T Is for Trespass

basement of the complex. I gave him a rough estimate of when I’d be there and he said he’d clear it. I had two stops to make before I hit Colgate, the first being the drugstore where I’d left the canister of film the day before. Prints in hand, I drove over to the Sunrise House and pushed through the front door, feeling an easy familiarity since I’d been there before. I’d called in advance and spoken to Lana Sherman, the LVN I’d consulted during the background check on Solana Rojas. She said she could spare me a few minutes as long as no emergencies arose.
    In the lobby, the white-flocked artificial Christmas tree had been dismantled and stuffed back in its box until the holidays came around again. On the antique table that served as a reception desk, a white-painted branch had been placed in a Chinese ginger jar and hung with pink and red hearts in honor of Valentine’s Day, coming up in two weeks.
    The receptionist directed me to One West, the postsurgery floor. Passing down the hall, I caught sight of Lana in a four-bed ward distributing meds in white pleated paper cups. I waved and pointed, indicating that I’d wait for her at the nurse’s station. I found a molded gray plastic chair in a little visitors alcove and picked up a tattered magazine called Modern Maturity .
    Lana appeared moments later, rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the vinyl tile. “I’ve already had my break so I don’t have long.” She sat down in a matching plastic chair next to mine. “So how’s Solana doing with the job?”
    “Not well,” I said. I’d been debating how candid to be, but I couldn’t see an advantage in holding back. I wanted answers and there was no point in beating around the bush. “I’d like you to look at some photographs and tell me who this is.”
    “Like a lineup?”
    “Not quite.” I took the bright yellow envelope of photographs from my shoulder bag and passed them over to her. Out of the roll of thirty-six pictures, I’d netted ten clear shots, which she sorted through rapidly before she handed them back. “That’s a nurse’s aide named Costanza Tasinato. She worked here the same time as Solana.”
    “Did you ever hear her use the name Cristina?”
    “She didn’t use it, but I know it was her first name because I saw it on her driver’s license. Costanza was her middle name and she went by that. What’s this about?”
    “She’s been passing herself off as Solana Rojas for the past three months.”
    Lana made a face. “That’s illegal, isn’t it?”
    “You can call yourself anything you like as long as there’s no intent to defraud. In this case, she’s claiming she’s an LVN. She’s moved herself into the patient’s house, along with her son, who I gather is a lunatic. I’m trying to put a stop to her before she does any more harm. You’re sure this is Costanza and not Solana?”
    “Take a look at the wall near the nurse’s station. You can judge for yourself.”
    I followed her into the corridor where photographs had been framed and hung, showing the Employee of the Month for the past two years. I found myself staring at a color photograph of the real Solana Rojas, who was both older and heavier than the one I knew. No one acquainted with the real Solana would be fooled by the impersonation, but I had to give Ms. Tasinato credit for the subterfuge. “You think they’d let me borrow this?”
    “No, but the woman in the office will make you a copy if you ask nice.”

    I left Sunrise House and drove to Colgate, parking as I had before across from the apartment complex on Franklin Avenue. When I knocked at Apartment 1, Princess came to the door, holding a finger to her lips. “Norman’s napping,” she whispered. “Let me get the key and I can take you down.”
    “Down” turned out to be a basement, a rare phenomenon in California, where so many buildings are constructed on slab. This one was dank, a sprawling warren of cinder block rooms, some subdivided into padlocked wire enclosures the tenants used for storage. Lighting consisted of a series of bare bulbs that hung from a low ceiling overrun with furnace ducts, plumbing, and electrical pipes. It was the kind of place that made you hope earthquake predictions were off the mark instead of imminent. If the building collapsed I’d never find my way out, assuming I was still alive.
    Princess showed me into a narrow room entirely lined with shelves. I could almost identify by type the managers who had come and