Chapter Fifty-seven

Morris’s cellphone rang. Bogle calling from New York.

“Good news?” he asked.

“Good news indeed,” Bogle said. “Lemmon, bless him, found the marriage certificate. Husband’s name is Henry Pollard, and he’s been filing tax returns like a good citizen. We’ve got an address for him in Portland, Oregon. But take a look at his New York driver’s license photo.”

Morris brought up the photo that arrived right before Bogle called.

“His license has him as only five foot six, so he’s not tall, but he’s certainly got a wide body,” Bogle said.

“And a round head like a pumpkin,” Morris observed.

“I bet he’s got a prominent bald spot too.”

“I bet you’re right,” Morris agreed.

“What if his wife tracked him to that house in Queens, and walked in on him while he was breaking open that guy’s head? It might explain why things went south with him chopping off the guy’s head to hide that it was SCK. It might also explain why that same night he ended up crippling his wife.”

“That’s a pretty big assumption,” Morris said.

“It is, but it feels right.”

“Let’s find out first if he’s in Los Angeles.”