I led the way up the front steps. I unlocked the door and opened it for him. “I’m putting on a pot of coffee if you’re interested.”
“I’d like that,” he said as he followed me in.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you.”
I rinsed out the coffeepot and slotted it onto the machine, putting a fresh filter in the holder, which I popped into place. Over my shoulder, I could see Dandy in the outer office, where he browsed the various law books and texts in my collection, everything from California Criminal Law to a 1980 edition of the Shooter’s Bible. There were also the technical tomes about burglary and theft, Scott’s Fingerprint Mechanics, arson investigation, the criminal mind-set, and Adelson’s Pathology of Homicide.
When he drifted into the inner office, I left the coffee brewing in the kitchenette and joined him. It crossed my mind, just briefly, that he might try pilfering an item, but then I remembered I didn’t have anything of value. No cash, no dope, no prescription medication, and no bottle of booze in my bottom drawer. If he wanted a ballpoint pen, I’d be happy to gift him with one.
He’d taken a seat in one of the two guest chairs, clearly curious about my domain. I took my place on the other side of the desk and tried seeing the place through his eyes. As it happens, my office is devoid of personal touches. I have an artificial ficus tree that I think lends the room a hint of class, but the fake plant is about it. There are no family photographs, no travel posters, no bric-a-brac, and no paperweight advertising “Bail Bonds, Quick Response.” For the most part, my desktop was clear, all of the paperwork consigned to folders tucked away in the file cabinets lining one wall.
He smiled. “Cozy.”
“That’s one word for it,” I said. “Can I ask a personal question?”
“As long as I’m not under oath.”
“I was wondering what brought you to Santa Teresa.”
“This is my hometown. I grew up three blocks from here. My father taught math at Santa Teresa High back in the forties and fifties.”
I made a face. “Math’s not my strong suit.”
“Nor mine,” he replied. His smile activated dimples I hadn’t noticed before. His teeth were charmingly buckled and flashed white against the dark of his complexion.
“Did you go to Santa Teresa High by any chance?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I graduated class of nineteen and thirty-three, long before you were born. I attended City College for two years, but I couldn’t see the point.”
“Really? Same here. I went two semesters and then quit. Now I wish I’d stuck it out, but I sure don’t want to go back.”
“Better to get an education while you’re young. My age, it’s too late.”
“Hey, mine, too. Did you like school? I hated it. High school, at any rate. I was a low-waller, smokin’ dope half the time.” Low-wallers were the kids who loitered before and after classes on a low wall that ran along the backside of the school grounds.
“I was straight A’s. Then life came along and I guess while you went up in the world, I went down.”
“I wouldn’t call this up.”
“Up from where I stand.”
I didn’t know if he viewed himself as a victim or a realist. I could hear the coffee machine gurgle to a halt and I got to my feet. “What do you take in your coffee?”
“Milk and two sugars, please.”
“Sugar for sure. Milk could be a problem. Let me see what I can do.”
I left the office and went down the hall to the kitchenette, where I opened my pint-size refrigerator and gave the milk carton a sniff. Slightly off, I thought, but I’ve heard that sometimes the residue of milk on the pour spout sours before the rest. I filled two mugs with coffee and added milk to mine, checking for the telltale curdling that suggests beaucoup bacteria at work. No evidence of spoilage, so I added a big dollop to his coffee and returned the carton to the fridge.
I handed him his mug and two paper packets of sugar and resettled myself in my swivel chair. I held up a finger. “Before I forget . . .” I leaned down and extracted the three packs of cigarettes from the shoulder bag at my feet and pushed them across the desk. “Consider this a bribe.”
“Much appreciated. I’ll pass along a pack each to Felix and Pearl.”
“Pearl, in particular. I was hoping to elevate myself in her opinion.”
There was a dip in the conversation. My usual practice is to let the silence lengthen until the other fellow gets squirmy enough to speak his mind. This time, I took the lead. “I’m assuming you didn’t walk all this way to pay a social call.”
“Not entirely. Don’t take this wrong, but your asking about Terrence really set Pearl off.”
“As I’m keenly aware. What’s the big deal?”
“She says you smell like a cop.”
“That’s because I was a cop, once upon a time. I was with the STPD two years and then I got out. I like playing by the rules when it suits, but I don’t like answering to anyone.”
“Understandable,” he said. “Then again, Terrence hadn’t been dead a full day when you came sniffing around. Her words, not mine.”
“‘Sniffing’ seems an odd choice. I told you I was hoping to locate his family, which is not a federal offense. Right now, he’s a John Doe. His name might be Terrence, but that’s the extent of what we have. The coroner’s office is swamped this week, so I said I’d see what I could find out. What’s she think I’m up to?”
“She’s suspicious by nature while I’m the opposite. I believe most folks are honest until proven otherwise.”
“My policy as well,” I said. “What else is bugging her? We might as well put all our cards on the table as long as you’re here.”
“She thinks you’re not being honest about who you’re working for.”
“What, like I’m an undercover agent? I’m self-employed. None of my work has anything to do with Terrence, dead or alive. You don’t believe me, you can search my files.”
“You don’t work for St. Terry’s?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not associated with the hospital or the university in any capacity at all?”
“No way. I’m freelance. I’ll swear to it,” I said. “I don’t have clients in the medical profession or any related field. And that includes dentists and podiatrists. I don’t know how else to assure you of my sincerity.”
“I’ll pass that on to her.”
“Are we square?”
“As far as I’m concerned.”
“Good. Then it’s my turn. Why did Terrence need the services of a PI? I asked before and I didn’t get an answer.”
“He didn’t spell out the particulars, but I know what was on his mind. He believed he had kin in the area. Growing up, he had an uncle he very much admired. The two were close when he was a kid, but he hadn’t seen the man for years. Said he came to visit his uncle here shortly after the man moved to Santa Teresa. Later he heard the fellow died. He hoped to connect with family members, assuming there were any left.”
“He never mentioned his uncle’s name?”
“No. I happened to overhear him talking about it to someone else.”
“Why pick me when there are half a dozen private eyes in town?”
“You know a fellow named Pinky Ford?”
“Of course. How do you know him?”
“He’s a man about town, in some sense of the word. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but he lives in a big yellow Cadillac he parks here and there. Terrence was asking around and Pinky told him you were a decent sort.”