“Yes, I spoke to him,” she said, before I could finish my tale.
“Ah. Oh, you did. Well, that’s wonderful.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it wonderful, but it was pleasant. He seemed like a nice man: articulate, polite.”
“Can you remember the nature of the query?”
“It was only two weeks ago. I may be close to retirement, but I’m not suffering from senile dementia not yet, at any rate.”
“Could you fill me in?”
“I could if I understood what this had to do with the district attorney’s office. It sounds fishy as all get out. What’d you say your name was? Because I’m making a note of it, and I intend to check.”
I hate it when people think. Why don’t they just mind their own business and respond to my questions? “Mrs. Kennison.”
“And the reason for the call?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to say. This is a legal matter, and there’s a gag order in effect.”
“I see,” she said, as if she didn’t.
“Can you tell me what Mr. Magruder wanted?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Mr. Magruder’s been shot. He’s in a coma at the moment. That’s as much as I can tell you without being cited for contempt of court.”
That seemed to work. She said, “He was trying to track down a former Mate High School student.”
“Can you give me the name?”
“What’s your first name again?”
“Kathryn. Kennison. If you like, I can give you my number here and you can call me back.”
“Well, that’s silly. You could be anyone,” she snapped. “Let’s just get this over with. What is it you want? ”
“Any information you can give me.”
“The boy’s name was Duncan Oaks, a 1961 graduate. His was an outstanding class. We still talk about that group of students.”
“I take it you were the school librarian back then?”
“I was. I’ve been here since 1946.”
“Did you know Duncan Oaks personally?”
“Everybody knew Duncan. He worked as my assistant in his sophomore and junior years. By the time he was a senior, he was the yearbook photographer, prom king, voted most likely to succeed “He sounds terrific.”
“He was.”
“And where is he now?”
“He became a journalist and photographer for one of the local papers, the Louisville Tribune, long since out of business, I’m sorry to say. He died on assignment in Vietnam. The Trib got swallowed up by one of those syndicates a year later, 1966. Now whoever you are and whatever you’re up to, I think I’ve said enough.”
I thanked her and hung up, still completely unenlightened. I sat and made notes, using the cap of the pen to scrape the peanut butter from the roof of my mouth. Was this an heir search? Had Mickey taken on a case to supplement his income? He certainly had the background to do P.I. work, but what was he doing and who’d hired him to do it?
I heard a tap at my door and leaned over far enough to see Henry peering through the porthole. I felt a guilty pang about the night before. Henry and I seldom had occasion to disagree. In this case, he was right. I had no business withholding information that might be relevant to the police. Really, I was going to reform, I was almost sure. When I opened the door, he handed me a stack of envelopes. “Brought you your mail.”
“Henry, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me,” I said. I tossed the mail on the desk and gave him a hug while he patted me on the back.
“My fault,” he said.
‘No, it’s not. It’s mine. You’re entirely right. I was being obstinate.”
“No matter. You know I worry about you. What’s wrong with your voice? Are you catching cold?”
“I just ate something and it’s stuck in my teeth. I’ll call Detective Aldo today and tell him what I’ve found. ”
“I’d feel better if you did,” he said. “Did I interrupt? We can do this another time if you’re hard at work.”
“Do what another time?”
“You said you’d give me a lift. The fellow from the body shop called to say the Chevy’s ready.”
“Sorry. Of course. It’s taken long enough. Let me get my jacket and my keys.”
On the way over to the body shop, I brought Henry up to date, though I was uncomfortably aware that even now I wasn’t being completely candid with him. I wasn’t lying outright, but I omitted portions of the story. “Which reminds me,” I said. “Did I tell you about that call to my place?”
“What call?”
“I didn’t think I’d mentioned it. I don’t know what to make of it.” I laid out the business about the thirty minute call from Mickey’s place to mine in late March. “I swear I never talked to him, but I can tell the detectives didn’t believe me.”
“What was the date?”
“March twenty-seventh, early afternoon, one-thirty. I saw the bill myself.”
“You were with me,” he said promptly.
“I was?”
“Of course. That was the day after the quakes that dumped the cans on my car. I’d called the insurance company and you followed me over to the shop. The claims adjuster met us there at one-fifteen.”
“That was that day? How do you remember these things?
“I have the estimate,” he said and pulled it from his pocket. “The date’s right here.”
The incident returned in a flash. In the early morning hours of March 7 there’d been a series of tremblers, a swarm of quakes as noisy as a herd of horses thundering across the room. I’d woken from a sound sleep with my entire bed shaking. The brightly lighted numbers on my digital alarm showed :06. Clothes hangers were tinkling, and all the glass in the windows rattled like someone rapping to get in. I’d been up like a shot, pulling on my sweats and my running shoes. Within seconds. that quake passed, only to be followed by another. I could hear glass crashing in the sink. The walls had begun to creak from the strain of the rocking motion. Somewhere across the city, a transformer exploded and I was blanketed in darkness.
I’d grabbed my shoulder bag and fumbled down the spiral stairs while I groped in the depths for my penlight. I’d found it and flicked it on. The wash from the beam was pale, but it lighted my way. In the distance, I could hear sirens begin to wail. The trembling ceased. I’d taken advantage of the moment to snag my denim jacket and let myself out the door. Henry was already making his way across the patio. He carried a flashlight the size of a boom box, which he shone in my face. We spent the next hour huddled together in the backyard, fearful of returning indoors until we knew we were safe. The next morning, he’d discovered the damage to his five-window coupe.
I’d followed him to the body shop and an hour later I’d driven him home. When I’d returned to my apartment, my message light was blinking. I’d hit the REPLAY button, but there was only a hissing that extended until the tape ran out. I was mildly annoyed. I assumed it was pranksters and let it go at that. Henry was standing right there and heard the same thing I did; he suggested a malfunction when the power had been restored. I’d rewound the tape to erase the hiss and had thought no more about it. Until now.
SIXTEEN.
As soon as I got home, I put a call through to Detective Aldo, eager to assert my innocence on this one small point. The minute he picked up the phone and identified himself, I launched right in. “Hi, Detective Aldo. This is Kinsey Millhone, up in Santa Teresa.” Little Miss Cheery making friends with the police.
I was just embarking on my explanation of the March phone call when he cut me short. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days,” he said tersely. “This is to put you on notice. I know for a fact you violated crime-scene tape and entered that apartment. I can’t prove it for now, but if I find one shred of evidence, we’ll charge you with willful destruction or concealment of evidence and resisting a peace officer in the discharge of his duties, punishable by a fine not exceeding one thousand dollars, or by imprisonment in a county jail not exceeding one year, or by both. You got that straight?”
I’d opened my mouth to defend myself when he slammed down the phone. I depressed the plunger on my end and replaced the handset, my mouth as dry as sand. I felt such a hot flash of guilt and embarrassment, I thought I’d been catapulted into early menopause. I put a hand against my flaming cheek, wondering how he knew it was me. Actually, I wasn’t the only one guilty of illegal entry. Mickey’s phantom girlfriend had entered the premises at some point between my two visits, making off with her diaphragm, her necklace, and her spray cologne. Unfortunately, aside from the fact that I didn’t know who she was, I couldn’t accuse her without accusing myself as well.