“I was,” Howard said.

“And I’ve been holding on to your mother’s file ever since.”

At a quarter past one, Howard got up from his desk and waved for us to follow him into the back conference room.

The windowless room held a long mahogany table, six padded chairs and a heavy combination safe built into the bottom of the plaster wall.

Howard went down on one knee, spun the combination from memory, and swung the steel door wide.

He reached into the dark inside and took out a faded manila folder tied with yellow cloth ribbon.