In Plain Sight

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The sign on the frosted glass panel read Lockerby Investigations in gold painted letters. The image of a hexagon with an inverted triangle inside it and an inkwell inside that occupied the bottom right corner of the glass, indicating that runewright services were also offered within. Alexander Lockerby turned the handle smartly and walked in. His office occupied a two-room space on the fourth floor of a modest building in Manhattan’s mid-ring. Close enough to Empire Tower to have uninterrupted power, but far enough away to keep the rent low. He’d moved into these offices in the spring of 1931 and now, two years later, it felt like home. It wasn’t much, but it was his.

Beyond the door with its frosted glass panel was his waiting room, with two sofas, a row of filing cabinets, and a second door marked Private. A large window dominated the back wall, illuminating a paper-strewn desk. Atop the desk, long legs crossed and the receiver of a telephone pressed to her ear, was Leslie Tompkins, Alex’s secretary.

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