Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(67)

“Well, I just don’t know what to tell you,” Stovepipe said. “Manning this security checkpoint is about as much modern technology as I can absorb.”

“Even though it doesn’t work?”

“Shhhhh,” Stovepipe said, raising a finger to his lips. “Somebody will hear you.”

“About the files,” Joe said.

“Right. Well, I can go back and ask. I think Norm the IT guy would know that answer. But, you know, some of these county guys start leaking out of the building early.”

“Would you mind finding out if he’s still in?”

Stovepipe glanced at the wall clock. “Sure, I’ll check. Otherwise you’ll need to come back tomorrow. Or I guess I can call him at home.”

“Thank you,” Joe said.

He felt guilty for making the man get up and walk into the back of the building in search of Norm. Stovepipe had a bad hip and knee from an old bull-riding injury. His progress to the administration section in the back was painfully slow.

When he was gone, Joe stepped behind the metal detector into Stovepipe’s area where the current logbook of visitors was in plain view near Stovepipe’s chair. Each page was lined and included the name, time of entry, time of exit, and purpose of visit for everyone who came through the lobby.

Joe didn’t think he had time to review the pages in the three-ring binder. Instead, he photographed the top sheet with his cell phone and turned the page back and shot the next one. He repeated it until he’d covered eight months of records. Joe was grateful the traffic in the courthouse was sparse enough that he could document that much time and that there had been no major trials with lots of people coming and going. He noted Sue Hewitt’s name several times as he raced through the pages, but he knew he’d likely missed other times she’d signed in.

When he heard Stovepipe’s voice and another coming toward the lobby in the hallway, he flipped all the log sheets back to the current one and returned to where he’d been standing on the other side of Stovepipe’s alcove. Stovepipe appeared with Norm, who was a heavy guy wearing a short-sleeve shirt and a lanyard that extended to his belt buckle.

“Forty-eight hours,” the old cowboy said as he shuffled back to his desk. “Norm says the files are kept for forty-eight hours and then deleted or something. Some kind of technical jargon.”

“I keep asking to update the system so we have more storage capacity on it,” Norm said. “Nobody pays any attention to me.”

“Forty-eight hours of memory is not very long,” Joe lamented.

“Talk to the county commissioners,” Norm said. Then he glanced at his wristwatch to suggest that it was time for him to go home for the night.

Stovepipe shrugged. He had no opinion on the matter.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” Stovepipe asked after Norm had retreated to the bowels of the building.

“Whatever it was, it happened more than forty-eight hours ago,” Joe said.

“Sorry,” Stovepipe said as he gathered up his jacket and lunch box. “I guess it’s close enough for government work.”

“Isn’t that always the case,” Joe said.

“Come on,” Stovepipe said, “I’ll walk you out. They’re locking all the doors. We don’t want to get trapped in this hellhole for the night.”

“Is Duane Patterson in his office, by any chance?” Joe asked.

“He’s always in his office,” Stovepipe said.

“I need to see him. Don’t worry, I’ll go out through the back.”

“Suit yourself,” the old man said. “And have a great night.”

“You too.”

“Too damned bad about Sue,” Stovepipe said as he pushed through the front doors.

*

JOE BYPASSED the metal detector after Stovepipe was gone and entered the hallway that led to the courtroom. He paused and forwarded the series of photos he’d taken to Marybeth’s email account.

*

LIGHT SPILLED on the floor from the county attorney’s office when Joe turned the corner. The door was open and Joe peered inside without entering. The receptionist’s desk was empty, but behind it he could see Patterson sitting motionless at his desk behind an interior window. The county attorney could be seen in side profile. He was staring at the wall with his hands resting on his desktop.

Joe paused. It was probably not the best time to bother him. Patterson looked to be deep in thought or in some kind of coma.

That’s when Patterson turned his head and caught Joe peeking in. The county attorney looked lost and forlorn. Pitiful, even.

“Do you have a minute?” Joe asked, knowing his words probably couldn’t be heard through the glass.

Patterson motioned weakly for him to enter and then dropped his hand back to the desk.

“How are you doing?” Joe asked as he sat down across from Patterson.

“You know, Joe,” Patterson sighed, “it’s the shits.”

“You’re taking things hard,” Joe said.

Patterson leaned back in his chair. “I deal with criminals and victims all day long. I think I do a pretty good job. But that’s at a distance, you know? I don’t really know these people. They’re cases. So when something happens this close to home, when it happens to people you actually know, it’s different. Does that make sense?”