The clerk turned to a row of olive-drab filing cabinets that lined the back wall. He pulled a heavy drawer open, the metal rollers protesting with a sharp squeal that echoed in the quiet office.
“We don’t keep the full medical files here,” he said, his back still to me. “Those are in St. Louis. We only keep the local discharge cards and the county registry.”
“That would be sufficient,” I said. “I need to know if the file has been active.”
He ran a yellow pencil down a row of index cards, his finger stopping near the bottom of a page.
“Someone was in here three days ago asking about this exact name,” he said.
I pressed my palm flat against the cool wood of the counter.
“A family member?” I asked.
“A woman,” Mr. Vance said, turning back to face me. “She didn’t leave a name, but she had the veteran’s full service number and his date of birth. She requested a copy of his complete archive registry.”
