relative priorities of eminent domain for a parcel of riverfront property claimed by a private utility and the city, state, and federal governments. When I returned to the library, Julie was there.

"Oversleep?" she asked.

"No, I've already talked to Vince, Mr. Carpenter, and Zach this morning."

"Not all at once, I hope."

"No, although that could happen."

"Yeah, if Mr. Carpenter served as mediator. Vinny has come by twice looking for you. I think he used a bathroom excuse to get out of a big important meeting with Mr. Braddock and a rich client."

"What did he want?"

"I don't know. I asked him if it had to do with lunch, and he shook his head. Have you hurt his feelings?"

"No."

"You know how confident he always looks with that laptop under his arm, but he seemed worried about something. I offered to be a sounding board for him if he gets lovesick and needs a friendly ear."

"No, you didn't."

"But I thought about it. I've helped more couples work through issues than a marriage counselor. My mother still wishes I'd become a psychologist."

"Vince doesn't need psychotherapy. He's more stable than the hard drive of his computer."

"That's not bad," Julie said approvingly. "I'm rubbing off on you."

I BEGAN WORKING on the eminent domain project but kept a careful eye on the clock. Vince didn't return, and Julie was engrossed in her own research. As soon as an hour and a half passed, I went to the receptionist desk. The car was available until noon, and directions to the storage facility in hand, I drove across town to a modern, threestory building with a reflective glass exterior. Microfilm can't be kept in a miniwarehouse without climate control, and the storage company shared the space with two insurance companies, an investment adviser group, and a CPA firm. I took the elevator to a top-floor office. A nice-looking man about my age with dark hair and dressed in blue jeans and a casual shirt sat behind a tall desk. He wore a name tag with "Eddie" on it. The area was filled with rows of lockable file cabinets in the middle and small rooms around the edges.

"I'm from Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. I need access to their microfilm records."

"Sign in," Eddie said, sliding a logbook in front of me. "Have you been here before?"

"No. I'm a summer clerk."

"Where are you in law school?"

"University of Georgia."

While I wrote my name, Eddie typed on his computer. "There is a reader set up in their site," he said. "If you want hard copies, it also serves as a printer. It's a lot like the machines you find in a modern deed room."

I'd not been in enough modern or old-fashioned deed rooms to know what he meant. I followed him to one of the enclosed rooms.

"This is it."

I put the key in the door and opened it.

"Make sure you sign out at the front when you leave," he said.

I hesitated.

"Do you know how to use the reader?" he asked.

"No."

We stepped inside. The walls were lined with lateral filing cabinets that had numbers on the front. The reader looked a lot like a computer.

"Slip the film in here," he said, "then turn this knob until you reach the file you want. If you want to make a copy, press the Print button."

The button was clearly marked.

"How do I find a particular file in the cabinets?"

He pointed to two cassettes lying beside the reader. "You can scroll through the index of files alphabetically and locate the numbers for the cassettes in the cabinets."

It seemed easy enough. I sat down in a chair in front of the reader. "Thanks," I said.

Eddie didn't leave. "If you need specific help, I'll be here," he said. "I'm going to start applying to law schools after the first of the year. How do you like it?"

"It's hard but a great education."

"Do you have a business card?" he asked.

The fact that I was alone in the facility with a man I didn't know made me feel suddenly uneasy. I turned in my chair and cleared my throat so I wouldn't sound nervous.

"No, they don't give those to summer clerks."

"How about your home number or e-mail address?" he asked. "I'd like to chat sometime. You know, get your opinion about schools."

"I don't give out personal information to people I don't know," I said, trying to sound professional.

He pointed to his name tag. "My name is Eddie Anderson."

"Eddie, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

He left. I took a few deep breaths and made sure the door to the tiny room locked behind him. However, I suspected the custodian of the records probably had a master key for the whole facility. I offered up a prayer for protection. The thought of looking through old files that might hold clues to Lisa Prescott's disappearance was creepy enough without adding the young man to the mix.

I checked the index for files with Carpenter in the heading and wrote down the locations. Before I had a chance to pull any of the cassettes, a knock at the door made me jump. I didn't want to open it, but couldn't think of a way to avoid it. I stood and planted my right foot firmly in place to prevent him from easily forcing his way into the room. I cracked open the door.

"Yes?" I asked tensely.

"Someone from your office called when he couldn't get you on your cell."

I quickly decided not to inform him that I didn't own a cell phone.

"Is there a message?"

"Call Vince Colbert."

"Do you have a phone I can use?"

"Sorry, but it's not allowed. And you took my request a few minutes ago the wrong way. It wasn't a lame pickup line. I'm trying to find out information about law schools from people who actually go there. I took a tour through the admissions office at Georgia, but I'm sure part of it was propaganda-"

"I'm not the best person to give you a broad view," I interrupted. "I live off campus and keep to myself, but I'll take a minute to talk before I leave. Where is the nearest phone?"

Eddie glanced past me.

"In your purse?" he asked, gesturing toward the place where I'd put it on the table beside the reader.

"No."

"Then you can use my cell. It's at the sign-in desk."

"Thanks."

As we returned to the entrance area, I felt slightly ashamed at my harsh reaction. Eddie reached under the desk and handed me a phone.

"Reception is best in that part of the room," he said, pointing to a place near a window.

"Thanks."

I went to the window, called the office, and asked for Vince. While I waited on hold, I tried to imagine why he'd made the effort to track me down at the storage facility. He picked up the phone.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to solve the mystery of Lisa Prescott's disappearance. Is there a problem?"

"Interest in what you're doing has gone up the ladder at the firm. I went into Mr. Braddock's office to get a file for a meeting and saw a memo on his desk from Mr. Carpenter. The subject line included your name."

"What did it say?"

"Both Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Braddock are very familiar with the Prescott case. Mr. Carpenter attached copies of your memos about Moses Jones and mentioned that it was time `for us to find a way to finish what our fathers started."'