CHAPTER EIGHTLindsey got caught in an early rush hour. By the time he reached Livermore the night was dark and his stomach was growling. There was nothing he could do about the darkness and he told his stomach to be patient.
He found KDFC on the car radio and listened to some Mozart as he left San Francisco and headed for Livermore. The luncheon with the Cookes had not gone well. Clearly, they were both old San Francisco money. Albert Crocker Vansittart had also been old San Francisco money, and the girl on the cover of Death in the Ditch, if she existed at all, was an interloper.
Lindsey had contemplated the difficulties of finding an unnamed woman based on only a sensationalized commercial illustration more than forty years old. He’d even considered that she might well be dead by now.
