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PROLOGUE

Two dead ed the course of my life that fall One of them I knew and the other I’d never laid eyes on until I saw hiue The first was Pete Wolinsky, an unscrupulous private detective I’d ations, where I’d served my apprenticeship I worked for Ben Byrd and Morley Shine for three years, a the six thousand hours I needed for , tireless, and inventive While Ben and Morley did business with Pete on occasion, they didn’t think anized, and irresponsible withthe skills were minimal and his reputation too dubious to recoht subcontract the odd stretch of surveillance to hin him a routine records search, but his name never appeared on a client report This didn’t prevent hi their na a close professional relationship Pete was a ues did likewise More problematic was the fact that he’d rationalized his bad behavior for so long it had beco procedure

Pete Wolinsky was gunned down the night of August 25 on a dark stretch of pavee The site was right across the street froout for off-duty cops It ht seem odd that no one in the bar are that shots were fired, but the voluhly the equivalent of a gas-powered chainsaw at a distance of three feet The rare h-pitched rattle of ice cubes in dueling blenders where aritas are whipped up at a rate of one every four and a half minutes

Pete’s body ht if it hadn’t been for an inebriated bar patron who stepped into the shadows to take a leak I heard about Pete’s death on therooht his naht shot of the crime scene blocked off by yellow tape By the time the news crew had arrived, his body had been loaded into the ambulance in preparation for transport to the coroner’s office, so there was really nothing to see In the harsh glare of artificial light, a somber female reporter recited the bare facts Pete’s immediate family must have been notified by then or she wouldn’t have mentioned him by name Pete’s death was a surprise, but I can’t say it was a shock He’d often co the streets at all hours According to the reporter, his wallet had been stolen along with his watch, a knock-off Rolex with a faux-platinuenuine article fro more about impulse or cheap thrills than profit He was a man with a propensity for risk, and it was only a ht up with him and pushed him off the cliff

The story about the second dead er to articulate, especially since the facts eed slowly over a matter of weeks The coroner’s office calledif I could ID a John Doe who had my name and phone number on a slip of paper in his pocket How could I resist? Every good mystery takes place on three planes—what really happened; what appears to have happened; and how the sleuth, aures out which is which I suppose I could put everything in perspective if I explained how it all turned out and then doubled back to that phone call, but it’s better if you experience it just as I did, one strange step at a time

This was October 7, 1988, and it looked like things were as bad as they were going to get On the national front, congressional spending was a whopping 1,06414 billion and the federal debt was topping out at 2,6013 billion Unemployment hovered at 55 percent and the price of a first-class postage stamp had juard issues over which I have no control Like it or not, the politicians don’t consult ross national product, whatever that is I ht voice an opinion (if I had one), but as nearly as I can tell, nobody pays the slightest attention, so what’s the point? My only hope is to be the master of my own small universe, which is centered in a Southern California town ninety-six eles

My nae thirty-eight I rent office space in a two-rooaloith a kitchenette and a bathroom on a narrow side street in the heart of Santa Teresa, population 85,810, uys Since I’m the sole proprietor and lone e round checks, witness location, and the occasional service of process Froal, financial, or property disputes On a more personal note, let me say that I believe in law and order, loyalty, and patriotisht see an honest living so I can pay my taxes, cover my monthly bills, and tuck any surplus into my retirement account