“The driver was standing right behind him by the water fountain.”

I held the blue folder against my coat and walked down the wide marble staircase toward the front doors.

The cold autumn wind hit my face as soon as I pushed through the heavy glass entrance, carrying the smell of damp oak leaves from the square.

I took the city bus back to my small rented room above the bakery on Main Street and stood on the sidewalk by the downstairs entrance.

My gray Buick was parked along the curb where I had left it the night before, its rear tires against the concrete edge.