“This was another motorist?”
“I believe this was someone come off the street.”
“Can you describe the man?”
She seemed to hesitate. “Why do you want to know?”
“Ms. Ray was hoping to find him so she could send a thank-you note.”
“Well.” She was silent for a full fifteen seconds. I could see her computing the possibilities in her head. She was wily enough to realize that anyone who showed up that quickly might well have been a witness to the accident.
“Mrs. Fredrickson?”
“What?”
“Nothing about the man sticks in your mind?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. Millard might recall better than me. By then, this right hip was giving me so much pain I’m surprised I was able to stand. If you had the X-ray here, I could point out the injured ribs. Dr. Goldfarb said I was lucky the crack in my hip wasn’t more severe or I’ve been laid up for good.”
“What about his race?”
“He’s white. I wouldn’t go to any other kind.”
“I mean the man who helped.”
She shook her head with a fleeting annoyance. “I wasn’t paying attention to much except I was glad my leg wasn’t broke. You’d have been glad, too, in my place.”
“What age would you say?”
“Now I can’t be answering questions like that. I’m getting all flustered and upset and Dr. Goldfarb says that’s not good. Not a bit good he said.”
I continued to look at her, noting her gaze flick away from mine and back. I returned to my list of questions and chose a few that seemed neutral and noninflammatory. In the main, she was cooperative, but I could see her patience was wearing thin. I tucked my pen in the clamp of the clipboard and reached for my shoulder bag as I got to my feet. “Well, I think that’s all for now. I appreciate your time. Once I type up my notes, I’ll stop by and have you read the statement for accuracy. You can make any necessary corrections, and once you’re satisfied it’s a faithful rendering, you can give me a signature and I’ll be out of your hair.”
As I clicked off the tape recorder, she said, “I’m happy to help. All we want is what’s fair, given the fault was entirely hers.”
“Ms. Ray is interested in that as well.”
From the Fredricksons’ house, I swung up to Palisade Drive and turned right, taking the same route Gladys had taken the day of the accident. I passed City College, eyes flicking to the entrance to the parking lot. I followed the road as it curved down the hill. Where Palisade intersected Castle, I took a left and followed it as far as Capillo, where I turned right. Street traffic was moving freely and it took me less than five minutes to reach the office. The sky was cloudy and there was talk of isolated thunderstorms, which I thought unlikely. For reasons I’ve never wholly understood, Santa Teresa has a rainy season but seldom any thunderstorms. Lightning is a phenomenon I’ve witnessed largely by way of black-and-white photographs, showing white threads lying flat against the night sky like irregular cracks in glass.
Once I was back in the office, I set up a file and then typed my notes. I put Lana Sherman’s résumé in the folder with Solana Rojas’s application. I could have tossed it, but why not hang on to it since I had it in hand?
Wednesday morning, when Melanie called, I gave her the Reader’s Digest condensed version of my findings, at the end of which, she said, “So she’s fine.”
“Looks that way,” I said. “Of course, I didn’t turn over every rock in the garden.”
“Don’t worry about it. There’s no point in going nuts.”
“That’s that, then. Looks like it’s working out as planned. I’ll have Henry keep an eye on the situation and if anything comes up, I can let you know.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
I hung up, feeling satisfied with the job I’d done. What I had no way of knowing was that I’d just, unwittingly, put a noose around Gus Vronsky’s neck.
14
Christmas and New Year’s Day slid past, leaving scarcely a wrinkle in the fabric of ordinary life. Charlotte was off in Phoenix, celebrating the holidays with her kids and grandkids. Henry and I spent Christmas morning together and exchanged gifts. He gave me a pedometer and a Sony headset so I could listen to the radio while I did my morning jog. For him, I’d found an antique egg timer six inches tall, an ingenious glass-and-tin device with pink sand inside. To activate it, you flipped up the three-minute timer until it rested against a lever at the top. Once the sand finished falling from the top portion to the bottom, the upper portion tipped over and rang a tiny bell. I also gave him a copy of Bernard Clayton’s New Complete Book of Breads. At 2:00, Rosie and William joined us for Christmas dinner, after which I went back to my place and took a long holiday nap.
New Year’s Eve I stayed home and read a book, happy that I wasn’t out risking life and limb with the many drunks on the road. I confess I abandoned my junk food resolve on New Year’s Day and enjoyed an orgy of Quarter Pounders with Cheese (two) and a large order of fries doused in ketchup. I did keep my new pedometer affixed to my person while I ate, and I made sure I walked ten thousand steps that day, which I hoped would count in my favor.
I started the first week of 1988 with a dutiful 6:00 A.M. three-mile jog, radio headset in place, after which I showered and ate breakfast. At the office, I whipped out my trusty Smith-Corona and composed a notice for the “Personals” section of the Santa Teresa Dispatch, detailing my interest in the witness to a two-vehicle collision that had occurred on Thursday, May 28, 1987, at approximately 3:15 P.M. I included the few particulars I had, listing the man’s age as midfifties, which was only a guess. Height and weight I said were medium and his hair, “thick white.” I also made reference to his brown leather bomber jacket and black wing tip shoes. I didn’t give my name but I posted a contact number and an appeal for help.
While I was about it, I called the Fredricksons’ house, hoping to set up an appointment with Millard to discuss the accident. The phone rang countless times, and I was about to put the handset back in the cradle when he picked up.
“Mr. Fredrickson! I’m glad I caught you. This is Kinsey Millhone. I stopped by your house and talked to your wife a couple of weeks ago and she said I should call so I can set up an appointment with you.”
“I can’t be bothered with this. You already talked to Gladys.”
“I did and she was very helpful,” I said. “But there are just a couple of points I’d like to go over with you.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t have my notes with me, but I can bring them when I come. Would Wednesday of this week work for you?”
“I’m busy…”
“Why don’t we say next Monday, a week from today. I can be there at two.”
“I’m tied up on Monday.”
“Why don’t you name the day?”
“Fridays are better.”
“Fine. A week from this coming Friday, that’s the fifteenth. I’ll make a note on my calendar and see you at two. Thanks so much.” I marked the date and time on my calendar, relieved I wouldn’t have to worry about it for another ten days.
At 9:30, I called the Santa Teresa Dispatch with the information and was told the ad would appear on Wednesday and would run for a week. Just after the accident, Mary Bellflower had placed a similar query, with negative results, but I thought it was worth another try. That done, I walked over to the copy shop near the courthouse and ran off a hundred flyers, describing the man and further indicating that it was hoped he had information concerning a two-vehicle accident on such-and-such a date. I stapled a business card to each flyer, thinking I might pick up a client in the bargain. Aside from that, I thought it lent an earnest air to my quest.