When the phone rang I left the kitchenette and crossed to the desk. I took a deep breath before I picked up the handset, lest I snap at the poor sucker on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

“Kinsey?”

“Yes.”

“P. F. Sanchez down in Puerto. I came up with the vet’s name and thought I’d pass it on to you.”

“You did? Well, how cool! I didn’t expect to hear from you.” I pulled a scratch pad closer and opened the top drawer, looking for a pencil or a pen.

“I thought it might surprise you. I was pretty sure I knew where the file was, but I had to reorganize everything else while I was looking. That’s the downside of hoarding. Things are always getting out of hand. You have a pen and paper?”

“I do. Fire away,” I said.

“Guy’s name was Walter McNally. He had on office on Dave Levine. McNally Pet Hospital. I’ve got the address and the phone number that were in service at the time.”

He rattled them off and I made a note of the information.

“Did you say ‘Walter’ or ‘Walker’?”

“Walter, with a t.”

“Weird. I think I went to high school with his son,” I said. “What about the date when Ulf was put down?”

“July 13, 1967.”

“Thanks. You’re a doll.”

“You’re welcome. Glad to be of help. If you learn anything of interest, will you call me back and let me know?”

“I’ll do that.”

After I hung up, I hauled out the telephone book and turned to the yellow pages, looking under the listing for veterinarians. There was no entry for Walter McNally or McNally Pet Hospital. I flipped to the white pages, but the only McNallys listed were Walker and Carolyn in Horton Ravine. I made a note of their address and phone number. I picked up the handset and paused.