The director smiled as she said, “It’s all about the Internet nowadays. I’d steer them to Elizabeth, our new technical services person.”
“She here today?”
“She’s here every day. She’s become our most crucial employee, complete with a master’s degree in the subject. Would you like me to introduce you?”
She led him to another part of the library, suitably equipped with several computer stations, and to the desk of a young woman with an infectious smile and bright, intelligent eyes.
“Elizabeth? Special Agent Joe Gunther, of the VBI.”
The librarian’s face lit up. “Am I supposed to call you a G-man? It qualifies, even if it’s state government.”
Joe laughed. “Oh, Lord-please don’t. People are confused enough about who we are.”
“You’re the result of political expediency,” she said, shaking hands. “But I think it’s a great idea, and I hear good things about what you do.”
He was impressed. “I think I’ve come to the right person,” he told her boss. “Thanks so much.”
“How can I help you?” Elizabeth asked as the director walked away.
Joe repeated his earlier question, adding, “The reason I ask is that I’m hoping you helped an elderly woman a while back, who clearly had no idea what the Internet was, or probably even how to operate a computer.”
Elizabeth looked astonished. “Wow. You really are a G-man. How did you know that? That’s like a perfect description.”
Joe allowed himself a moment’s elation. Once in a while, he thought, things actually could come together.
“Did she give a name?” he asked.
There, Elizabeth was less helpful, however. “No, and we usually don’t ask. It goes with the whole confidentiality thing. She was really nice, though.”
“What did she want to know?”
Elizabeth rose from her desk and walked over to one of the computer stations. “She had heard about computers. Just never operated one. And while her typing was wicked rusty, I could tell she’d been trained. She put her hands on the keyboard like an old pro, sort of instinctively.”
“Did she mention who she was looking for?”
She shook her head. “I asked her, in order to demonstrate how Google works, or one of the other search engines we use, but she was clearly not willing to talk about it, and I didn’t push.”
“Right,” he murmured. “The confidentiality thing.”
“You got it. So, after about twenty minutes of instruction, I let her be, and she hammered away right here for an hour or so. Never asked for any more help, either, which is unusual.”
“She take notes or print anything out?” Joe asked.
“Oh yeah,” Elizabeth recalled. “I forgot. She asked for a pad, so I guess she did take notes.”
Joe glanced at the blank computer screen, addressing it as he spoke to her. “I don’t suppose this has something like a history file or something-that would tell me what she looked up.”
Elizabeth laughed outright. “Oh. Big no-no in the librarian world. If it did have such a record, you’d have to get a search warrant or something before I’d open it for you, but I can spare you the effort anyhow-I wipe the memories clean at closing, every day. There’s nothing to look for.”
Joe nodded appreciatively. “I can see why your director spoke so highly of you. Can you tell me what this lady looked like, at least?”
She considered that before responding, “Sure. Small-under five-five-and kind of thin and wiry. White hair, nice eyes-blue-and really strong hands. She shook mine when she left, and I was really surprised. I thought her clothes were funny, though,” she threw in as an afterthought.
“How-funny?”
“Like they were the wrong size-bought for someone taller and bigger.”
Joe nodded, all suspicions confirmed. “And maybe a bit old-fashioned?”
Again, Elizabeth’s face showed her delight. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“How did she seem mentally?” Joe asked.
She reflected, as was her habit, it seemed, before answering, “Not a hundred percent. And it wasn’t just being old. I get a lot of that around here, so I’m used to it. But there was something else. I didn’t get to talk with her much, like I said, but I sensed something off, somehow.”
“Had you ever seen her before?” he asked suddenly.
“Nope. ’Fraid not.”
“Did she make any reference to anyone local? Or say where she was staying?”
“Just that she was from out of town, not a library member, and wondered if it was okay to use the computers, which of course it was.”
“Anything you can add I might’ve missed?”
But she shook her head again. “I’m not super good at stuff like that. I stood next to her, so I got the height and general shape, and the eye color, but other than that, she just looked like an old lady. No horns or beard or anything.”
Joe laughed, startled. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”
* * *
He was back on the road, heading southeast, his head full of what he’d learned at the Shelburne library, and of how it interconnected with his other recent discoveries. This part of a case-in the lucky situations where it applied-was like the adrenaline rush he’d once felt as a teenage athlete, with the winning goal within his grasp. Earlier frustrations or fatigue seemed to vaporize, replaced by a sense of certainty so sure, it almost overwhelmed any realistically remaining doubt.
And yet, a small part of him felt hollow and oddly aching-a compartment in his brain not normally alive at a time like this. But he felt it nevertheless, and yielded to its need of a little nurturing.
Overriding his own sense of caution-yet again-he pulled out his cell phone while still driving.
“Hello?” came the hesitant response. “Joe? Is everything okay?”
He wasn’t used to Beverly sounding tentative. “Sure. I catch you at a bad time?” he asked.
Her voice lightened immediately. “No. Not at all. I was just thrown off-the private line combined with the odd background noise. I guess it worried me for a moment.”
“I’m on the road,” he explained. “Just wanted to say hi. Absolutely nothing else.”
He heard the warmth in her response. “Joe, there never needs to be anything else. I love it that you gave in to impulse. You are okay, though?”
He smiled, that compartment in his brain back in balance. “I am way better than okay, Beverly. Thank you.”
* * *
Les and Sam were parked across the street from Aaron Whitledge’s address in Montpelier, with a good view of the very windows that Dolores Oetjen had described, overlooking the downtown bustle. They had gone upstairs upon arrival and pounded on his door-along with those of several of his neighbors-but not surprisingly, everyone was out, presumably at work. In a town like Vermont’s state capital-the smallest such entity in the United States-employment was high, most often related to either insurance or government.
Unfortunately, at this point, they still didn’t know who wrote Aaron Whitledge’s paycheck. Les had called in for a Spillman computer check, and found little beside a couple of old speeding tickets, and they hadn’t heard back from the fusion center, which generally produced a more comprehensive portrait of any citizen, but took longer to deliver.
But it was late in the day, past most people’s working hours, and they were hoping they’d get lucky with a man who might prefer to return home before heading out to dinner or the party circuit.
Sam’s cell phone buzzed, displaying a picture of Emma on its screen. She retrieved it from the dashboard and read the caller’s name before raising her eyebrows at her partner.
“Hey, boss,” she answered, putting the phone on speaker.
“What’s your location?” Joe asked in a tinny voice.
“Downtown Mount-Peculiar. We think we located the guy who phoned Travis and maybe hired him. We’re sitting on his apartment right now.”
“I’m a few minutes out,” he told her. “I’ll hook up with you there. What’s the address?”