There were no knickknacks of any kind—nothing of a personal nature at all—the single shelf holding only folders leaking papers. It didn’t look as if he had been here long. Light rectangular shadows showed where pictures had once hung. The only thing on the walls besides his detective certificate was a dusty bulletin board with hundreds of sticky notes thumbtacked to it, hanging right over that long table. They were faded and curling, with cryptic messages only Glenn could probably decipher.

“What are these?” I asked as he checked to see that the blinds on his window overlooking the open floor were closed.

“Notes from an old case I’m working on.” He had a preoccupied tone in his voice as he edged back to his keyboard and typed in a string of letters. “Why don’t you sit down?”

I stood in the middle of his office, staring at him. “Where?” I finally asked.

He looked up, reddening as he realized he was standing over the only chair. “I’ll be right back.” He moved around his desk, coming to an awkward halt before me until I got out of his way. His gait was stilted as he edged past me and strode out.

Thinking his office was the most inhospitable slice of FIB bureaucracy I had seen yet, I took off my hat and coat, hanging them on the nail sticking out from the back of his door. Bored, I wandered to his desk. A welcome screen with a blinking prompt waited.

A rattle preceded Glenn as he pushed a rolling swivel chair into his office. Giving me an apologetic look, he set it next to his. I dropped my bag on his barren desk and sat beside him, leaning forward to see. I watched him type in three passwords: dolphin, tulip, and Monica. Old girlfriend? I wondered. They showed up on the screen as asterisks, but he was a two-fingered typist and it wasn’t hard to follow.

“Okay,” he said, pulling to him a notepad with a list of names and ID numbers. I glanced at the first and looked back at the screen. With a painful slowness, he furrowed his brow and started to type them in. Tap. Pause. Tap, tap.

“Oh, just give me that,” I said, pulling the keyboard close. Keys chattering happily, I typed in the first, then grabbed the mouse and clicked the All button, making the only limit to the retrieval being those entries made in the last twelve months.

A query came on the screen, and I hesitated. “Which printer?” I asked.

Glenn said nothing, and I turned to see him leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed before him. “I bet you take the remote away from your boyfriend, too,” he said, pulling the keyboard back in front of him and reclaiming the mouse.