I went out the office door and turned right, moving to the bank of pay phones I'd seen near the ice machine. I opened my bag and fished out the Quorum phone book and a handful of change. I looked up the dentist's number and dialed, receiver tucked between my shoulder and my tilted head while I put the directory back in my bag.

When Mrs. Gary picked up, I said, "Hi, Mrs. Gary. Kinsey Millhone here. I can't believe I caught you in the office on a Saturday."

"I'm just catching up on insurance claims. This is about the only time I have."

"Dr. Spears left me a message. Is he there by any chance?"

"He's off playing golf, but I can tell you why he called. He found the chart you asked about. I've got it sitting on my desk."

"Tell him I'm in love."

"He'll be thrilled to death," she said.

I laughed. "Could you do me a favor? Could you slip it in a manila envelope and mail it to Sergeant Detective Joe Mandel at the Santa Teresa County Sheriffs Department? He'll talk to the forensic odontologist and they'll handle it from there." I gave her the address, adding my copious thanks to her and to Dr. Spears. I hung up the phone, offering up small, fervent prayers.

I had to believe that a comparison of his records with the Jane Doe maxilla and mandible would confirm Charisse Quinn's identity. At the same time, I knew reliance on such records could prove inconclusive. A chart might contain errors, or it might be incomplete if details of previous or subsequent dental work had been omitted for some reason. A positive ill might take weeks, but once it was confirmed, the guys could chase down the paperwork on Charisse's birth parents through Riverside County Social Services. In the meantime, I was feeling good. We seemed to be making progress in spite of the odds.

When I returned to my room, my door was closed and the maid's cart was halfway down the corridor. I let myself in and tossed my purse and jacket on the bed. I retrieved my duffel from the closet and took it over to the desk, digging deep to the bottom, where I'd stashed my copy of the murder book. I sat and went through it page by page. I knew what I was looking for, but not where it was. Twenty pages in, I came across the report, dated August 1, 1969, detailing the arrest of Frankie Miracle, who'd given the deputy his home address in Blythe, California. No mention of Venice, where the murder had taken place. Under occupation, he'd classified himself as a handyman/helper. For his employer, he'd listed Lennie Root, R&R Painting, with an address and phone number in Hazelwood Springs. I turned down a corner of the page and moved on. I was curious about the purported call from Charisse's mother that Stacey'd mentioned earlier.