Part 13

Alexis had to go to court in the morning and deal with a judge and a settlement conference, and worry about whether or not she would get out of there in time for a client deposition at another lawyer's office at ten; then she went to the deposition and sat through it and opposing counsel's threats to make motions over a dozen of his half-baked questions which she had told the client not to answer. Then she ran to her office, looked at the telephone messages, sighed at all she had to do; did not know where to start, and walked to the police station two blocks away from her office, so as to pace off some of the stress from the morning and answer one of the messages.

Hannah Scott, the one she was there to see, was in the hall on her way back to her office, her lunch in her hands, propping up a mid-hallway door with her foot.

"Hey," she said when she saw Alexis, "Did you get my message? Come with me."

Alexis sat down across from Hannah and put her files down on the edge of Hannah's desk. Some papers fell out of one. She bent down to pick them up.

"Have some potato chips," Hannah said, pushing a bag to the middle of the desk and turning to the computer. "Let me get you a soda while this computer program gets going."

"Thanks. Diet whatever."

Hannah smiled. "Of course."

Alexis rifled through the papers. "Appalling," she thought. She often had this thought looking at old material in files. Nothing ever seemed to be as well documented as she had thought it was at the time. Her standard client form was there. Name: Zander Smith, and all of the rest of it was blank. Naturally she never could get everything filled in at first, and filled things in as a case progressed. But this form is absurd, she thought. Not even an address. Well, he lived with me; that's okay. No birth date. How can any client come through my office without my taking down a birth date? I hope that doesn't happen often.

It was not infrequent that she would read an older file of her own and have it look strange to her. It was as if the file belonged to some other organization or person. And that organization or person looked as if it were negligent and incompetent. There were so many details that had passed through her professional life, that if not for these relics, she would have forgotten it all. Sometimes, checking the oldest ones before they were closed, she couldn't even conjure up a picture of the client in her mind.

She knew she was never going to forget Zander, but she wondered at how the one client to whom she had gone so far as to offer shelter under her own roof was the one on whom she had the least data.

Social Security number; nothing, naturally. Driver's license number. Nothing. She tried to remember an occasion where he drove a car. She couldn't. She did remember Emily Quartermaine, her frequent overnight guest at the time (bringing on many annoying visits from Alan, Monica or Edward Quartermaine - or Ned Ashton, who was also there to bait or argue with Alexis herself about something having to do with the two of them - or even Reginald the Butler, sent on an Emily - search), telling her – what? Zander had driven her somewhere?

Zero phone numbers. He had been in the lock-up, which in one aspect, was helpful for Alexis, in that she didn't have to keep track of the ever changing client address and phone number. Sometimes it was as if clients demonically moved to new addresses just so she would have to find them.

She looked at her notes. Some of what she had written no longer made sense. But then she saw a short list of names with a brief heading: friends/roommates, all male. But the last was female and after it, Alexis had written "g/f."

"Girlfriend!" Alexis thought, trying to remember the girl, but concluding she had never ended up having to follow through and talk to her. But there was hope. Maybe this was the type of girl who was of normal curiosity and had gotten some basic information out of Zander.

Alexis had wracked her brains for what Emily had told her, but concluded that Emily must be a young woman exceptionally incurious about the boys she got involved with. Alexis couldn't remember a thing that hadn't been a present tense concern at the time. She remembered the Quartermaines in her face, Edward wagging his index finger at her. She remembered Emily begging her to do this or do that, let her stay, let Zander stay, find Zander, everything having to do with the now.

Alexis marveled for the tenth time that day at least that she hadn't had a single heart to heart conversation of any kind with the young man living in her very house, except for the time Emily had broken up with him over his alleged attack on her grandfather. That hadn't dredged up any of his past, certainly. Any other conversations she had with him alone were when she had to prepare him for a statement, meeting, hearing or trial; always some presently stressful situation.

They had discussions about his future here and there. He had been grateful and always wanted to find some way to help her. She'd had him deliver papers to clients and run errands for her. He teased her by pretending he would not consider a tampon-run (he'd gone out and gotten them for her, anyway). She'd sent him out for a bottle of wine one tense evening, when a glass had sounded like what would hit the spot. He got it, she remembered. Who would sell him liquor without carding him? She wondered if it was worth attempting an interview of the owner of the liquor store around the corner and down the block, but decided against it. It was too long ago, hadn't happened enough times, and of course, all the clerks would be different by now.

Hannah came in with the soda. "Thanks," Alexis said. She put the papers down and popped the soda open and took a drink. She relaxed and sat back for the first time that day.

Hannah sat down an looked onto the computer. "Man, these federal records take forever," she commented. "As for the description, name and fingerprints, there are no federal warrants and no international warrants, and the criminal history is only what we already know, which is only the stuff from last year in this jurisdiction. Take the name out and it is the same. I also tried using the name alone and there are 1,510 persons using that name."

"Strange."

"Yeah, even with the common last name. I haven't heard that particular first name before. Anyway, active missing persons: and limiting to the last 3 years, we have 6,402 missing persons of such description; but if we limit it to Florida, we have 390."

"That doesn't sound too bad. It would take a long time to look at 390 records. But it's not absolutely overwhelming."

"Did you get a chance to get the information from the hospital?"

"Yes. A committee of nurses agrees on no tattoos or major scars. Dr. Quartermaine gave me a blood type, O positive."

"It would have to be the most common one, now wouldn't it?" Hannah typed this new information in. "Still, we will eliminate everybody with a record of a different blood type and anybody with a record of any scars and tattoos. So let's see what we get from that overnight."

The afternoon was hectic too. Alexis looked at her watch to see that it was already 6 p.m. She went back to her apartment, walking quickly.

When she looked through the mail, she saw an envelope addressed to her in Emily's writing.

It was a short note to her with a letter to Zander enclosed. Apparently, Emily had some concern that if she addressed the letter to Jake's, it might not get to him. There weren't any mailboxes for people who rented rooms there, and Emily had never seen Jake do anything with the mail.

Alexis decided to take it to the hospital.

She looked for Dr. Monica Quartermaine and found her by the third floor nurse's station. "Did the blood type help?" Monica asked.

"I don't know yet. Hannah is putting the information through, and there should be another report by tomorrow. But I have something to tell you."

She showed Monica the letter.

"Well, heck," Monica said, looking at it, "I knew it would be foolish to think she would just forget about it all. And obviously she doesn't trust her own family to deliver it."

"If she had sent this straight to Jake's, she'd have wondered why she didn't get an answer."

"Lucky thing she did that," Monica answered. "Thank you for telling me, though."

"I was thinking of him. Suppose I should read it? I was just weighing the probabilities, and thought there was a chance it could be something to upset him."

"Well, I don't see how it could be anything that bad. He's sitting up, and stable. I'm going to have him taken down for tests tomorrow. Maybe it'll cheer him up."

"O.K. Do you talk to her on the phone?"

"A couple of times. Why?"

"I know you don't want to tell her anything about the shooting, but if she brings him up and you can work it, maybe pump her for any of his history she might know?"

"Sure, I can pump with the best of them," Monica smiled. "Not a bad idea, actually, since she must know more than anyone else. At least something that would be a lead. I swear I'm going to strangle him! He told me this morning that I wouldn't be able to find anything out, anyway. As if any records on him were in some fortress where they couldn't be accessed anyway."

"Hmmm. I'll go talk to him now and give him the letter."

"Good Luck," Monica said.

Zander was sitting up, and looked up at her as she came in – he definitely looked more awake and closer to normal. Alexis hugged him. "I have a really cool surprise for you," she said. She handed him the letter. "I'll get out of here, so you can read that, but let me ask you just one question first."

"You would. I don't know who is worse. You or Nurse Questioner."

Alexis laughed. "Which one is that?"

"Nurse Connor, she gets mad at me every day."

"Can't say as I blame her. I know what it feels like, because you were my client, remember? You really are a pain. Why won't you take this medication? Nurse Ques – Nurse Connor complains about it every time I see her."

"You had a question?"

"O.K., it's this. Just talking to Dr. Quartermaine about her conversations with you earlier today. I just got to thinking. Remember, I'm your lawyer, so everything you tell me is in confidence. You remember that, right? I won't tell anyone what you tell me unless you want me to. You remember that, right?"

"Yes."

"It's genetic information she is interested in. She thought you hinted to her that maybe she couldn't get any records anyway. So the thing is, do you think you were adopted?"

"No."

"So you know who your biological parents are, right?"

"Yes."

"Poor family, not able to get a lot of treatment or have preventive exams and the like?"

"No."

"Family from a foreign country?"

He hesitated a second. Alexis thought she was onto something.

"Not me."

"Your parents?"

"Yes."

"One or both?"

"Both."

"You've lived in the United States your whole life?"

"Mostly."

"You've lived in a foreign country?"

"A couple of years."

"Was this your parents' foreign country?"

"Yes. But this is not just one question."

Alexis sat back. She laughed. "O.K. I just got more than anybody ever got. I'll be satisfied. For now."

"You're a sport," he said.

"Monica doesn't want Emily in on any of this."

"I don't either."

"But she does know, right? I think there should be someone you could talk to without any reservation, you know, somebody who knows your whole story."

"No, she doesn't."

"Is it that it's hard to talk about or that you're afraid something will happen?"

"You're out of questions."

"Oh. Right. Well, good night. I will be back, unfortunately for you."

"No, that's not true," he said. "Come back whenever you want."