disgrace. Does this help?”
“Absolutely. The address won’t be hard to find unless Kirkendall was his bio-dad and the couple got divorced. If his mother remarried, we’d have no way of knowing who his stepfather was.”
“Boorman would know. He was always good at stuff like that. He’s the one who organizes our reunions. Not that I go,” he added in haste. He checked his watch. “I have to run.” He held up the picture. “Can I keep this?”
“I’ll make a copy for my files and get it back to you.”
Sutton returned the photograph and picked up his car keys. The girl on the couch watched us, but Sutton didn’t say a word to her. I trailed out the door after him and we trotted down the steps together.
I said, “Give me a call when you’re free and we’ll pay a visit to the Kirkendall property. Maybe you’ll find the spot you were talking about.”
“I’ll be home in an hour and a half. I can call your office then.”
“Good,” I said. “Mind if I ask about the girl in there?”
“That’s Madaline. She was a heroin addict, but now she’s clean. She needed a place to crash.”
“And the dog?”
“She belongs to Madaline. Her name’s Goldie Hawn.”
We parted company with the usual insignificant pleasantries. Sutton turned to the left, angling up the driveway to the point where his car was parked, while I turned in the opposite direction. Once in the Mustang, I fired up the engine and waited until Sutton passed in his car before I pulled out. He drove a banged-up turquoise MG that dated probably from his high school days.
As long as I was downtown, I covered the seven blocks to Chapel, where I hung a left and drove eight blocks up, then crossed State Street and took a right onto Anaconda. Half a block later, I turned into the entrance of the parking facility adjacent to the public library. I waited by the machine until the time-stamped parking voucher slid into my hand and then cruised up three levels until I found a slot. The elevator was too slow to bother with so I crossed to the stairwell and walked down. I emerged from the parking structure, crossed the entrance lane, and went into the library.
The reference department was directly ahead. The wall-to-wall carpet was a dusty rose with a muted pattern of teal green dots. The chairs were upholstered in the same teal green. Light flooded in through six tall arched windows on the far wall. Most of the tables were empty except for a lone man playing himself in a game of chess. In the fiction department to my left, an assistant librarian shelved novels from a cart piled high with books. At the nearest empty table, I set my shoulder bag on one of six empty chairs.
On the wall to my immediate right, the floor-to-ceiling shelves were lined with telephone directories for numerous California cities and towns. The shelves below were filled with additional phone books from assorted cities across the country. I circled the periphery in search of the Polk directory, the Haines, and the six decades’ worth of Santa Teresa city directories that I knew were housed nearby.
The Polk and the Haines are both crisscross directories that offer a means of discovering and cross-referencing the name, address, and occupation of any individual or business in a given area. Where the target is a business, you can also determine the number of people employed and any relevant sales figures. If, as in my case, all you have is a name, you can usually find the person’s home address. If all you have is an address, you can pick up the name of the occupant. By shifting to the city directory, you can check the list of residents against a second alphabetical listing of street addresses. The house numbers are sequential, providing the name and phone number of the resident at any particular address. While the information is redundant, each category supplies tidbits that can be pieced together to form a quick sketch.
I pulled both the Polk and the Haines for 1966 and then
“Absolutely. The address won’t be hard to find unless Kirkendall was his bio-dad and the couple got divorced. If his mother remarried, we’d have no way of knowing who his stepfather was.”
“Boorman would know. He was always good at stuff like that. He’s the one who organizes our reunions. Not that I go,” he added in haste. He checked his watch. “I have to run.” He held up the picture. “Can I keep this?”
“I’ll make a copy for my files and get it back to you.”
Sutton returned the photograph and picked up his car keys. The girl on the couch watched us, but Sutton didn’t say a word to her. I trailed out the door after him and we trotted down the steps together.
I said, “Give me a call when you’re free and we’ll pay a visit to the Kirkendall property. Maybe you’ll find the spot you were talking about.”
“I’ll be home in an hour and a half. I can call your office then.”
“Good,” I said. “Mind if I ask about the girl in there?”
“That’s Madaline. She was a heroin addict, but now she’s clean. She needed a place to crash.”
“And the dog?”
“She belongs to Madaline. Her name’s Goldie Hawn.”
We parted company with the usual insignificant pleasantries. Sutton turned to the left, angling up the driveway to the point where his car was parked, while I turned in the opposite direction. Once in the Mustang, I fired up the engine and waited until Sutton passed in his car before I pulled out. He drove a banged-up turquoise MG that dated probably from his high school days.
As long as I was downtown, I covered the seven blocks to Chapel, where I hung a left and drove eight blocks up, then crossed State Street and took a right onto Anaconda. Half a block later, I turned into the entrance of the parking facility adjacent to the public library. I waited by the machine until the time-stamped parking voucher slid into my hand and then cruised up three levels until I found a slot. The elevator was too slow to bother with so I crossed to the stairwell and walked down. I emerged from the parking structure, crossed the entrance lane, and went into the library.
The reference department was directly ahead. The wall-to-wall carpet was a dusty rose with a muted pattern of teal green dots. The chairs were upholstered in the same teal green. Light flooded in through six tall arched windows on the far wall. Most of the tables were empty except for a lone man playing himself in a game of chess. In the fiction department to my left, an assistant librarian shelved novels from a cart piled high with books. At the nearest empty table, I set my shoulder bag on one of six empty chairs.
On the wall to my immediate right, the floor-to-ceiling shelves were lined with telephone directories for numerous California cities and towns. The shelves below were filled with additional phone books from assorted cities across the country. I circled the periphery in search of the Polk directory, the Haines, and the six decades’ worth of Santa Teresa city directories that I knew were housed nearby.
The Polk and the Haines are both crisscross directories that offer a means of discovering and cross-referencing the name, address, and occupation of any individual or business in a given area. Where the target is a business, you can also determine the number of people employed and any relevant sales figures. If, as in my case, all you have is a name, you can usually find the person’s home address. If all you have is an address, you can pick up the name of the occupant. By shifting to the city directory, you can check the list of residents against a second alphabetical listing of street addresses. The house numbers are sequential, providing the name and phone number of the resident at any particular address. While the information is redundant, each category supplies tidbits that can be pieced together to form a quick sketch.
I pulled both the Polk and the Haines for 1966 and then
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