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was deaf. He’d kept his back turned to me a good portion of the time while I was being interrogated. Only allowed me to see what he wanted me to hear, in a manner of speaking. But I was no fool. I gathered from his tense body language that he did not like what I had done.
    Go figure. I helped pluck a murderer off the street—one he had failed to nail—and he had the audacity to be furious with me! Men, I would never get them. Especially cops and firemen. And I’d grown up in a houseful of guys who turned out to be one or the other.
    I opened the next drawer, inserted the file and slammed the drawer back into its niche. Just because I was a woman didn’t mean I wasn’t as capable as any man. And just because I was deaf didn’t mean I was helpless! I hated it when people looked at me that way.
    Gentle fingers took hold of my chin and guided my face to the right, drawing me back to the here and now. My dear friend and co-worker, Helen Golden, smiled at me and said, Honey, I know you had a rough night last night but don’t take it out on the file cabinets. She smoothed a loving hand over the beige metal to emphasize her point. It’s our job to preserve the past. It’s what we do for the future. She arched a skeptical eyebrow. Even if some of us aren’t satisfied being a mere historical archivist.
    “Not you, too,” I grouched. Was everyone around me against me?
    My co-worker looked stung. I have plans, too.
    I sighed. She was right. By this time next year she would be working at some fancy-shmancy law firm. “I’m sorry, Helen, but I had to do this.” She, of all people, should understand.
    Helen folded her arms over her chest and tried to look annoyed, but she failed miserably. Do you know that the chief—the chief of detectives, mind you—called me into his office this morning to question me about what you’ve been up to? Why, I’ve worked at Metro for twenty years and not once have I ever been summoned to his office.
    Okay, maybe she was a little irritated at that. How could everything have gone so wrong? I hadn’t meant for it to be this way. The murderer had been caught red-handed with the body—well, there was still the small technicality of identifying the remains. It had been two years, it wasn’t like they were visibly identifiable. But I knew. My letters and that call were what had prompted the bad guys into action.
    Sawyer and Carlyle were both being detained as individuals of interest for questioning. The two men’s overpriced lawyers were pitching a hissy-fit, but this time the law was on the side of the police. They not only had human remains but had caught Sawyer and Carlyle preparing to bury said remains beneath eighty yards of cement. The cement-company driver had been brought in for questioning as well. As I had suspected, he’d merely followed orders, delivering a truck with the requested amount of cement at the time and to the place designated. Money talked. No good businessman quizzed a well-paying client.
    Faring no better than the suspects, I had spent the better part of the day yesterday being interrogated by Barlow as well as Chief Nathan Kent, the chief of detectives Helen spoke of. Both detectives appeared to be furious that I had taken this mission upon myself.
    I explained over and over how the case had been misfiled and I’d ended up reading it out of curiosity. The plan had come to me in a blast of inspiration that I couldn’t explain. I had been searching for some way to fulfill myself. To feel as if I was once more contributing to society. I hoped that if I proved successful in bringing Sawyer to justice I might be able to move into a position with Metro that would serve two purposes—self-fulfillment as well as community service. But that scenario appeared to have bombed big time. The whole ordeal had turned out way different than I had anticipated.
    What’s worse, you read a cold-case file and tracked down the real killer. Helen shook her head from side to side, a