Stepping into Ex-Stacy Productions was like arriving in an oasis. The air was cool and crisp, the sun's glare replaced with ambient lighting, and the scent of artificial pine replaced the oppressive miasma of old urine. It was pretty nice.
     Posters for the company's films adorned the walls. I thought they looked like covers for romance novels, with titles like 'The Temptress of Hell Creek", 'Stacy's Night Out" and "Daydreams Come True at Night", I didn't think I was far off.
     Lloyd, goggled and craned, his neck stretched as he tried to look at all the posters in one scan. I nudged him. I know he doesn't get out much, but I needed him to be cool.
     We stepped up to the desk. A young-ish receptionist with blonde-ish hair scoped us. I could tell she had reviewed us negatively and was prepping her polite-ish, hit the bricks speech. I armed a card and dive-bombed it onto her desk in a preemptive strike.
     "Hi, I'm Sam, and this is Lloyd, we came all the way here from Lincoln, Nebraska," I said with my serious, but not too creepy smile. "Buzz the boss-lady and tell her we want to talk to her about Jamie Brewer...please."
     She gave us a good, hard scan, then. While she picked up the phone, she was doing her best to figure out if we were who I said we were. She did a pretty good job, the card was the tipping point.
    "Ma'am, there are two gentlemen from Lincoln, Nebraska, here to see you," she said with that upward inflection that makes a statement sound like a question. "They say it's about a Jamie Brewer?"
     She hung up the phone, stood and un-rumpled, "Follow, me, please," she said and led us through one set of doors and down a short hall. Lloyd didn't mind, one bit. He was locked and had tone as he watched her stride down the hall from behind. Another nudge got him to break lock before she turned back to us and opened the door.
     The office was nice, not overwhelming. More framed posters, carpeted floor, real chairs with padding and arm-rests, a nicely solid desk, clean, no papers, or nick-knacks, or pictures. Some potted plants kept things pleasant and the lighting was dim, but not dark.
     She stood to greet us, I popped through the profile in my head. She was about 40. Pop. Good shape, well dressed. Pop-pop. Hair shorter, colored, well-styled. Ears same, lips same, eyes, exactly the same. Pop-pop-pop. It was her.
     "Which one of you is Sam, and which is Lloyd?" she asked extending her hand as she came to the desk's front.
     I held out my hand, "I'm Sam," I said, and this is my associate, Lloyd, I introduced them. Lloyd took her hand. Lloyd blushed a little.
     "Jennifer, could you please bring some water for me?" she called out to the receptionist. "Would either of you like something to drink? Water, tea, coffee maybe?"
     Before Lloyd could chime in, I waved it off. "No, thanks. We're fine. We'd just like to thank you for agreeing to see us. I know your time is very valuable so we appreciate allowing us to intrude."
     Jennifer closed the door to retrieve the water. Lloyd watched her go.
     "You're quite the bullshit artist, aren't you?" Stacy/Robin said.
     "No, Ma'am, I'm a private investigator--"
     "Same thing," she interrupted. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate having to go through formalities and rituals and all that crap. You came in here, trying to be nice, but cut the crap, what is this about Jamie?"
     "We've been asked to go over the case," I explained. "Our local boys in blue want it cleared up --
     "I just bet they do," she hissed. She was leaning back against the desk, her arms crossed against her chest and her legs crossed at the ankles. Great, making her uncomfortable was not part of the plan.
     I decided to retreat a bit, give her space, and leaned back into the chair, I uncrossed my legs and rested my hands on the chair's arms. The chair didn't seem to mind. "We came to talk to you, because one of the interview sheets, at the time, indicated that you had cause to believe that Jamie had bolted, and that you knew why."
     Stacy/Robin looked down, she seemed both sad and angry, thoughts rapidly flickered across her face, "You know she was cheating on her douchebag husband, right?"
     Poker-face time, "Yes," I said. "But there's no mention in the files of who you thought it was with."
     She barked a sharp, short laugh. "Are you sure the cops, sent you out on this case? The thin, blue line closed ranks, back then, I'm surprised they're opening up, now."
     I looked over at Lloyd, he shrugged. His shrug confirmed my confusion. "Are you saying that the guy she was cheating with was a cop?" I asked, trying to sound even toned.
     "Yes. Initially, that's what I thought she had done, run off with him, new life, fresh start and all that. I understand the appeal of all that. I made it work, too."
     "You said, 'initially'," I pressed. "You don't think that now?"
     No. Not when I heard that he was doing some of the investigating. He was pretty young, but one of the detectives determined he was a 'bright boy with a future' and let him tag along. When they questioned me, I told them that I had suspicions, but not who. How do you do that when the guy is staring right at you, in your own house and has a gun. It freaked me the fuck out. I bailed that week for Cali."
     "You haven't heard from Jamie, at all?"
     "Nope. It was a long time ago. My best friend ditched me, and I couldn't even face the guy that I think caused it all to happen."
     "What do you remember about that officer?"
     "I remember that his name was James, because Jamie thought that it was 'cute' James and Jamie and all that crap."
     "Anything else?" I had a weird feeling in my gut, it's where hunches go to get digested and turned into theories. "Was he tall? What did he look like? I just ask because I bet there was more than one James on the force in 1997."
     "He was kind of tall, about six-foot or so. He had sandy blonde hair and a mustache that had to be just on the edge of what the police would allow."
     The hunch was twisting and churning in my gut. I knew it was just a couple of steps from solidifying.
     "Do you remember his last name?"
     "No...not really...I know it started with a T"
     "Was it 'Tompkins'?" I asked slowly and deliberately.
     Stacy/Robin slowly raised her head. Her gaze bore through mine and flamed-seared my brain. "Yes. That's his name. I haven't remembered it for years, but that's it. Tompkins."
     I had to catch up to Lloyd. I took my time, I had the keys.