As I pulled away, I kept an eye on them in the side-view mirror. They waited patiently, clearly unwilling to move while I still had them in my sights. Wherever they intended to hole up for the night, they didn’t want me to know. What a pair: Pearl, round as a beach ball, and Felix, with his gummed-up braces and his white-boy dreads. Why did the sight of them make me want to weep?

•   •   •

Wednesday morning, having worked my way through my usual routine, I went into the office, where I put on a pot of coffee and opened the mail from the day before. Despite the fact that business was nonexistent, I’m happier at my desk than just about anyplace else. I took out my index cards, intending to jot down a few notes, when the phone rang.

It was Aaron Blumberg returning my Monday-morning call with apologies for taking so long.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I know you’ve been busy. I figured you’d get back to me when you had the chance. Have you heard from Sacramento?”

“Not a peep,” he said. “What about you? Anything on your end?”

“Actually, I’ve picked up quite a bit,” I said. I gave him a quick summary of the blanks I’d filled in, including the dead man’s full name and the fact that he’d lived in Bakersfield for some years. I also told him about Dandy, Pearl, and Felix as my source for much of the information. “According to the scuttlebutt, Dace was sentenced to life in prison, but no one seems to know what he did or why he was released. I’d love to find out what that’s about.”

“Me and thee both. Give me the name again.”

“Last name, Dace. First initial, R—but I don’t know what it stands for. Richard, Robert. His beach buddies are convinced he had money because he went to the trouble to draw up his last will and testament with the three of them serving as witnesses. I didn’t see the document among his effects, but you might try his sleeping bag in case he sewed it into the lining or something of the sort. I have what they claim is the key to his safe deposit box, so that’s another possibility, and probably a better bet.”

“I’ll take a look at his sleeping bag,” he said. “You know where he was incarcerated?”

“Soledad, though I take it that was a subject he didn’t care to discuss.”

“Nice. I’ll pull up his criminal history on my computer. Date of birth?”

“Don’t have that. You worked in Kern County not that long ago. Seems like Bakersfield PD or the sheriff’s department could fill you in.”