Logan Sharptwig sighed heavily as he pulled the last folder from the dusty cardboard box. Electronic records for the past twelve years had not turned up any mention of Osirion’s name. These paper records were proving to be extremely cumbersome. Even though he had been scanning quickly through the typed (and, in many cases, handwritten) reports, he simply could not afford the time it would take really to search them for clues for Osirion’s identity and, he hoped, whereabouts. And although cruisers were out scouring the area, he somehow knew that Heather’s life depended on his speed.
He leafed through the pages in the folder and, though his eyes were trained for detail, saw no sign of what he was looking for.
“There must be something somewhere that can help me,” he thought as he tossed the folder back into the box. He scooped up the other folders and redeposited them into the box and then slid it back onto the shelf beside the other several-dozen boxes that he knew he would not be able to work through.
He went back to his small office and sat down at his desk, rubbing his forehead wearily.
“Okay, Lord, there must be some sort of lead somewhere. Please help me find it,” he prayed quietly.
After a moment, he sat up straight and tapped the mouse of his computer. The screensaver of twisting and turning plumbing disappeared, and the screen reverted to his database window. He minimized it and opened a Web browser. On impulse, he googled “Osirion” and waited breathlessly for its results.
Several names popped up in the results as well as what appeared to be archaeological references, but the link for “Brittany County, Auditor’s Office” caught his eye. He clicked it, and the Web page for the county auditor’s office came up. It was an electronic version of a sale of property from Marguerite LeFleur to Roderick Osirion.
“Interesting,” he muttered as he glanced over it.
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