Back at my office, my mind strayed while I looked up my bank balance. Enough to keep rent from bouncing, plus a crucial coffee cushion. Tapping my pen on my checkbook, my eyes came to rest on the messenger bag that held my notes and some of my research materials. I’d spent several hours reviewing files last night, but I hadn’t reviewed my notes. Time to remedy that.
The handwriting on the yellow legal pad was legible, but my improvised shorthand sometimes stymied even me. Flipping through page after page of notes, I didn’t skim, but let the words flow past like water. I paused at the personnel list I’d made from the Archive records. Some of the staff were identified only by initial and surname—J. Travers, for example. Needless to say, those were individuals I’d been unable to track down.
