“Yes?” There was a long pause.

“Are you there?” Addis asked.

“Well, you only said you’re interested. What’s that supposed to mean to me?”

“Can you help me with that?”

“Maybe. But you have to ask.”

Shit. Another pain in the ass.

“I thought I was asking, ma’am. Can you please look up some records for me? I have an address. It’s—”

“You have the property identification number? You got to have the property identification number.” She sounded like an older woman.

“Okay.”

“And how far back do you want to go?”

“Fifteen, twenty years.”

Addis shuffled through the records.

“Is this going to take all day?” she asked. “You know, we don’t have to take phone requests.”

“I’m looking.”

“Maybe you should call back. The office is shutting early. We got the funeral for the chief processor.”

“Wait a moment. I’ll get the number.”

“I got to go. Try back tomorrow.”

“Hey,” Addis said, as he kept searching, “you a Cougars fan?”

“Sure am. My cousin’s grandson is on the team this year. How do you know about them? All the way in St. Louis?”

Heard a bunch of old farts talking about them.

“Read about them in a sports magazine. They sound like a great team.” He found the number.

“Best in the state two years now. They’re gonna do it again.”

“That’s what I saw.”

“So do you have the property identification number?” The edge in her voice was gone.

“Think so.”

Addis read her the string of digits, and she went off to check. He looked at his computer screen and called up his phone messages. Still nothing from Lancette. The clerk returned to the phone.

“Got it,” she said.

She started to read through the file, which was in reverse-chronological order: There was the development firm that purchased the land from the Hanovers, the Hanovers themselves—“Now that’s interesting,” she said—the Elva Partnership, and the one before that.

On the computer screen, the list of phone messages changed. A new message appeared: Julia Lancette was holding for him.

“And then there was—”

“Can I put you on hold a moment?” Addis asked.

“Honey, they’re all waiting for me. If you’re too busy …”

“No, no, sorry.” He waited for her to proceed and gazed at the screen. If Lancette tired of waiting and hung up, one of the White House operators would turn the holding-for-you message into a called-for-you message.

“Then there was Peters. Yeah, a Peters. P.E.T.E.R.S. Peters, Helen. H.E.L.E.N.—”

“Okay, Helen Peters. Thanks. I have a call on the other line; it’s an emergency. I’ll call back if I need more.”

“But—”

Addis cut her off and picked up Lancette.

“I need a favor,” she said.

He heard street noises coming across the line.