Two dead men changed the course of my life that fall. One
of them I knew and the other I’d never laid eyes on until I
saw him in the morgue.
The first was a local
PI of suspect reputation. He’d been gunned down near the
beach at Santa Teresa. It looked like a robbery gone bad.
The other was on the beach six weeks later. He’d been
sleeping rough. Probably homeless. No identification. A slip
of paper with Millhone’s name and number was in his pants
pocket. The coroner asked her to come to the morgue to see
if she could ID him.
Two seemingly unrelated
deaths, one a murder, the other apparently of natural
causes.
But as Kinsey digs deeper into the
mystery of the John Doe, some very strange linkages begin to
emerge. And before long at least one aspect is solved as
Kinsey literally finds the key to his identity. “And just
like that,” she says, “the lid to Pandora’s box flew open.
It would take me another day before I understood how many
imps had been freed, but for the moment, I was inordinately
pleased with myself.”
In this multilayered tale,
the surfaces seem clear, but the underpinnings are full of
betrayals, misunderstandings, and outright murderous fraud.
And Kinsey, through no fault of her own, is thoroughly
compromised.
W is for . . . wanderer . . .
worthless . . . wronged . . .
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