W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“I saw the damage to his leg when I was at the morgue. What triggered the attack?”

“He wouldn’t say. Some things you’d ask and all he’d do is shake his head. When he spiraled down the second time, he ended up in St. Terry’s. They put him through detox and then into rehab. Next thing I heard, he was on the street again. I didn’t think he’d last a week. I figured it was just a matter of time before his demons got ahold of him and took him down.”

“Is that what happened?”

“Naw. He got into a program that put him back on his feet.”

“Apparently not for good.”

Dandy smiled. “There’s no such thing as ‘for good’ when you’re one of us. It’s ‘for good’ until the first drink or you’re back to chipping heroin. Meth, if you’re really on a downward slide. Terrence went back to his old ways and that was the end of him. Pearl didn’t want to believe he’d started drinking again. Broke her heart, if you want to know the truth. He finally got clean and then he couldn’t maintain. Might sound odd coming from me. Nobody knows better than another drunk how hard it is to quit. Pearl believed he’d cleaned up his act. He gave her his word and she took it seriously.”

“Do you know when he was last seen by a doctor? It would help if the coroner’s office found a physician who’d sign off on the death certificate.”

“There was a doctor headed up the program. He’s the one terminated Terrence for disobeying the rules. I know he wasn’t feeling well the last couple of weeks. Much as he drank, it wasn’t any big surprise. He was a wreck of a human being and then he died and that’s the end of it.”

“What about his family? Any kids?”

“He burned that bridge a year ago. He was on the outs with his ex-wife and estranged from his kids. I don’t know the whole of it, but I gather his kids as good as slammed the door in his face. He claimed he did everything in his power to make things right, but they weren’t buying it.”

“What was the issue?”

Dandy’s smile was benign. “Being drunk’s the issue. What else you got? He gave up on his kids because they gave up on him. That’s the kind of pain for which there’s no relief.”

“It must have been hard on him.”

“He learned his lesson that round. He wanted to be clean and sober before he contacted his kinfolk, which is why he carried your name in his pocket for months. He needed a go-between, someone to smooth the way for him. After what happened with his kids, he was through with surprises, I can tell you that.”

“Meaning what?”

“The way he told it, his kids had no clue he’d come knocking at the door. He’d called and told ’em he wanted to make amends, but I guess they never thought they’d actually see him again and good riddance from their perspective. I believe he’d had a fair amount to drink by the time he got there. I fussed at him good when he told me how he’d gone about it. Said, bro, it’s not cool. It’s not cool at all. When there’s bad blood, you don’t do that—show up drunk and think your kids are going to welcome you with open arms. Doesn’t work that way.”

“Family’s tough. It’s like walking through a minefield, hoping you won’t get blown to bits,” I said. “I wonder what he was in prison for.”

“He never said. Something bad must have gone down.”

“I’m sorry he didn’t call me.”

“He might have been too sick. With him back on the booze, he was probably ashamed of himself. He disappeared for a month last summer and then he came back.”

“Disappeared to where?”

“Los Angeles, but I don’t know what he did there. Give a fellow his space is my attitude.”

I tilted back in my swivel chair and propped my foot on the edge of the desk. “Depressing, isn’t it?”

“Not every life turns out.”

“Which I should know by now,” I said. “The coroner’s investigator says all Terrence had on him were the clothes on his back and the sleeping bag he died in. Didn’t he own anything else?”

“’Course he did. Had a shopping cart where he kept his cookstove, his books, and a custom-made tent. All gone by the time we got to the beach on the morning he died. He also had a fancy backpack with an aluminum frame. Somebody walked off with everything.”

“That’s too bad. What kind of books?”

“These were textbooks mostly. He loved anything to do with plants. Trees, shrubs, container gardening, propagation. He knew everything there was to know about California oaks. Drop of a hat, he’d talk your ear off. It was hard to shut him up once he got started.”