T is for Trespass (Kinsey Millhone 20)

“No problem. I appreciate your time.”

As soon as I reached my desk I put a call through to Lowell Effinger’s office, which was closed for the weekend. His machine picked up and I left a message for Geneva Burt, giving her Melvin Downs’s name and address. I said, “Don’t let it wait. This guy seems antsy. If you don’t hear from him first thing Monday, call his landlady, Mrs. Von. She’s a tough old bird and she’ll crack the whip.”

I gave her the number that rang into Juanita Von’s office.

23

Having made the call to the county agency that dealt with elder abuse, I expected to feel relieved. The matter was out of my hands and the investigation of Solana Rojas was someone else’s responsibility. In reality, I was uneasy about running into her. I’d worked hard to ingratiate myself in an effort to gain access to Gus, but if I cut off all contact and the investigator showed up asking pointed questions, the obvious conclusion would be that I’d made the call, which of course I had. I didn’t know how to maintain even the semblance of innocence. In my heart, I knew Gus’s safety took precedence over the risk of Solana’s wrath, but I fretted nonetheless. Consummate liar that I am, I was now fearful she’d accuse me of telling the truth.

This is how the system works. A citizen sees an instance of wrongdoing and calls it to the attention of the proper authorities. Instead of being lauded, an aura of guilt attaches. I’d done what I thought was right and now I felt like skulking around, avoiding the sight of her. I could tell myself all day long I was being silly, but I was afraid for Gus, worried he’d pay the price for the call I’d made. Solana wasn’t a normal human being. She had a ruthless streak and the minute she figured out what I’d done, she was going to crawl up in my hair and take a shit. It didn’t help that we lived in such proximity. I unburdened myself to Henry sitting in his kitchen at the cocktail hour-he with Black Jack over ice, me with my Chardonnay.

“Don’t you have business that might take you out of town?” he asked.

“Don’t I wish. Actually, if I were gone, suspicion would fall on you.”

He waved that worry aside. “I can handle Solana. So can you, if it comes down to it. You did the right thing.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself, but I do have one teeny tiny transgression to confess.”

He said, “Oh, lord.”

“It’s not that bad. The day I was helping Solana with Gus, I took advantage of the moment to lift his check register and one of the passbooks for a savings account.”

“‘Lift,’ as in stole?”

“Well, yes, if you want to be blunt. That’s what prompted me to make the call to the county. It was the first proof I’d seen that she was draining his accounts. The problem is, now that she’s changed the locks I don’t have a way to put them back.”

“Oh boy.”

“‘Oh boy’ is right. What am I supposed to do? If I hang on to the documents, I can’t keep them at my place. What if she figures it out, calls the cops, and gets a search warrant?”

“Why can’t you put ’em in your safe-deposit box?”

“But I’d still risk getting caught with them. At the same time, I can’t destroy them because if Solana’s charged with a crime, that would be evidence. Actually if I’m charged with a crime, it’s evidence against me.”

Henry was shaking his head in disagreement. “Don’t think so for three reasons. The documents are inadmissible because they’re ‘fruit of the poison tree.’ Isn’t that what it’s called when evidence is illegally obtained?”

“Pretty much.”

“Besides which, the bank has the same records, so if push comes to shove, the DA’s office can subpoena the records from them.”

“What’s number three? I can hardly wait.”

“Seal ’em in an envelope and mail them to me.”

“I don’t want to put you in jeopardy. I’ll figure it out. Really, it’s enough to make me want to reform,” I said. “Oh, yeah, and there’s something else. The first time I went in…”

“You’ve been in twice?”

“Hey, the second time she invited me. That’s when Gus was stranded in the shower. The first time, I used his house key and made a note of all the medications he was on. I wondered if maybe a drug combination was causing his confusion and making him sleep. The pharmacist I talked to suggested possible pain pill or alcohol abuse, which is neither here nor there. This is the point. When I was cruising through the house, thinking Gus and Solana were gone, I opened the door to the third bedroom and there was this three-hundred-pound goon asleep in the bed. Who the hell was he?”