The blue plastic folder of campaign disclosures was sticky from someone’s spilled soda, but the cream-colored pages of the Ninth District subcontracts inside were clean. I turned on the old window air conditioner on Wilshire Boulevard, waiting for its steady hum to drown out the morning traffic. Dr. Raymond Ellis sat across from me, his reading glasses balanced on the edge of his nose as he compared the housing grants.
“There is a gap in the March filings,” I said.
Raymond did not look up from his notepad. “The city database shows forty-two subcontracts approved for the spring quarter, Lydia.”
“Only forty-one are in this packet,” I said, pointing to the empty space below the entry for March eighth.
“We have to be absolutely certain before we raise an alarm, Lydia,” Raymond said.
I rubbed the silver casing of my watch with my thumb. The metal was cool against my skin.
At half past eleven, the sun was high enough to bake the asphalt outside the Ninth District field office on Central Avenue. Inside, Councilman Curren Price was leaning over a folding table, signing gold-bordered certificates for a group of local volunteers. He wore a sharp grey suit with a gold silk tie that caught the fluorescent light.
“Lydia, my friend,” Price said, his voice warm and booming as he looked up. “You are always working. Come, meet these community leaders.”
“It is good to see you, Councilman,” I said, waiting until the volunteers moved toward the exit. “I was hoping your office could help me find the missing ledger sheet from March ninth.”
Price adjusted his gold silk tie, pulling it slightly away from his collar. “Our filing system is undergoing an upgrade, but I will have my staff look into it immediately.”
“The housing subcommittee approved the subcontractor that morning,” I said.
Price offered a wide, reassuring smile and patted my shoulder. “We have nothing to hide in the Ninth District, my friend.”
By one o’clock, the heat on Broadway was heavy with the smell of exhaust. Raymond met me at a corner booth in the diner, where two cold brews and a plate of toast cost twelve dollars. I spread a photocopy of the partial March ninth ledger across the laminate table.
