Free Greywalker by Kat Richardson

out my laminated map of Seattle and dotted all the known locations on it in whiteboard marker.
    I got out of Quinton's way for a moment while he did something to my desk; then I called a few more major banks and got the same information from them, adding more dots to my map. Most of the dots were in downtown, clustering around Pioneer Square. If I could figure out what Cameron was up to, or get a line on his car, I'd stand a chance of finding him soon.
    "I'm going to be working on the phone line now for a minute or so," Quinton said from somewhere near the floor in front of the desk. "If your computer hiccups, let me know." His head popped up for a moment, adorned with a pair of headphones and some dust kitties. "OK?"
    I pulled out the papers Sergeyev had sent. "OK. I'll be reading. Let me know when the lines are back up."
    He nodded and disappeared again.
    I read. The parlor organ was about six feet tall and three wide, made from carved European walnut, according to the description. Built by the Tracher Company of Bavaria in 1905, it had a lot of bits and stops and railings with ivory and gilt decoration, a built-in cabinet for storage behind the music desk with a plate glass mirror, and red and blue tapestry covers over the pipes, which matched the mats on the pedals. Sounded pretty garish.
    An incomplete shipping bill was included with the description. The date had been torn off and some lines of information were too blotched and stained to read. It looked as if the organ had been shipped to Seattle by boat from Oslo, along with other household and office furniture. How it had gotten to Oslo wasn't documented. There was a partial ship's registry number, a bit of letterhead that read "-gst-" and the signature, "Ingstrom." There was a little squiggle in front of the last name, but it could have been an e as easily as an n , a u , or a w , maybe even an i .
    As information, it gave only hints. The shipping bill seemed to originate with the shipper in Oslo. If Sergeyev was wrong, Ingstrom could be the sender, not the recipient. I didn't relish trying to find a shipping company in Oslo that had employed someone named Ingstrom over thirty years ago.
    I picked up the phone, absently thinking I should call the port authority or the coast guard about ship registries, but it was dead. Then it hiccupped as if on call-waiting and I jiggled the cradle switch.
    "Hello?"
    "Miss Blaine?"
    "Yes." Quinton must have finished with the line.
    "Grigori Sergeyev. I am calling as I said."
    "Yeah, I was just looking over the information you sent. It's still a bit thin."
    "I have forgotten some small information. Also, I have a phone number that you may leave me messages."
    "All right. What's the number?"
    It sounded like a Tacoma prefix.
    "You have questions?"
    "Yes. This information you sent includes the name Ingstrom, but it doesn't indicate if he was the shipper or the recipient of the shipment. He could have been an agent in Oslo. There's not enough information here to be sure."
    "Ah. The ship was damaged. The paper is listing cargo for salvage to pay the repairs. This Ingstrom, he takes the cargo, for the ship repairs," Sergeyev explained.
    "I see. Well, there was or is an Ingstrom Shipwrights in Seattle."
    "Excellent to start. I must go. Leave me message of your progress."
    And I was holding a dead line.
    "Quinton!" I barked. "What are you doing to my phones?"
    Quinton's head emerged above the desktop with the headphones half off. "I just spliced in the components. Your lines should be just fine now."
    "Now, yes. What about thirty seconds ago?"
    "Out of commission."
    "Well, the phone line worked just fine."
    He shrugged. "Huh... should have been dead. Doesn't matter, though. The automatic sender is on the modem line, anyhow."
    "Can I use the phone now without getting cut off?" I asked.
    "Sure. I'm going to run a quick electrical test, but it shouldn't affect your call." He vanished back to his station on the floor in front of the desk and I