by Sue Grafton
Ruel peered at me and then turned to Lieutenant Dolan. “This the technician you were talking about?”
“She’s a private investigator. We’ll tow the car to Santa Teresa and do the evidence search up there.”
Ruel turned and stared. “You mean to take the car away?” He looked from Dolan to the deputy in disbelief. “He can’t do that, can he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But I hold title to that car and it’s registered in my name. He never said what he was up to or I’d’ve told him to get lost.”
Chilton said, “We understand that, Mr. McPhee, and I’m sure Lieutenant Dolan appreciates the inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience, my foot! That car’s been setting out there for the past eighteen years. If the cops thought it was so all-fired important, they should have taken it back then.”
Dolan said, “The information came in a week ago. That’s the first we’d heard of it, or we’d have done just that.”
“This’s private property. The car belongs to me. You can’t sashay in here and walk off with what’s mine.” He turned to the deputy. “I want him out of here.”
Chilton said, “I can’t help you with that. He has the right to take it.”
“Then you clear off, too! What good’s that gall-dang badge of yours if you can’t protect us any better than this?”
Chilton’s manner was beginning to shift. Where at first his tone had been conciliatory, now it was turning flat. “Excuse me, sir, but that car’s considered evidence in a criminal investigation. You don’t have a choice. Techs don’t find anything, you get the vehicle back and there’s no harm done.”
“I’m calling my lawyer.”
Lieutenant Dolan said, “Mr. McPhee, we have a legitimate search warrant. You can call anyone you want, but it won’t change what’s happening. No disrespect intended, but you might as well save your breath.”
“I’m entitled to one call.”
“That’s only if they put you in jail,” Chilton said, exasperated. “No one’s proposing to arrest you. It’s the car he wants. He’s talking about a homicide. You interfere here and you’re only making trouble for yourself. None of us want that.”
Cornell said, “Let it go, Dad. Come on. They’re going to do it anyway.”
Ruel gave way suddenly. He took his hat off and slapped his thigh with it. “People been telling me we live in a police state, but I never thought I’d see the day. It’s a damn shame when a law-abiding citizen gets treated like dirt.”
He walked away from the group. Cornell glanced back with a dark look and then followed his father to the house.
We heard a quick horn toot at the street and saw the local towing company with a flatbed truck idling at the curb. Chilton whistled to catch the driver’s eye and then gestured him in our direction with a series of arm rolls. The driver shifted gears, pulling the truck forward. He then backed into the driveway and eased up the long dirt lane toward the garage where we were standing.
Dolan and I acted as sideline supervisers while the chain was attached to the Mustang’s front axle and the car was winched up the ramp. Cornell’s truck was gone by then and there was no sign of Ruel. Once the Mustang was loaded, we tagged after the moving tow truck as far as the street. The driver waited while we got in Dolan’s car. We followed him, keeping the Mustang in view.
I said, “By the way, you talked to Stace? What’s he heard about his biopsy and X-rays? They must know something by now.”
Dolan looked at me blankly. “Completely slipped my mind. He wanted to come down here and I was so busy trying to talk him out of it I forgot to ask.”
“He’s joining us?”
“Not if I can help it. I’d rather have him up there where he can do some good.”
At the impound lot, we waited while the Mustang was unloaded and the rolling gate was locked. Dolan took care of all the paperwork and then he returned to the car. We headed for the motel. He was whistling idly to himself, tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel.
“You seem chipper.”
“I am. I got a good feeling about this.”
“How long until the forensics guys can get back to us?”
“Soon, I hope. Things are quiet at the moment, so Mandel said he’d ask them to get right on it.”
“And in the meantime, what?”
“Nothing. If they can connect our victim to the Mustang, we’ll use her dental chart to canvas the local dentists. Teeth that bad, someone might remember her.”
“Can’t we do that while we wait? I hate sitting around. We know someone stole the car and drove it up to Lompoc. C. K. spotted it near the quarry…”
“We still don’t know for sure this is the car he saw. It could’ve been something similar; some guy stopping near the quarry to take a leak. Don’t be so quick off the mark.”
“But suppose this was the car, doesn’t it seem safe to assume it was used to move the body?”
“Where do you get that, unless they find trace evidence?”
“Oh come on, Lieutenant…”
“I’m serious. Even if we’re right about the car, it still doesn’t prove the girl was from Quorum. Killer could have picked her up and stabbed her when he was on the road.”
“Okay, I’ll grant you that one. So what now, we just sit?”
“Yep.”
“But it could take days.”
“I can put you on a bus and send you home,” he said mildly.
“That’s not what I’m getting at.”
“Then what?”
“Why don’t you do the sitting while I start nosing around.”
He shook his head. “There’s no point going off half-cocked.”
“How about this? I’ll work with the meter off, but keep a running tab of my hours. If I manage to track her down, pay me, and if I don’t, oh well.”
Dolan thought about it, taking up his finger tapping as he studied the street ahead. “Maybe.”
“Come on, Dolan. Please, please, pretty please with sugar on it? Let me take a crack at it. I’ll be good. I swear.”
“Begging’s unbecoming. You’re not the type.” He stopped tapping. “I suppose I could borrow your typewriter and catch up on the paperwork. I want to get some of this down while the details are fresh.”
“Good. I’m glad. Makes it a lot more fun.”
Once in my room again, I opened the bed-table drawer and took out the pint-sized Quorum phone book, looking for the address of the public library. The Quorum Branch of the Riverside County District Public Library was on High Street. According to the minimap in to the front of the directory, it was only five blocks away. I tucked the book into my bag, left my typewriter with Dolan, and then headed off on foot.
At the library, I went straight to the reference room and pulled the city directories for 1966, ‘67, ‘68, and ‘69. I took the phone book from my shoulder bag and turned to the yellow pages under the heading “Dentists.” There were ten listed. I checked the current names against those of dentists in practice during the years in question. Two past dentists, Drs. Towne and Nettleton, had disappeared, which I was guessing meant they’d retired, died, or left the area. Four names carried over and six were new. Most seemed to be generalists, judging from their full-page ads, which trumpeted crowns, dentures, fillings, periodontal work, bridges, root canals, cosmetic dentistry, and oral surgery. With my dental phobia, this was making my palms sweat.
Already I favored the fellow who offered “Nitrous oxide: Dentistry while you sleep.” I wouldn’t be opposed to postponing my next appointment ‘til I was dead.
Of the carryovers, the fourth dentist, Dr. Gregory Spears, had listed himself twice, once under the general heading and again under the listing for orthodontists, of which there was one, namely him. The word “straightening” had been added in parentheses for those who didn’t know what an orthodontist did. I jotted down the four names and addresses, returned to the city map, and charted my route. Given the size of the town, it was no big
deal to walk from the library to the first dentist on my list.
Spears’s office was located in a storefront on Dodson. There was no one in the waiting room. His front office “girl” was in her sixties, a Mrs. Gary, according to her name tag. Her desktop was orderly and the surrounding office space was laid out with efficiency; charts filed on the vertical. A random band of color-coded labels formed an irregular line across the flaps. A small sign in cross-stitch hung on the wall: PLEASE PAY AT TIME SERVICES ARE RENDERED. I was sure she’d be sympathetic when she heard your front cap came off in the middle of a ladies’ lunch, but she probably wouldn’t take any guff from you if your check should bounce.
When she opened the sliding glass window that separated her office from the waiting room, I placed a copy of my PI license on the counter. Dolan had given me the file containing Jane Doe’s dental chart, showing the number and location of her fillings. I placed that on the counter as well. In the background, I could hear the high-pitched squealing of a drill, a sound that was sometimes sufficient to cause me to pass out. I ran a dampened palm across the seat of my pants and said, “Hi. I’m hoping you can give me some information.”
“I can certainly try.”
“I’m currently working with two Santa Teresa homicide detectives on a Jane Doe case that’s been on the books since 1969. This is a chart of her dental work. There’s an off chance she lived in this area and we’re wondering if she might have been a patient of Dr. Spears’s. She was most likely a minor when the work was done.”
She glanced at the file. “He’s with a patient right now. Can you come back in half an hour?”
“It’s easier if I just wait,” I said. “How long have you worked for him?”
“Since he opened his practice in 1960. What did you say the patient’s name was?”
“I don’t know. That’s the point. She was never identified. She had numerous fillings and the forensic odontist who examined the maxilla and mandible thought the work was probably done in the two years before her death. It’s a long shot, I know.”
“I doubt we’d have a chart on someone we haven’t seen in nearly twenty years.”
“What happens to the old charts? Are they destroyed?”
“Usually not. They’re put on inactive status and retired to dead storage. I’m not sure how far back they go. You’re talking about hundreds of patients, you know.”
“I’m aware of that. The charts are here in town ?”
“If you’re suggesting a hand search, that’s something you’d have to talk to Dr. Spears about. I’m not sure he’d agree to anything without a court order.”
“We’ll only be in town for two days and we were hoping to avoid delay.”
“Wait and see what he says. It isn’t up to me.”
“I understand.”
I took a seat in the corner, where I sorted through the magazines. I chose the current issue of Architectural Digest and entertained myself trying to imagine a color spread on my studio apartment, all eight hundred and fifty feet of it.
Fifteen minutes later, a woman with a puffy lip emerged, pausing at the desk while she wrote out a check for services. I waited until she’d left and then set the magazine aside and returned to the counter.
“Shall we try again?”
Mrs. Gary went into the examining room. I could hear the murmur of voices as she explained my request.
Dr. Spears came out to meet me, still wearing his white coat, wiping his hands on a paper towel he then tossed in the trash. He was gray-haired and blue-eyed and after we shook hands, mine were left smelling like soap. While he seemed to appreciate my problem, he wasn’t much help.
Before I could even get through the details, he was shaking his head. “I couldn’t do that without a name. Inactive charts are filed alphabetically. I’ve got hundreds of them. From what Mrs. Gary’s said, the girl was a minor, which further complicates matters. I don’t see how you’d find her.”
“‘She had tons of fillings, buckteeth, and a crooked eyetooth on the left,” I said.
“Most of my patients have crooked teeth. I’d like to help, but what you’re asking is impossible.”
“That’s too bad. I’d hoped for more, but I can see your point. What about the other dentists in the area back then? Can you tell me anything about Dr. Towne or Dr. Nettleton? I noticed both were in practice in the late sixties.”
“Dr. Towne died two years ago, but his widow might be willing to help if his records are still in her possession. Dr. Nettleton’s over ninety. He’s reasonably sharp, but I doubt you’ll get much.” He turned to Mrs. Gary. “You know the family, don’t you? Where’s he living these days?”
“With his daughter. She goes to my church.”
“Why don’t you give Miss Millhone the information. Maybe he’ll remember. It’s worth a try, at any rate.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” Mrs. Gary checked her Rolodex and made a note of the daughter’s name and address. From her expression, I was guessing I’d be lucky if Dr. Nettleton could remember how to tie his own shoes.
I left the office, pausing on the sidewalk out front. I consulted my map and my list, moving on to the next name. I repeated the same conversation, with variations, in my chats with the three remaining dentists. The response was polite but discouraging. They seemed willing to help, but all of them were busy and no one was interested in searching dead files on the off chance of finding her. Not only was I unable to supply them with a name, but I couldn’t prove she’d ever lived in Quorum or that her dental work was done there. My only hope had been that the meager facts in my possession might have triggered a recollection. I did have Dr. Nettleton’s address, but I was too tired by then to pursue the point.
It was close to 6:00 by the time I walked the ten blocks back to the motel where Dolan waited. I hated admitting I’d bombed out, but that’s what I did as soon as he answered his door.
He seemed unusually magnanimous. “Don’t worry about it. You covered a lot of ground.”
“For what it’s worth.”
“Let it go for now. Start again tomorrow. You might have better luck. Right now, it’s time for drinks and dinner. Are you up for that?”
“Sure, but you’ll have to give me half an hour. I want to check in with Henry and then I’m grabbing a shower. If you’re going to the Quorum Inn, I’ll meet you there.”
“Good.”
My call caught Henry just as he was going out the door. I gave him a hasty summary of the trip and the lack of progress, and he was properly consoling. “By the way, you received a package from Lompoc. It was on your doorstep this morning. I brought it in.”
“Who’s it from?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“What’s it look like?”
“About the size of a shirt box, two pounds. Probably not a bomb. I’m holding it to my ear and it doesn’t tick.”
“Now you’ve got me curious. Open it and peek.”
“I refuse to open your mail. I’ll keep it ‘til you get back.”
“If you change your mind, I’m giving you permission to see what’s there,” I said. “How’s Mattie?”
“She’s fine. She ended up staying an extra day so she could hike Diamondback Trail. There’s a hot springs up there she used to visit with her husband. She’s thinking about a painting of the scene if she can find it again.”
“Sounds like fun. Did you go?”
“No, no. My knees wouldn’t take it so I sent her on alone. Besides, I’d agreed to do a tea for Moza and I ended up making finger sandwiches and cookies all day.” Henry had been a commercial baker during his working life, and he was still smitten with the process. He catered the occasional luncheon or tea and worked a deal with Rosie, trading homemade breads for occasional free meals. “I liked her. She seems nice.”
“I hate to cut this short, but I’m late as it is. When will you be home?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”
I hung up the phone, stripped o
ff my clothes, and hopped in the shower, thinking Late for what? He’d been in a hurry to get off the phone, but I couldn’t tell if it was me he was avoiding or the subject of Mattie. I’d hoped to find out if he was interested in her and she in him. She and Henry had been cute together and I was feeling proprietary. I’d thought it was a good sign she stayed the extra day, but then the mention of her husband didn’t sit well with me. I’d assumed she was a widow, but she might be divorced. In either case, she’d referred to her husband twice, so maybe she was still emotionally connected to him. Not a good sign.
Chapter 15
*
At breakfast, drinking my second cup of coffee, I said, “I’ll track down Dr. Nettleton this morning to get some closure on that.” I watched Dolan eat his eggs Benedict. The yellow of the sauce was suspiciously bright, suggesting that the “chef” had used a packet of powdered Hollandaise.
He mopped up a puddle of poached egg with a fragment of buttered sweetroll. “I thought you covered all the dentists when you were out yesterday.”
I shook my head. “Didn’t get to him. This guy’s retired. I got his address from Dr. Spears but haven’t been there yet. Are you interested in coming?”
“Sounds like something you can handle on your own. Why don’t you drop me at the Sheriffs Department. I asked them to go through their dead files looking for any missing-persons reports that might sound like our girl. After that, I’ll walk back to the motel, see if we’ve heard from Mandel. I talked to him late last night and he said the guy who picked up the Mustang did a quick turnaround and headed right back. He and his wife were leaving on vacation this morning so that worked in our favor. Mandel said the evidence techs’ll get on it first thing this morning. He’ll call as soon as he has anything to report. I don’t hear soon, I can call him again.”
“Sounds good. I’ll report in after I’ve talked to Dr. Nettleton.”
At the Sheriffs Department, Dolan put the car in neutral and pulled on the emergency brake, then slid from the driver’s seat while I emerged from my side, went around the front, and took his place at the wheel. He’d fired up a cigarette before I could get my bearings. He fished his key out of his pocket and let himself into his room. I spent a few seconds adjusting the seat and the rearview mirror, trying to get a feel for the old Chevy, which had the bulk of a tank after my snub-nosed VW. As soon as I was set, the engine conked out on me. I turned the key in the ignition and pressed the gas pedal lightly, coaxing and cajoling until the engine caught hold again. I felt like a little kid. I peered down the length of the hood, wishing I were perched on a New York City telephone book, though my feet barely touched the pedals as it was.