M Is for Malice

paperwork in my out box. California Fidelity didn't open until nine, but Darcy usually came in early.
    "Hey, Darcy. It's me," I said when she answered on her end.
    "Oh hi, Kinsey. Hang on a minute. I'm not at my desk." She put me on hold and I listened to leftover Christmas carols while I waited, feeling mildly optimistic. I figured if she hadn't found anything she'd have said so.
    Half a minute passed and then she clicked back in. "Okay. Guy David Malek doesn't have a current driver's license in the state of California. His was surrendered in 1968 and apparently it's never been reissued."
    "Well, shit," I said.
    Darcy laughed. "Would you just wait? You're always jumping to conclusions. All I said was he doesn't drive. He has a California identification card, which is where I picked up the information. His mailing address is Route 1, Box 600, Marcella, California, 93456. That's probably the same as his residence. Sounds like a ranch or a farm. You want to see the picture?"
    "You have a current picture of him? This is great. I don't believe it. You're a wizard."
    "Hey, you're dealing with a pro," she said. "What's your fax number?"
    I gave her Lonnie's fax number while I reached for the telephone book. "Are you sure he's in Marcella? That's less than a hundred miles away."
    "According to DMV records. That should make your job easy."
    "Ain't that the truth. What do I owe you?"
    "Don't worry about it. I had to fake out some forms to make the request look legitimate, but nobody's going to check. Took less than a minute."
    "You're a doll. Thanks so much. I'll be in touch and we'll have lunch. I'll pay."
    Darcy laughed. "I'll take you up on that."
    I put the phone down and paged through the telephone book, looking up the area code for Marcella, California. It was actually in the 805 area, the same as Santa Teresa. I tried directory assistance, giving the operator Guy Malek's name. There was no telephone listed at the address I'd been given. "You have any other listing for Guy Malek in the area? G. Malek? Any kind of Malek?"
    "No ma'am."
    "All right. Thanks."
    I trotted down the hall to the fax machine just in time to see a copy of Guy Malek's photo ID slide out. The black-and-white reproduction had a splotchy quality, but it did establish Guy David Malek's SEX: M; HAIR: BLND; EYES: GRN; HT: 5-08; WT: 155; DOB: 03-02-42. He looked ever so much better than he had in his high school annual. Three cheers for him. I confess I felt smug as I sat down at my desk, the little show-off in my nature patting herself on the back.
    I called Tasha's office and identified myself to her secretary when she picked up. She said, "Tasha's in a meeting, but let me tell her it's you. She can probably take a quick call if it's important."
    "Trust me, it is."
    "Can you hold?"
    "Sure." While I waited, I laid out a hand of solitaire. One card up and six cards down. In some ways, I was sorry everything had come together so fast. I didn't want Donovan to think he was paying for something he could have done himself – though in truth, he was. There's a lot of information available as a matter of public record. Most people simply don't have the time or the interest in doing the grunt work. They're all too happy to have a PI do it for them, so in the end everybody benefits. Still, this one was almost too easy, especially since I wasn't sure the family would believe their real interests had been served by my discovery. I turned the next card up on the second pile and placed another five cards down.
    Tasha clicked on, sounding terse and distracted. "Hi, Kinsey. What's up? I hope this is important because I'm up to my ass in work."
    "I have an address for Guy Malek. I thought I'd better let you know first thing."
    There was half a second's silence while she processed the information. "That was fast. How'd you manage?"
    I smiled at her tone, which was the perfect blend of surprise and respect. "I have my little ways," I said. Ah, how seductive the satisfaction when we think we've impressed others with our cleverness. It's one of the perversities of human nature that we're more interested in the admiration of our enemies than the approbation of our friends. "You have a pencil?"
    "Of course. Where's he living?"
    "Not far." I gave her the address. "There's no telephone listed. Either he doesn't have phone service or it's in someone else's name."
    "Amazing," she said. "Let me pass this along to Donovan and see what he wants to do next. He'll be delighted, I'm