“Just wondering.” He got up, opened the office door, stood gazing out to the corridor, his back to me. “What about Robin? She’s okay with it?”

All these years, first time he’d asked.

“Robin’s fine.”

“And the pooch?”

“Perfectly content. So are the fish. What’s going on, Big Guy?”

Long silence.

Then: “What you did for me … I’m not gonna forget it.”

That sounded more like complaint than gratitude.

I said, “Let’s not forget the times you saved my bacon.”

“Ancient history.”

“Everything ends up as history.”

“Then we die.”

“That, too.”

We both laughed. For lack of anything else.

CHAPTER
16

The new murders had nudged the first set of bones off Milo’s screen. But I couldn’t let go of the baby in the blue box. Kept thinking about Salome Greiner’s tension when I’d asked about a Duesenberg-driving doctor.

DMV kept no records of old registrations but a car that rare and collectible couldn’t be hard to trace.

Back home, I went straight to my office. The Auburn Cord Duesenberg Club in Indiana had a museum, an online store, and an energetic members forum.

A woman answered the phone, sounding cheerful. I told her what I was looking for and she said, “You’re in California?”

“L.A.”

“The top Duesenberg expert is right near you, in Huntington Beach.”

“Who’s that?”

“Andrew Zeiman, he’s a master restorer, works on all the serious cars, here’s his shop number.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Was a Duesie involved in a crime?”

“No,” I said, “but it might lead to information about a crime.”

“Too bad, I was hoping for something juicy. Lots of colorful characters owned our babies—Al Capone, Father Divine, Hearst—but nowadays it’s mostly nice people with money and good taste and that can get a little routine. Good luck.”

A clipped voice said, “Andy Zeiman.”

I began explaining.

He said, “Marcy from ACD just called. You want to locate an SJ for some sort of criminal investigation.”

Statement, not a question. Unperturbed.

I said, “If that’s possible.”

“Anything’s possible. Date and model.”

“We’ve been told it was a ’38 SJ, blue over blue.”

“SJ because it had pipes, right? Problem is you can put pipes on anything. Real SJs are rare.”

“Aren’t all Duesenbergs?”

“Everything’s relative. Total Duesenberg production is four hundred eighty-one, SJs are less than ten percent of that. Most were sold on the East Coast until ’32, then the trend shifted out here because that’s where the money and the flamboyance were.”

“Hollywood types.”

“Gable, Cooper, Garbo, Mae West, Tyrone Power. Et cetera.”

“How about we start with the real SJs. Is there a listing of original owners?”

“Sure.”

“Where can I find it?”

“With me,” said Zeiman. “What year does your witness think he saw this supposed SJ?”

“Nineteen fifty, give or take.”