Patricia fished her keys out of a drawer and eased herself out of her chair. She was no more than five feet tall and built like a Russian nesting doll, starting from a wide base and narrowing to a point. Patricia adjusted her belt and ambled toward the basement with a slow, bowlegged gait.

The basement records room was divided into rows by metallic shelving units that were stacked with labeled boxes. Patricia wasn’t lying about the dust. It coated every surface. It was dark, and the fluorescent track lights, themselves coated in dust, did little to pierce the gloom.

Everything within the last five years was stored electronically, Patricia explained. There were plans to convert the remaining paper records, but the county hadn’t freed up funds to hire a clerical team to do all the data entry. She unlocked the metal gate and led them down an aisle. She had a slip of paper with the record information and used it like a treasure map to find her way. Patricia ran a tight operation. Everything was boxed, labeled, and organized professionally, and she found the case file quickly.

“I worked LAPD for twenty years. This is the best records room I’ve ever seen,” Hendricks said.

“Thank you,” she said, brightening up. “Why didn’t you tell me you was police?”

“Just me. She was CIA,” he said by way of explanation.

“CIA? Oh. Well, we won’t hold it against her,” Patricia said, elbowing Hendricks in the side.

“We just appreciate all your help,” Hendricks said.

“Well, I am happy to help. I had my dander up because when your Mr. Abe first called, and I heard ‘suicide,’ I just assumed he was talking about the Furst case. And you know I won’t have such a recent case until next year sometime.”

“Furst?” Hendricks asked.

“Evelyn Furst,” Patricia said, and when that still didn’t clear up the matter,“Doctor Evelyn Furst.”

“Sorry, we’re not from up here,” Jenn said.

“Evelyn Furst? The dean of medicine at the University of Pittsburgh?” Patricia prodded them unsuccessfully. “Well, it’s been in the news a lot. She lived up this way and commuted. Real tragedy. She was a nice lady. Did a lot of good. So when I heard ‘suicide,’ I just figured you were reporters looking to embarrass her. Not that you asked me, but in my opinion, it’s a free country and that ought to include your life. Not that I ever would, but it’s the principle.”

“You said it,” Hendricks said.

“Nope, just here for that one,” Jenn said.

“Say, Patricia, you think I could get a copy of the Musgrove file?” Hendricks asked.

“The whole thing?”

“It would sure help me out.”

Patricia looked uncertain. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t.”