The walk from High Street to the municipal building took six minutes against a cold wind off the Elizabeth River.

The basement level of the Portsmouth Municipal Building smelled of dry paper and floor wax.

Clara Potts lined up her yellow highlighters side by side on her counter before she lifted the gray file binder from the shelf behind her.

“I pulled the cross-index under your grandfather’s name the minute Daniel called down,” Clara said in her dry, polite tone.

“This came across our desk in August.”