“What I think,” Lindsey said, “is that he was a local guy who left town for a couple of years, grew the Elvis hair, came back and did his trick. The local cops knew that if they didn’t nab him fast he’d be gone. They tried to catch him leaving town but he never left town. He slipped into a little bolt-hole, shaved off the sideburns, washed the goose-grease out of his pompadour, got rid of his shirt and gloves and turned up again, his old self. If anybody asked, he’d been living in LA or Bakersfield or wherever, and he just got back.”
“And he hasn’t turned up in two years? Nor any of the loot? If he didn’t get out of the country he must be dead. He’s probably at the bottom of a ravine, and the loot with him.”
“Most doubtful. If he’s dead, then I’m chasing his ghost. I’m chasing his ghost
