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Mr. Harper whatever help he requests.”
    “That’s any help, Mr. Fulkerson. If you incur any cost, just forward them directly to me.”
    “I completely understand.” The mention of potential revenue brightened his demeanor considerably.
    “Are we finished here?” she asked.
    Logan looked at Fulkerson, who nodded.
    “Yep,” Logan said. “That about covers it.”
    “Just call if you need anything else.”
    “Will do, Callie. Thanks.” He disconnected the call, and looked at the detective. “So we’re good?”
    “Yes.” Fulkerson still wore some of his earlier resentment, but he’d obviously gotten the message.
    “Excellent. How did you determine Sara Lindley wasn’t who she said she was?”
    “All that’s in the report.”
    “I’m sure it is,” Logan said, waiting.
    Fulkerson sucked in a breath, and blew it out through his teeth. “Various ways. First we checked the background she’d given her husband, but could find no trace of her prior to when she’d moved to Riverside. Then we checked with the management company that runs the apartment building she was living in when she and Mr. Lindley met. From them we were able to get a copy of her rental application, which, we’d been told, had been thoroughly checked and approved. None of the previous addresses or jobs she listed actually exist, but since they were back east—”
    “Philadelphia?”
    Fulkerson gave Logan an obligatory smile. “Right. Because of that, the management company relied strictly on phone calls. Turns out all the phone numbers she listed were for disposable phones you can pick up at any convenience store.”
    “Let me guess,” Logan said. “None of them are active anymore.”
    “Not a single one.”
    “Did you check the addresses?”
    “Mr. Harper, we doknow how to do our job. Of course we checked them. In fact we went so far as to hire an investigator in Philadelphia to visit each location. The addresses themselves existed, but the businesses they were supposed to represent never did.”
    That was consistent with what was already clear—whoever Sara Lindley really was, she didn’t want anyone to find out. “What else?”
    “Driver’s license, fake. Social Security number, valid, but was actually issued to a woman killed in a car accident overseas three years ago. The Social Security Administration doesn’t even know that yet.”
    The door to the office opened and Mary reentered. She set a gray, nine-by-twelve-inch envelope on Fulkerson’s desk, and retreated without saying a word.
    “Your copy of the report,” Fulkerson said, nodding to the envelope.
    Logan grabbed it and pulled out the sheaf of about two dozen pages, stapled together in the upper corner. The top sheet was an assignment report, detailing the information Callie had given FNR. Logan flipped to the next page.
    “Are you going to read that now?” Fulkerson asked. “Mrs. Johnson’s firm isn’t my only client. I do have other things that need my attention.”
    Logan was tempted to meticulously go over every page, but the only thing that would accomplish was pissing off Fulkerson again. As satisfying as that might be, it would only make things more difficult. He did a quick thumb-through of the pages, stopping only on the summary of potential leads near the back.
    “Did you follow up on any of these?” he asked.
    “Any of what?”
    Logan turned the report around and pointed at the list of five items. Three were derived from information they’d gathered from Alan, no more than offhand comments or feelings—Sara’s desire to go to San Francisco, her interest in art, and something she’d said once about the Midwest that made Alan think she’d spent considerable time there at some point. The other two were based on mobile phone records, calls Sara had made to Alan that were pinpointed to cell towers nowhere near Riverside. One was in the Laguna Beach area, while the other was at the far side of the state, in Braden near the border with Arizona.