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Conroy worked from his home office on the bay side: 2555 Pine Shore Lane I made a left at Pine Shore and looked for 2555 It was a sht blue trim A dark blue Toyota parked out front The street dead-ended a few hundred feet froh traffic The kind of house a retiree ht be

I went up the walk and knocked on a front door flanked by rose bushes, their sal the air The walk bisected the yard into two sreen squares Apart from the lohite noise of distant traffic, the occasional shrieks of gulls were the only sound I stood and watched a pelican dive for the bay As it swooped in, I heard a voice rumble behind me

“Can I help you?”

I snapped around A ht stood in the doorway Late fifties, thinning hair Face brown and wrinkled with the squint of a fisherrinned at my discomfiture

“Or did you just come to admire the scenery?” he asked

After we’d exchanged introductions, Conroy led hed down by piles of paper He picked a stack of folders off a chair and nodded toward it I sat I’anized person, but Conroy’s office made me look fastidious

“Coffee? Tea? Water?” he asked

“Coffee would be nice”

“Sugar? Milk?”

“Just black”

“Good Cause that’s all I’ve got I don’t even have fucking hed “Pardon my French”

“Don’t worry about it”

“Good I won’t fucking worry about it then” He guffawed I smiled in return He poured a Styrofoam cup of brew from a carafe on a side table

He landed in his chair and propped his feet on the desk “So, how can I help you?”

“I was hoping I could help you”