“Understood,” she said. She made a note of his phone number and address, and passed it across the desk.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate this.” I tucked the note in my bag.

Hesitantly, she said, “I don’t suppose you’re in the market for a cat. We have so many strays dropped at our door. Some are older and harder to place, but you have no idea how loving they are.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The Valley Oaks Senior Settlement had been established on an old estate in Montebello. I liked the word “settlement.” It suggested an encampment on the far reaches of life, where aging pioneers could find shelter and companionship. At the entrance a painted map-board showed a layout of the units, and I took a minute to locate Number 17 Juniper Lane. I drove through the gate at a crawl, obeying the sign that warned about the speed bumps that appeared every fifteen feet. The landscaping was beautifully maintained. Many of the old oaks had been left in place. Splitting off from the main thoroughfare, a series of winding roads disappeared in all directions, each marked with a discreet sign, indicating the name of the road and the unit numbers thereon. A few of the units I spotted had ramps to accommodate wheelchair users. Through the trees I could see an imposing structure, which I imagined was the original mansion converted now to public rooms where residents could visit, dine, or entertain.

Number 17 Juniper Lane was a cottage Hansel and Gretel would have liked, a snug stucco structure with a roof that looked like thatch. The front door was dark green, the shutters painted to match. A cluster of flowerpots took up one corner of the porch, all of them empty at the moment. On the drive over, as I rehearsed my approach, I’d decided not to mention my sketchy acquaintance with his son. I assumed Dr. McNally was aware of Walker’s legal problems and it wasn’t a topic that would be productive. Walker’s accident had nothing to do with my quest. I parked in a four-car inset between cottages.

I knocked and after a moment the door was opened by a man in his eighties. His hair was a thick gray, cropped short, and his bifocals had metal frames. I didn’t see any particular likeness to Walker, but then again, I hadn’t seen Walker in years, so the two might appear more similar than I knew. He had on a navy blue sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up and shorts that were creased across the lap. He wore slippers instead of shoes and socks, and his shins looked like soup bones sparsely dotted with hair.

“Dr. McNally?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I’m hoping to pick up information about a dog you euthanized some years ago.”