“Not that I know. Pearl mostly stayed here, worried they’d come after her. Felix didn’t seem concerned. I don’t think the notion that actions have consequences meant anything to him. He did what he did and then forgot about it. That boy wasn’t blessed with much in the way of common sense.”

“What have the police done about the Boggarts?”

“Asked around, I’m sure. Filled out paperwork. I know they talked to the fellow who called 911, but he won’t help. Sorry it happened and so forth, but he’s not sticking his neck out for a bum who gets in a brawl with three other bums.”

“Meanwhile, you and Pearl go off on a toot,” I said. “What was that about? You’d think the last thing you’d want to do is get shitfaced.”

Sheepishly, he said, “Feels good sometimes, you know? When bad things go down, you want to cut loose. Get loaded and forget. Better than feeling sad or mad or depressed.”

“Are you okay now? You don’t look good.”

“Naw, I’m not feeling so hot. I need to find me a spot where I can curl up and sleep.”

“You’ll keep an eye on Pearl?”

“Oh sure. Gotta look after my pal.”

“You go off on another bender and I’ll wring your neck,” I said with all the compassion I could muster, which was none.

Then I repressed the urge to hug the man, primarily because he had what looked like a streak of spit-up down the front of his shabby sport coat. I patted him on the arm. The gesture was weak but it was the best I could do.

On my way out, the volunteer at the desk beckoned to me. I checked behind me to make sure she meant the gesture for me. I paused at the desk. She said, “Are you related to Terrence Dace?”

“Yes.”

“The one he made executor of his estate?”

“That’s me. I’m Kinsey.”

“Belva,” she said. “The reason I ask is I came across some mail for him and thought you should have it.”

“Well, thanks. That’s good of you.”

She turned and picked up a couple of bank statements in windowed envelopes and a fourteen-by-twenty mailing pouch. The package was thick, and when she passed it across the counter to me, I was surprised by the weight. The label was self-addressed in the printing I’d come to recognize. The postmark was June 29, 1988.

“I appreciate this,” I said. I pulled out a business card and placed it on the desk for her. “If anything else comes in, would you let me know?”

“Of course. I’ll leave a note for the other volunteers in case there’s something more.”