Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [55]
That decision made, I took my seat, and after we chatted, I briefed them on the McKnight case, the work that Magoo, Natalie and I would need to do in the next month and the overflow of cases the others would have to pick up. With the exception of Natalie, they all jumped in with suggestions and insights, and I came out of the meeting feeling as if we had a plan. It would be crazy, but we would get it done.
Back in my office, I called Beth Halverson at McKnight headquarters to update her, then closed my door.
“Amy,” I said over the intercom, “can you take my calls for a while? I want to get some work done.”
I turned off my ringer. I didn’t like lying to Amy, but I wasn’t about to tell her that I was trying to track down the brother I hadn’t seen in more than twenty years.
I had already called Santa Fe information when I was at the Long Beach Inn. Now I logged on to the Internet. I typed the name Singer into the online Santa Fe phone book and found that the Singers took up almost a whole page. There were listings for David Singer, Don Singer and Dierdre Singer, but no Dan.
Next, I ran a people search on the Internet and came up with a list of twenty-one Daniel Singers around the country. Of course, there were probably many more that didn’t appear on that list for one reason or another, but it was a place to start. I printed it out and began to call each one. I reached a number of unhelpful people who hung up shortly after telling me that I must have the wrong person. A few times I got voice mail, and listened to the voices of the men who identified themselves as Daniel Singer. Most I could rule out because of certain accents or a gruffness that told me they were much too old to be my Dan. On the few that might be possibilities, I left a message with my name and office phone number. My brother would recognize the name, and I couldn’t believe he would ignore me after all these years.
Once I had gone through the list, I felt no closer to finding him. I doubted somehow that he was one of the men I’d just called. I sat still at my desk, thinking over the possibilities. He had been in New Mexico the last time he wrote Della, and for some reason, I felt he might still be there, far away from the Midwest. I pulled up the Santa Fe phone book on the Internet again and began to go through the Singer listings once more, this time calling each one, no matter what the first name, to ask if they were related to Dan Singer. Many weren’t home and the ones who were didn’t know a Dan Singer with sandy-blond hair who’d be in his late thirties.
I had called more than half of the Singers in Santa Fe and was about to give up, but I made myself finish calling the rest of the list. Follow every avenue, every lead. Look under every rock. My father had told me this when I first started practicing, when every case seemed too difficult to handle. Keep fighting, he would tell me. You have to simply keep slugging.
So I did. There were two listings for S. Singer. I called the first one and reached an older woman who was anxious to be helpful and clearly lonely.
“I don’t know any Daniels in my family,” she said, her voice wavering, “but I knew a David. He was my brother-in-law.”
“Okay, well, thanks for your time,” I said, but the woman wouldn’t let me go.
“I fancied David more than my Louis if the truth be told,” she said. “Never told anyone that before.”
I doubted that. I listened to another minute of the woman reminiscing before I excused myself.
A few more calls, I decided, looking at the silver clock on my bookshelf. It was five o’clock already. I needed to do a few more hours of work before I met Maddy for dinner. I dialed the number for the other S. Singer.
After four rings, a woman answered, out of breath.
“Hi,” I said quickly, going into the same spiel I’d been giving everyone. “My name is Hailey, and I’m looking for someone named Dan Singer. Late thirties, sandy-blond hair, grew up in Michigan—”
The woman laughed,