I left the phone booth, walked past the tall wooden card catalogs, and stepped into the carpeted quiet of the local history reading room.

Captain Robert Keller, thirty-nine years old, stood at stiff attention beside a tall mahogany bookcase in civilian clothes, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

He didn’t offer his hand or relax his straight-backed stance as I came up to the heavy walnut reading table by the back wall.

“Sit down, Captain,” I said quietly, taking the wooden chair that faced the row of frosted windows.

Keller sat in one quick movement, keeping his forearms flat on the polished oak tabletop.