Ted explained to Lester, “Sometimes the judge’s clerk requests a file for one reason or another. Usually not on a case that’s already gone to auction, though. That would be unusual unless—someone has beaten us to this one. We wait and see.”

The clerk returned with a thin blue folder. “Got it. Someone must have just turned it in.”

Ted turned to see who was leaving the room. Two black-frocked Hasidim were being given the full treatment by the guards. A young woman in jeans and a Mets jersey waited her turn. None of them looked familiar. Ted realized that the person he was looking for might already be long gone; the clerks were running well behind.

He took the file to a table, surprised at how thin it felt—and soon found out why.

“Look at this!” Someone had sliced out page after page from the court record. He ran a finger over the cut. It was sharp and fresh. Razor sharp. You couldn’t get a knife past the metal scanners at the entrance, but a small, thin blade might pass if it were tucked into a briefcase. The guards upstairs looked for weapons, not miniature tools.

The damage was not random. The court record of motions and proceedings had been gutted. It was impossible to determine from the remaining pages what the main points of contention had been in the case—if any. The names of all participants, other than the presiding judge, the plaintiff, and the defendant, were gone. The Honorable M. Mandel, New York Bank v. Barbara Miller. No lawyers for either side. No information at all. What was left was a cover sheet, a description of the properties involved, and a copy of the tax map for the area with some scribbled numbers in one corner.

“Someone sat right here in the records room, with a couple of dozen lawyers surrounding him, two uniformed guards and who knows how many other citizens looking over his shoulder, and took a razor blade to this whole file.”

Lester’s face did not register the same outrage that Ted felt. Lawyers, even the defrocked ones, maintained a reverence for documents that was not always shared by other members of society.

“This is wrong,” Ted said. The arrogance of the act floored him. Distracted him.

“I can see there’s pages missing, but what’s left must tell you something,” Lester said.

“Yes,” Ted said, forcing patience. “Only it’s bare bones. I can see that this woman, Barbara Miller, was sued for nonpayment of taxes by New York Bank, the proxy for the city. What we don’t see is who represented her, what motions they made, the judge’s rulings, and all the meat that might explain why Miss Miller lost her property.”

“This is that thing Richie was all in a lather over?”