T Is for Trespass

he live in the area?”
    “I don’t think so. I’ve seen him sitting at the bus stop at Vista del Mar and Palisade. You know the one I mean?”
    “At City College?”
    “That’s it, only on the opposite side.”
    “Okay. Right.”
    “I’ve noticed him because that’s my street and I pass him as I’m driving home. I have to slow to make the turn and I’m looking in that direction.”
    “How often do you see him?”
    “Couple of afternoons a week for the past year I’d say.”
    “And this is since last May?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “Can you tell me which days of the week?”
    “Not offhand. I moved to my apartment in June of ’86 after I took a new part-time job.”
    “What sort of work do you do?”
    “I’m in the service department at Dutton Motors. What’s nice is I’m only ten minutes from work, which is why I took this apartment to begin with.”
    “What time of day, would you say?”
    “Midafternoon. I get home at two fifty pretty much without fail. I’m just half a mile away so it doesn’t take me long once I’m on the road.”
    “You know anything about him?”
    “Not really. It’s mostly what you said. He’s got thick white hair and he wears a brown leather jacket. I only see him in passing so I really couldn’t guess age or eye color or anything like that.”
    “You think he works in the neighborhood?”
    “That’d be my guess. Maybe as a handyman or something of that nature.”
    “Could he be employed at City College?”
    “I suppose it’s possible,” she said, sounding skeptical. “He looks too old to be a student. I know a lot of older people are going back to school, but I’ve never seen him with a backpack or briefcase. All the college kids I see carry something of the sort. Books at the very least. If you want to talk to him, you might catch him at the bus stop.”
    “I’ll try that. In the meantime, if you see him again, could you let me know?”
    “Certainly,” she said, and with a click she was gone.
    I circled her name and number on the desk pad and put it in the file. I was excited to have even a sketchy confirmation of the man’s existence. Like a sighting of the Loch Ness Monster or the Abominable Snowman, the report gave me hope.
    I worked late that day, paying bills and generally getting my life in order. By the time I got home it was 6:45 and fully dark. The temperature had dropped into the forties from a daytime high of sixty-two degrees, and my turtleneck and blazer offered no protection from the wind picking up. The damp fog emanating from the beach amplified the chill. I knew once I was safely indoors, I wouldn’t want to venture out again. I saw lights on at Gus’s house and decided it was as good a time as any to pay a visit. I was hoping the supper hour was through so I wouldn’t be interrupting his meal.
    As I passed, I saw the Dumpster was half full. Solana was evidently making progress in her junk-elimination project. I knocked on Gus’s door, my arms crossed tightly as I huddled with the cold. I shifted from foot to foot in a vain attempt to warm myself. I was curious to meet Solana Rojas, whose work history I’d researched three weeks previously.
    Through the glass pane in Gus’s front door, I watched her approach. She flipped on the porch light and peered out, calling through the glass. “Yes?”
    “Are you Solana?”
    “Yes.” She wore glasses with black frames. Her dark hair was the uniform brown of a home-dye job. If she’d had it done in a salon, some “artiste” would have added a few phony-looking highlights. I knew from the application she was sixty-four, but she looked younger than I’d imagined.
    I smiled and raised my voice, hooking a thumb in the direction of Henry’s place. “I’m Kinsey Millhone. I live next door. I thought I’d stop by to see how Gus is doing.”
    She opened the door and a slat of warm air escaped. “The name again is what?”
    “Millhone. I’m Kinsey.”
    “Nice meeting you, Ms. Millhone. Please, come in. Mr. Vronsky will be happy for the company. He’s been a little down in the dumps.” She stepped back, allowing me to enter.
    She was trim but carried a bulkiness in the belly that spoke of childbearing once upon a time. Young moms often lose the baby weight quickly, but it returns in middle age to form a permanent mocking pouch. Moving past her, I automatically gauged her height, which was five foot two or so to my five foot six. She wore a serviceable-looking pastel green tunic