I’d wiped my eyes half a dozen times, but I couldn’t get the tears to stop. I was shaking, seated on Hammond’s couch with his cats eyeing me warily. Juarez looked pretty wary himself. “You’re sure it was your father?” “I haven’t heard his voice in twenty years and I have every reason to believe he’s dead, so… No, Jack, I’m not sure it was him. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d still like to follow up.” He didn’t ask any other questions. I listened as he made the request to an anonymous voice on the other end of the line, and we waited in silence until he motioned for the notepad and paper. He wrote down an address and a name, thanked the person on the other end of the line, and hung up. “It’s registered to a Jane Bellows,” he said. “ 1162 Highgate Lane. Olympia, Washington.” “Jane Bellows.” “Does the name mean anything to you?” I shook my head. When I finally had my wits about me enough to move again, I gathered the scrapbooks and the notepad and headed for the door.
