T Is for Trespass

expert’s testimony could make or break the case.
    I sat in my car and reread the file, starting with the police report. The police officer, Steve Sorensen, was not one I knew. In the various categories that denoted conditions, he’d checked clear weather, midday, dry roadway surface, and no unusual conditions. Under “movement preceding collision,” he indicated that the Fredricksons’ Ford van (Vehicle 1) was proceeding straight, while Lisa’s 1973 Dodge Dart (Vehicle 2) was making a left-hand turn. He’d included a rough sketch with the proviso that it was “not to scale.” In his opinion, Vehicle 2 had been at fault, and Lisa had been cited for I 21804, public or private property, yield to approaching vehicles, and 22107, unsafe turn, and/or without signaling. Lowell Effinger had already hired a Valencia accident-reconstruction specialist, who’d assembled the data and was now in the process of preparing his report. He was also doubling as a biomechanical expert and would use the information to determine if Gladys’s injuries were consistent with the dynamics of the collision. With regard to the missing witness, old-fashioned legwork seemed to be my best bet, especially since I couldn’t come up with any other plan.
    The few black-and-white views the traffic officer had shot at the time didn’t seem that helpful. Instead, I’d turned to the assortment of photos, both color and black-and-white, that Mary Bellflower had taken of the scene and the two vehicles. She’d arrived within a day of the collision, and her pictures showed fragments of glass and metal visible in the road. I scanned the street in both directions, wondering who the witness was and how I was going to find him.

    I went back to the office, checked the file again, and found the number listed for Millard Fredrickson.
    His wife, Gladys, answered on the third ring. “What is it?”
    In the background, a dog barked incessantly in a range that conjured up images of a small, trembling breed.
    “Hi, Mrs. Fredrickson. My name is…”
    “Just a minute,” she said. She put a palm over the mouthpiece. “Millard, would you shut that dog up? I’m trying to talk on the phone here. I said, SHUT THAT DOG UP!” She removed her palm and returned to the conversation. “Who is this?”
    “Mrs. Fredrickson, my name is Kinsey Millhone…”
    “Who?”
    “I’m an investigator looking into the accident you and your husband had last May. I’m wondering if we might have a chat with the two of you.”
    “Is this about the insurance?”
    “This is about the lawsuit. I’m interested in taking your statement about what happened, if you’d be so kind.”
    “Well, I can’t talk now. I’ve got a bunion on my foot that’s giving me fits and the dog’s gone berserk because my husband went out and bought a bird without so much as a by-your-leave. I told him I don’t intend to clean up after anything lives in a cage and I don’t give a hang if it’s lined with paper or not. Birds are filthy. Full of lice. Everybody knows that.”
    “Absolutely. I can see your point,” I said. “I was hoping I might stop by in the morning, say at nine o’clock?”
    “What’s tomorrow, Tuesday? Let me check my calendar. I might be scheduled to see the chiropractor for an adjustment. You know I’ve been going in twice a week, for all the good it’s done. With all the pills and folderol, you’d think I’d be fine. Hold on.” I could hear her flipping pages back and forth. “I’m busy at nine. It looks like I’ll be here at two, but not much after that. I have a physical therapy appointment and I can’t afford to be late. They’re doing another ultrasound treatment, hoping to give me some relief from all the lower-back pain I got.”
    “What about your husband? I’ll want to talk to him as well.”
    “I can’t answer for him. You’ll have to ask him yourself when you get here.”
    “Fine. I’ll be in and out of there as quickly as possible.”
    “You like birds?”
    “Not that much.”
    “Well, all right then.”
    I heard a high-pitched, astonished yelp, and Gladys slammed the phone down abruptly, possibly in order to save the dog’s life.

12
    In the office Tuesday morning, I made a copy of Solana Rojas’s application and tucked the original in an envelope I addressed to Melanie. The five-hundred-dollar advance was my usual charge for one day’s work, so I thought I’d jump into it and make it worthwhile for both of us.
    I sat at my