A/N: See disclaimers in first chapter.
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Nick sighed as he walked up to the Ballroom level. He had already spent 40 minutes in the security office, while the harried volunteers found someone with the power to authorize releasing Clarence Simmons' registration information. Nick had waited; reasoning that finding someone who actually worked for the Con who could help him would take less time than securing a warrant. He questioned his decision though, as someone on staff who could sanction the release of the records was finally located. Even with the readily granted permission, they couldn't simply provide him the information, sending him instead to another area of the Convention grounds. He was frowning as he made his way into the registration area where that information was stored. A warrant would definitely have been faster.
His hand moved to his forehead as he spotted the throng of people waiting in the huge ballroom, milling in groups near each registration station, or waiting in what seemed to be an endlessly turning queue. He scanned the signs above each table, heading to the one marked 'Badges'. "Excuse me," He shouldered his way through the crowd waiting around near the station. "I'm Nick Stokes with…"
"We'll call your name when your badge is ready sir."
"With the Crime Lab," he went on, "I need to speak with someone about the registration of one of your attendees."
"Oh." The young woman looked up, eyes on the badge he was already holding out. "Police? What did you need? Registration? You'll need to fill out a form and wait in…"
"No," Nick interrupted, "I don't want to register. I want to find out about the registration of someone else. Official investigation."
"Oh. I can't help you. I just have badges." She held up a handful of two-day passes. You need one of the Payment booths. They've got the computer information. The line," she pointed to the beginning of the queue, "Starts there."
Another sigh escaped him as he eyed the rows of people, unconsciously massaging his head again. Steeling his shoulders, he walked past the line, ignoring the grumbles and protests of the folks standing there. He frowned as a rather uncomplimentary shout regarding his manhood reached his ears. He would have thought these paranormal type people would be more into peace, love, and all that new age stuff.
"Excuse me," his voice was harsher than he had intended as he stepped in front of a young woman in a long lavender skirt, "Crime Lab, Official Business." He held up his ID to the harried man behind the counter, "I need the registration information on Clarence Simons. He came in on Thursday. I need to know which programs he's registered for, and which he attended. And I'll need to contact the, ah…speakers, at each program." He paused, "Got permission from your boss already…" He glanced at the man's name tag. "Buddy…" Jeez…who really went by that name? "So why don't you get me that information quickly now."
"Ah…Crime Lab?" The middle-aged man stared at Nick with wide eyes. "Has Mr.…ah….what did you say his name was again? Has he done something?"
"Simons. And yes, he died." Nick sighed, pressing his hands against his temples. He flashed an apologetic smile to the young woman whose spot in line he had taken. "Shouldn't take too long, M'am."
"Headache." she returned, mildly, her own smile flashing quickly.
"Excuse me?"
"You have a headache. I can help you with that." She smiled again, her eyes wide, "I'm a Healer."
"Ah. No. No thank you, M'am. That won't be necessary." He shrugged, letting his hands fall to his sides, "It's nothing. And I really do need to be working just now." His gaze returned to Buddy as the man thrust a computer printout into his hands. "All the programs Mr. Simons was signed up for. But…we're pretty loose around here; he could have changed his mind and done something else. I…I also gave you a list of the hotel room numbers of all our Guest Speakers. That's ah…very confidential and…"
"Don't worry about it Buddy," now Nick was smiling, "I'll keep it safe. Thank you." As he turned around the young woman thrust a business card into his hands. "If you change your mind, I really can take care of that headache."