His eyes looked across the boulevard, to the rounded hills of Niles Canyon where mist was rising into the California sky.
“I remember the day I arrived in this town. Remember it like yesterday. First Monday in March, 1931, it was. I got off that Southern Pacific train, coming in from LA. Couldn’t buy a Pullman ticket back then, they let me ride with the colored help. Did I tell you that, young fellow? Never mind. Colored help. Porters, waiters, they let me ride with them.”
Lindsey shifted. Scoggins was getting this, but he wanted to hear it as MacReedy spoke, not as a video playback. A living man was speaking.
“I walked away from that railroad station and down the main street of this town. People staring at me every step. They weren’t hostile, mind. They just weren’t accustomed to seein
