Just as I prepared to run a search on Ansell Bright, my phone rang.

“Doctor, this is Amber from your service. I had a Mr. Bragen calling from Alaska. He didn’t want to hold, said you can call him if you want. Didn’t sound like he cared one way or the other.”

Bragen’s number had an 805 prefix. Fishing up north but using a cell phone with a Ventura–Santa Barbara code.

A gruff voice said, “Yeah?”

“Sergeant Bragen? Alex Delaware.”

“The psychologist,” he said, as if the title amused him. “An earlier flight came up. Weather changes are quick up here, the connectors get iffy. I’ve spent too many days in the airport waiting for storms to pass.”

“Makes sense.”

“You want to know about Bright and Tranh. There’s not much to know. Big loser whodunit from day one and if there was anything forensically worthwhile the moron they hired as sheriff screwed it up. We had one suspect but he didn’t pan out.”

“Who’s that?”

“Bright’s ex-husband,” he said. “Ironclad alibi and he passed a poly.”

“Why’d you suspect him?”

“’Cause he was the ex. But forget it, it’s not him.”

“Could I have his name, just for the record?”

“Jose something. Mexican, probably illegal, in those days we weren’t allowed to ask. He worked at the feed store, unloading hay and whatnot. Claimed he was a big-time chef back in Guadalajara or wherever, but they all claim that.”

“Immigrants.”

“If everyone was so better off, why do they come here? Anyway, he’s not your guy, that woulda been nice. He and Bright were married six months, got divorced, he moved to Oxnard, got a job cooking at one of the hotels. Which is where twenty people saw him during the entire time frame of the murders. We also had witnesses eyeballing before and after. At his apartment complex, then at a bar that night dancing with his new girlfriend, so no way. I asked him to take a poly anyway, he agreed. Passed with flying colors. Claimed he and Leonora parted friendly, had a Christmas card from her to prove it. Also, he seemed real broken up about her dying. And for all I know, Bright wasn’t even the target, maybe Tranh was. Not that I ever found anyone who’d talk about her. Took the time to visit her family — big clan, down in Anaheim. Everyone crying and weeping and lighting candles to Buddha. Listening to them, Vicki was a nun, had no enemies.”

“You had reason to doubt that?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m not a trusting guy, by nature. You get up there today?”

“Sure did.”

“Still a one-horse town?”

“Maybe half a horse.”

“Place that rinky-dink, you’d think someone would’ve known something. But all those hicks could say was how nice they both were.” Harsh laughter. “Nice people is the bane of a detective’s existence.”