The morning rain whipped against the frosted strip mall window behind him, smearing the neon sign of the pharmacy next door.

I recognized the heavy cotton paper poking out from the edges of the folder.

It was the confidential investigator’s report Arthur had asked a former colleague at the state bureau for.

“My contact sent this by secure courier an hour ago,” Arthur said.

He straightened his wire-rimmed glasses and tapped the thick cover with one index finger.

“I had to call in a favor from my prosecutor’s office days to get it released.”

“Is this the complete background file?” I asked.