I climbed the two flights of stairs, forgoing the pleasures of the elevator, which is small and takes forever, often giving the impression it’s on the verge of getting stuck. Once in the office, I exchanged pleasantries with the receptionist, Alison, and Lonnie Kingman’s secretary, Ida Ruth. I seldom see Lonnie, who’s either in court or working doggedly behind closed doors. I let myself into my office, where I paused to make a note of the date, time, and a brief physical description of the couple to whom I’d served the subpoenas. I typed up a quick invoice, then picked up the telephone, leaning back in my swivel chair as I tossed the paperwork in my out box. California Fidelity didn’t open until nine, but Darcy usually came in early.
“Hey, Darcy. It’s me,” I said when she answered on her end.
“Oh hi, Kinsey. Hang on a minute. I’m not at my desk.” She put me on hold and I listened to leftover Christmas carols while I waited, feeling mildly optimistic. I figured if she hadn’t found anything she’d have said so.
Half a minute passed and then she clicked back in. “Okay. Guy David Malek doesn’t have a current driver’s license in the state of California. His was surrendered in 1968 and apparently it’s never been reissued.”
“Well, shit,” I said.
Darcy laughed. “Would you just wait? You’re always jumping to conclusions. All I said was he doesn’t drive. He has a California identification card, which is where I picked up the information. His mailing address is Route 1, Box 600, Marcella, California, 93456. That’s probably the same as his residence. Sounds like a ranch or a farm. You want to see the picture?”
“You have a current picture of him? This is great. I don’t believe it. You’re a wizard.”
“Hey, you’re dealing with a pro,” she said. “What’s your fax number?”
I gave her Lonnie’s fax number while I reached for the telephone book. “Are you sure he’s in Marcella? That’s less than a hundred miles away.”
“According to DMV records. That should make your job easy.”
“Ain’t that the truth. What do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. I had to fake out some forms to make the request look legitimate, but nobody’s going to check. Took less than a minute.”
“You’re a doll. Thanks so much. I’ll be in touch and we’ll have lunch. I’ll pay.”
Darcy laughed. “I’ll take you up on that.”
I put the phone down and paged through the telephone book, looking up the area code for Marcella, California. It was actually in the 805 area, the same as Santa Teresa. I tried directory assistance, giving the operator Guy Malek’s name. There was no telephone listed at the address I’d been given. “You have any other listing for Guy Malek in the area? G. Malek? Any kind of Malek?”
“No ma’am.”
“All right. Thanks.”
I trotted down the hall to the fax machine just in time to see a copy of Guy Malek’s photo ID slide out. The black-and-white reproduction had a splotchy quality, but it did establish Guy David Malek’s SEX: M; HAIR: BLND; EYES: GRN; HT: 5-08; WT: 155; DOB: 03-02-42. He looked ever so much better than he had in his high school annual. Three cheers for him. I confess I felt smug as I sat down at my desk, the little show-off in my nature patting herself on the back.
I called Tasha’s office and identified myself to her secretary when she picked up. She said, “Tasha’s in a meeting, but let me tell her it’s you. She can probably take a quick call if it’s important.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“Can you hold?”
“Sure.” While I waited, I laid out a hand of solitaire. One card up and six cards down. In some ways, I was sorry everything had come together so fast. I didn’t want Donovan to think he was paying for something he could have done himself-though in truth, he was. There’s a lot of information available as a matter of public record. Most people simply don’t have the time or the interest in doing the grunt work. They’re all too happy to have a PI do it for them, so in the end everybody benefits. Still, this one was almost too easy, especially since I wasn’t sure the family would believe their real interests had been served by my discovery. I turned the next card up on the second pile and placed another five cards down.
Tasha clicked on, sounding terse and distracted. “Hi, Kinsey. What’s up? I hope this is important because I’m up to my ass in work.”
“I have an address for Guy Malek. I thought I’d better let you know first thing.”
There was half a second’s silence while she processed the information. “That was fast. How’d you manage?”
I smiled at her tone, which was the perfect blend of surprise and respect. “I have my little ways,” I said. Ah, how seductive the satisfaction when we think we’ve impressed others with our cleverness. It’s one of the perversities of human nature that we’re more interested in the admiration of our enemies than the approbation of our friends. “You have a pencil?”
“Of course. Where’s he living?”
“Not far.” I gave her the address. “There’s no telephone listed. Either he doesn’t have phone service or it’s in someone else’s name.”
“Amazing,” she said. “Let me pass this along to Donovan and see what he wants to do next. He’ll be delighted, I’m sure.”
“I doubt that. I got the impression they’d all be happier if Guy turned up dead.”
“Nonsense. This is family. I’m sure things will work out. I’ll have him give you a call.”
Within fifteen minutes, my phone rang. Donovan Malek was on the line. “Nice work,” he said. “I’m surprised how quick it was. I thought the search would take weeks.”
“It’s not always this easy. We got lucky,” I said. “You need anything else?”
“Tasha and I just had a chat about that. I suggested we have you go up there in person. She could contact him by letter, but people sometimes react oddly getting mail from an attorney. You feel threatened before you even open the envelope. We don’t want to set the wrong tone.”
“Sure, I can talk to him,” I said, feeling puzzled what the right tone would be.
“I’d like a firsthand report about Guy’s current circumtstances. Are you free sometime in the next two days?”
I checked my calendar. “I can go this afternoon if you like.”
“The sooner the better. I want this handled with kid gloves. I have no idea if he’s heard about Dad’s death, but even with the estrangement, he could be upset. Besides, the money’s a touchy issue. Who knows how he’ll react.”
“You want me to tell him about the will?”
“I don’t see why not. He’s bound to find out eventually.”
FIVE
I glanced at my watch. Since there was nothing on my schedule, I thought I might as well hit the road. It was just now nine-thirty. A round-trip to Marcella would take a little more than an hour each way. If I allowed myself an hour to track down Guy Malek, I’d still have plenty of time left to grab a quick lunch and be back mid-afternoon. I opened my bottom desk drawer and took out my map of California. According to the legend, Marcella was maybe eighty miles north, with a population of less than fifteen hundred souls. I didn’t think it would take even an hour to locate him once I hit town, assuming he was still there. The conversation itself probably wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes, which meant I might get this whole job wrapped up by the end of the day.
I put a call through to Dietz and let him know what was going on. I could hear the television in the background, one of the perpetual news broadcasts riddled with commercials. At the end of the hour, you know more about dog food than you do about world events. Dietz indicated that he had no particular plans. I wasn’t sure if he was angling for an invitation to accompany me, but since he didn’t ask the question, I didn’t answer it. I didn’t want to feel responsible for his entertainment anyway. I told him I expected to be back by three and would bypass the office and come straight home. We could figure out what to do about dinner when I finally rolled in.
I gassed up my VW and headed north on 101. The sunshine was short-lived. Where the highway hugged the coastline, the fog had rolled in and the sky was now milky white with clouds turning thick at the edge. Along the road, the evergreens stood out against the horizon in a variety of dark shapes. Traffic moved steadily, mostly single-passenger cars with an occasional horse van, probably heading to the Santa Ynez valley just north of us. We hadn’t had much rain and the hills looked like dull hay-colored mounds with an occasional oil rig genuflecting in a series of obsequious bows toward the earth.