He scans the text, notices key words struck out at regular intervals; names of places, individuals, dates. All removed. He thinks of the doctor, in the cold room at the morgue. The kid on the gurney. Steven Childress.Lieutenant Rodgers enters the office. “Marshal, I've got something one of our civilian support staff just turned up...”Whicher pauses over the keyboard.“It's a misdemeanor report,” the lieutenant says. “A caution. Given to Childress. Earlier this year.”The marshal pushes the swivel chair away from the desk. “A misdemeanor?”The lieutenant reads from the print-out in his hand. “Arrested. Not charged. Making a public nuisance. Outside the bank.”“This bank?”“Yes, sir. And get this—Childress' place of residence at the time is given not as Alpine, but Lafayette, Louisiana.”Whicher stares at the younger man.“Right where that airport robbery took place. Gilman James' home town.”“Yeah, yeah, I got that.”Rodgers offers him the print-out. “This thing didn't come up first time we searched the record.
