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I read about Babe Ruth, who'd just hit his twenty-sixth homer of the season back in Philadelphia. I read about some woman whose six-year marriage was a
"There it is," Dietz said. He put a finger on the screen.
I let out a yelp and laughed. Six library patrons turned around and looked at me. I put a hand across my mouth sheepishly. I peered at the machine. It was like a gift- such an unexpected pleasure-lines leaping off the page. The article was brief and the style faintly antique, but the facts were clear and it all seemed to fit.
WOMAN KILLED AS BRICKS FALL
Chimney Crushes Out the Life of Local Resident
Emily Bronfen, 29-year-old bookkeeper employed by Brookfield, McClintock and Gaskell, met death yesterday afternoon when bricks fell from a chimney at the family home, 1107 Sumner Street, and crushed her during an earth tremor at 3:20 p.m. The body was taken to the Donovan Brothers funeral parlor and will be cremated today at 4:00.
The Associated Press reported that the shock, which swung doors at Pasadena and swayed hanging electric light drops at Santa Monica, was also felt in Los Angeles, where occupants of office buildings noticed their swivel chairs doing a wild shimmy along the floor.
Venture reported two separate shocks lasting about four or five seconds each. Santa Monica reported a second shock shortly after 7:00 last night.
L. L. Pope, Santa Teresa City Building Inspector, made the rounds of the city yesterday afternoon and reported that he found no damage to any building erected under provisions of the new building code. "There was very little structural damage of any kind," he declared. "It was virtually all confined to old fire walls, some of which were fractured in the earthquake of one year ago…"
I turned and looked up at Dietz. We locked eyes for a moment and his mouth came down on mine. I'd reached a hand up, closing my fist in his hair. He reached a hand down my shirt and rubbed his fingertips across my left breast.
"Print it," he said hoarsely.
"Oh God," I breathed.
At the counter, the librarian pulled his glasses down and peered at us over the rims.
Blushing, I straightened my collar and adjusted my shirt. I pressed the button. We picked up an invoice for the photocopy at the desk when we turned in the microfilm. We left the periodicals room without further reference to the two librarians, who seemed to be conversing together about some terribly amusing subject.
"Bronfen. I like that. It's close enough to Bronte," I said as I followed him up the stairs. "The parents must have been big on Victorian literature."
"Possibly," Dietz said. "I don't know what it proves at this point."
On the main floor, we checked back through various city directories. The 1926 edition showed a Maude Bronfen (occupation, widow) at the address listed in the paper. "Shoot," I said. "I was hoping we'd find A
Dietz said, "Maude was probably their mother. What now?"
"Let's try the Hall of Records. It's just across the street. Maybe we can track down Irene's birth certificate."
We paid for the photocopy, left the library, and headed over to the courthouse, crossing the one-way street. Dietz had taken me by the elbow, his gaze divided equally among cars approaching from the left, pedestrians in the general vicinity, and possible vantage points in the event Mark Messinger had chosen this location to pick me off. "So what's the operating theory here?" I asked.
He considered that for a moment. "Well, if I were altering a document like that, I'd try to keep the changes to a minimum. There's less chance of screwing up."
"You think Irene's first name is real then?"
"Probably. I'd guess the attending physician, date, and time of birth are okay, too, along with the filing date and the name of the registrar or deputy."
"Why would Agnes change her age? That seems peculiar."
"Who knows? Maybe she was older than the guy and too vain to have it part of the public record. As long as you're altering reality, you might as well eliminate anything that doesn't suit."
The recorder division of the county clerk's office is in an a
There was one couple at the counter ahead of us, apparently picking up a marriage license. The husband-to-be was one of those ski
"You sure you're okay? We can probably get a wheel-chair from someplace," she said. The clerk was in her sixties and didn't seem anxious so much as intent on efficiency. Visions of lawsuits were probably dancing in her head. Also, she might not have been certified in midwifery. I wondered if Dietz had any experience in delivery.
The bride, at the pi
"Judge Hopper's waiting for us upstairs," the husband said. He smelled of Brylcreem and cigarettes, his blue jeans pleated up around his waist with a length of rope.
The clerk handed over the certificate. "Why don't I have June get the judge on the phone and have him come down here?"
A second clerk, her eyes rolling, picked up the telephone and made a quick call while the bride crept haltingly toward the door. She seemed to be singing to herself. "Uh… uh… unh…"
The groom didn't seem that distressed. He simply matched his pace to hers, his gaze pi
The clerk turned to us. "What can I do for you folks?"
Dietz was still staring off at the departing couple with a look of uneasiness.
I held out the copy of the birth certificate. "I wonder if you can help us," I said. "We suspect maybe this birth certificate's been tampered with and we'd like to check for the original in Sacramento. Is there any way you can do that? I notice there are some file numbers."
The clerk held the paper at arm's length, her thumbnail moving from point to point across the document. "Well, here's your first problem right here. You see that district number? That's incorrect. This says Brawley on the face of it, but the district number's off. Imperial County would be thirteen something. This fifty-nine fifty indicates Santa Teresa County."
"It does? That's great," I said. "You mean you'll have a copy of it here?"
"Oh sure. That little two in the margin tells you the book number and this number here is the page. Just a minute and I'll have someone pull the microfilm. Machines are right through there. You just have a seat and someone will be with you directly."
We waited maybe five minutes and then the second clerk, June, appeared with a microfilm cartridge, which she loaded into the machine.