In the meantime, Jonah was still working the missing persons detail. He came on the line abruptly, using his businesslike policeman’s manner. “Lieutenant Robb,” he said.

“Oh, wow, it’s ‘Lieutenant’ Robb. You’ve been promoted. Congratulations. This is a voice from your past. It’s Kinsey Millhone,” I said.

I enjoyed the moment of startled silence while he computed my identity. I pictured him suddenly sitting back in his chair. “Well, hey there. How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Not bad. You have a cold? I didn’t recognize your voice. You sound all stuffed up.”

We went through the formalities, exchanging basic information, which didn’t take that long. I told him I’d left California Fidelity. He told me Camilla had come back to him. I could see it wasn’t any different from missing fifteen episodes of your favorite soap opera. Tuning in again, weeks later, you realize you really haven’t lost a beat.

Like a plot synopsis, Jonah began to fill me in. “Yeah, she got a job last month. Working as a court clerk. I think she’s happier. She has a little money of her own, and everybody seems to like her. She thinks it’s interesting, you know what I mean? Helps her understand my job, which is good for both of us.”

“Well, that’s great. It sounds good,” I said. He must have noticed I didn’t press for additional details. I could feel the conversation stalling like a biplane about to crash. It’s disconcerting to realize how little you have to say to someone who once occupied such a prominent place in your bed. “You’re probably wondering why I got in touch,” I said.

Jonah laughed. “Yeah, I was. I mean, I’m glad to hear from you, but I figured there was something up.”

“Remember Wendell Jaffe? The guy who disappeared off his sailboat….”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“He’s been spotted in Mexico. It’s possible he’s on his way back to California.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” I told him an abbreviated version of my encounter with Wendell, omitting the fact that I’d broken into his room. In talking to cops, I don’t always volunteer information. I can be a dutiful citizen when it suits my purposes, but this wasn’t one of those occasions. For starters, I was secretly embarrassed that I’d blown the contact. If I’d done the job right, Wendell never would have known anyone was on his tail. I said, “Who should I be talking to? I thought I ought to notify someone, preferably the detective in charge of the case back then.”

“That’d be Lieutenant Brown, but he’s gone now. He retired last year. You’ll probably want to talk to Lieutenant Whiteside in Major Frauds. I can have you transferred if you like. That Jaffe was a bad-ass. Neighbor of mine lost ten grand because of him, and that was peanuts compared to most.”

“I gathered as much. Did they have any recourse?”

“They put his partner in jail. Once the scam came to light, all the investors brought suit. Since there wasn’t any way to get Jaffe served, they ended up publishing the summons and complaint, and finally took his default. Of course, they got the judgment, but there wasn’t any way to collect from him. He stripped all his bank accounts before he disappeared.”

“So I heard. What a bummer.”

“You got that right. Plus, he was mortgaged to the eyeballs, so his house wasn’t worth a cent. I know people who’d love to think he’s still around someplace. He ever showed up, they’d enforce the judgment in ten seconds flat, whip his ass into court, and take everything he had. Then he’d be arrested. What makes you think he’d be dumb enough to come back?”

“He’s got a kid in big trouble, according to the papers. You know those four inmates who escaped from Connaught? One of them was Brian Jaffe.”

“Shit, that’s right. I didn’t make the connection. I knew Dana in high school.”

“That’s his wife?” I asked.

“That’s right. Her maiden name was Annenberg. She got married right after graduation.”

“Can you get me an address?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard. She’s probably in the book. Last I heard she was down around P/O some place.”

P/O was the ready reference locally to the two adjoining towns—Perdido and Olvidado—on Highway 101 thirty miles to the south. The towns looked just the same, except that one favored shrubs along the highway and the other did not. Usually the two were referred to in the same breath—P/O with a hash mark mentally inserted between the initials. I was making notes like crazy on a legal pad.