“Twelve-year-old car, there’d be a good chance of repaint, so color might not matter. Also, it wasn’t uncommon to put new bodies on old chassis. Like a custom-made suit, altered to taste.”

“If it helps to narrow things down, the owner may have been a doctor.”

“Give me your number, something comes up I’ll let you know.”

Seven minutes later, he called back. “You might have gotten lucky. I’ve got a blue/blue Murphy-bodied Dual Cowl Phaeton ordered by a Walter Asherwood in ’37, delivered November ’38. Murphy body with later enhancement by Bohman and Schwartz. Both were L.A.-based coachbuilders.”

“The car started out on the West Coast.”

“Yup. Walter Asherwood held on to it until ’43, when he transferred ownership to James Asherwood, M.D. Nothing else in the log fits, so it’s either this one or your person didn’t see a real SJ.”

“Where did the Asherwoods live?”

“Can’t give you the address because for all I know family members are still living there and we respect privacy.”

“Can you give me a general vicinity?”

“L.A.”

“Pasadena?”

“You can fish but I won’t bite,” said Zeiman. “You’ve got a name, that should be sufficient.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Can you tell me who owns the car, now?”

“One of our members.”

“Did he or she buy it from Dr. Asherwood?”

“There’s a complete chain of ownership but that’s all I can say. Why do you need the current owner, anyway?”

“We’re trying to trace a dead baby’s mother.”

“What?”

“The car was seen parked in the driveway of a house where an infant was buried decades ago. The bones were just dug up.”

“Dead baby?” said Zeiman. “So we’re talking murder.”

“That’s not clear.”

“I don’t get it, either it’s murder or it’s not.”

I said, “Depends on cause of death.”

“Hold on,” he said. “My wife mentioned something about that, she’d heard it on the news. Made her cry. Okay, I’ll make some calls.”

“Thanks for all the help.”

“Most interesting request I’ve had since two months ago.”

“What happened two months ago?”

“Shifty Mideastern type walks into my shop, flashing cash, wants me to build a Frankencar out of retools that he can sell as genuine to a sucker in Dubai. I said no thanks, phoned the Huntington Beach cops, they told me intent’s no felony, until a crime was committed there’s nothing they can do. That felt wrong to me so I tried the FBI, they didn’t even return my call. At least you do your job. So I’ll help you.”

It took just over an hour to hear back from Zeiman. By then I’d made progress on my own.