Page 15 of Logan’s Way

Angus opened his notebook to the page where he’d written that name three days ago in Thornfield County. Below it, he’d added questions that still needed answers:

Who was J. Brennan? What credentials did they hold? Why does no one remember them?

Most county offices were closed on weekends, but the state databases weren’t.

This morning, he was going to answer those questions—methodically, systematically—the way he had been trained to verify information and eliminate possibilities until only truth remained.

He started with county employment records.

Thornfield County maintained a public database of current and former employees—basic information required by state transparency laws. Name, position, dates of employment. Nothing sensitive, just enough to verify that county employees were who they claimed to be.

Angus pulled up the database and searched for “Brennan.” The system returned three results: Michael Brennan, road maintenance, employed 2018–2022. Patricia Brennan, tax assessor clerk, employed 2015–present. Daniel Brennan, animal control, employed 2010–2014.

No J. Brennan. No registrar with that surname during the relevant period.

Angus refined his search. Just registrars, any name, employed between 2010 and 2015—the window that would cover Logan’s death certificate. The database returned four names: Amanda Cross, Robert Yu, Jennifer Hastings, Margaret Collins.

No Brennan. No initial J.

He tried variations. J as first initial—James, Jennifer, John, Julia. Nothing matched. He searched backward through the entire employment database, looking for anyone with the surname Brennan who might have worked in any administrative capacity. The three results remained unchanged: Michael, Patricia, Daniel. None in the right timeframe. None in the right role.

Angus made a note:

County employment records show no J. Brennan in any capacity.

Next, he pulled up the National Association of Vital Statistics registrars database—a professional organization that maintained rosters of certified registrars across the country. Membership wasn’t mandatory, but most registrars joined for continuing education and professional development. If J. Brennan had been a legitimate registrar, there would likely be a record.

He searched Maine registrars, filtered by county. Thornfield County showed two active members and three historical listings dating back to the 1990s. None named Brennan. None with the initial J.

Angus expanded the search. All Maine registrars, all time periods. Forty-three results. He scanned each one carefully, looking for any variation of the name. Nothing.

He tried the search nationally—every J. Brennan who’d ever been a certified registrar anywhere in the United States and found twelve results. None in Maine. None connected to Thornfield County. None with employment dates aligning with Logan’s death certificate.

National registrar database shows no J. Brennan certified in Maine.

Angus refilled his coffee and stood at the kitchen window, looking at his frost-covered yard. Scout lifted his head, checking whether this movement meant something interesting, then settled again when Angus remained still.

The absence of information was beginning to form a shape. Not gaps that could be filled with better searching or different databases. Deliberate absences—the kind that appeared when someone wanted the appearance of legitimacy without the substance that made it verifiable.

He returned to the laptop and pulled up the Maine Bureau of Vital Statistics licensing portal. Every registrar in Maine had to be licensed by the state. The licensing process required background checks, training verification, and ongoing certification. These records were public—searchable by name or license number.

Angus entered “Brennan” in the surname field and left the first name blank. The system processed for a moment, then returned its results: No matching records found.

He tried first initial J, surname Brennan. Same result.

He searched by county instead—Thornfield County, all licensed registrars, all years. Three names appeared: Amanda Cross, Robert Yu, Jennifer Hastings, Margaret Collins. The same names from the employment database. All properly licensed. All with clear certification dates and renewal records.

No J. Brennan.

Angus pulled up Logan’s death certificate on his screen and studied the witness line again. The signature was there—a quick scrawl, barely legible. Below it, typed cleanly: J. Brennan, Registrar.

Someone had signed that line. Someone had typed that name. Someone had filed the paperwork through official channels and gotten it accepted by the state archives.

But according to every database Angus could access, that person had never existed.

He called the state archives, the same office he’d visited two days ago. A different person answered, and Angus identified himself.

“I was there Thursday, talking to Mark Rivera about a death certificate from Thornfield County. He mentioned that the file processing would have required verification at intake. I’m trying to understand who would have handled that verification for a 2014 transfer.”