W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“Nope.”

“You’re not associated with the hospital or the university in any capacity at all?”

“No way. I’m freelance. I’ll swear to it,” I said. “I don’t have clients in the medical profession or any related field. And that includes dentists and podiatrists. I don’t know how else to assure you of my sincerity.”

“I’ll pass that on to her.”

“Are we square?”

“As far as I’m concerned.”

“Good. Then it’s my turn. Why did Terrence need the services of a PI? I asked before and I didn’t get an answer.”

“He didn’t spell out the particulars, but I know what was on his mind. He believed he had kin in the area. Growing up, he had an uncle he very much admired. The two were close when he was a kid, but he hadn’t seen the man for years. Said he came to visit his uncle here shortly after the man moved to Santa Teresa. Later he heard the fellow died. He hoped to connect with family members, assuming there were any left.”

“He never mentioned his uncle’s name?”

“No. I happened to overhear him talking about it to someone else.”

“Why pick me when there are half a dozen private eyes in town?”

“You know a fellow named Pinky Ford?”

“Of course. How do you know him?”

“He’s a man about town, in some sense of the word. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but he lives in a big yellow Cadillac he parks here and there. Terrence was asking around and Pinky told him you were a decent sort.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Dandy cocked his head. “How do you know Pinky? He doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Long story I’ll save for another time.”

“I may take you up on it,” he said. “Meantime, what else can I tell you about Terrence?”

“Do you know where he was from?”

“Bakersfield. I don’t know if he was born there, but the way he told it, that’s where he lived most of his life.”

“You met him at Harbor House?”

“That’s right. He arrived here in January on a Greyhound bus. He’d been in prison up at Soledad. He said it was a life sentence, but that’s all I know. He didn’t like to talk about it. He slept a couple of nights under a freeway overpass and figured out it was a bad idea. The panhandlers with cardboard signs aren’t as nice as the rest of us. You stand by the road begging, that’s a different work ethic. Terrence tried the Rescue Mission, but they wouldn’t take him unless he swore off alcohol, which he wasn’t about to do. He heard about the shelter and when he showed up, the first person he met was Pearl. She introduced him to Felix and me. Harbor House, you don’t have to be sober, but you’d better not be obstreperous. Make trouble and you’re out.”

“It seems like a cool place,” I said. “I stopped by the day before yesterday looking for you.”

“Sunday, we throw darts. Sports bar down the block has a weekly tournament.”

“Are you any good?”

“Depends on what day it is and how much I’ve had to drink.”

“I noticed the woman in line ahead of me had a shelter ID card. At least I think that’s what it was. I wondered if Terrence had one. I ask because he didn’t have any identification on him when the coroner brought him in.”

“Oh, he had a card. I’m sure of it. Harbor House issued one so he could take his meals with us. Someone walked off with all his stuff, so maybe it was in his cart.”

“He wasn’t a Harbor House resident?”

“Not him. He didn’t want a bed. Nights, he didn’t like to be around other folks. He spent most his time drunk and he hung out with another fellow in the same sorry shape. Now and then he tried cleaning up his act without much success.”

“So he was in Santa Teresa, what, eight or nine months?”

“Sounds about right. He loved it here. He said he was never going anyplace else. March, the other fellow died and Terrence went on a bender that landed him in jail. After that he sobered up for a couple weeks. Then he started in again and one day collapsed in the street. He was lucky he didn’t die that round. Pain meds and alcohol are a bad mix.”

“No fooling. Pain pills? What was that about?”

“Up at Soledad, some fellows went after him with lead pipes. Busted up his leg bad, leaving him with a limp and a load of agony. He didn’t sleep well because of it. He had to get up now and then and walk around so it wouldn’t seize up. That was another reason he preferred to be outdoors, so he wouldn’t bother any of the rest of us.”