Before I walked through the California Fidelity Insurance offices, I donned my mental and emotional blinders. I’d worked here once upon a time and my relationship with the company had not ended well. The arrangement was one whereby I was given office space in exchange for investigating arson and wrongful-death claims. Mary Bellflower was a recent hire in those days, a newly married twenty-four-year-old with a fresh, pretty face and a sharp mind. Now she had four years’ experience under her belt and she was a pleasure to deal with. I checked her desktop as I sat down, looking for framed photos of her husband, Peter, and any small tykes she might have given birth to in the interim. None were in evidence and I wondered what kind of luck she’d had with her baby plans. I thought it best not to inquire so I got on with the business at hand.

“So what’s the deal here?” I’d asked. “Is Gladys Fredrickson for real?”

“It looks that way. Aside from the obvious-cracked ribs, cracked pelvis, and torn ligaments-you’re talking about soft-tissue injuries, which are difficult to prove.”

“All this from a fender-bender?”

“I’m afraid so. Low-impact collisions can be more serious than you’d think. The right front fender of the Fredricksons’ van struck the left side of Lisa Ray’s car with sufficient force that it spun both vehicles in a postcollision rotation. There was a second impact when Lisa’s right rear fender came in contact with the van’s left rear fender.”

“I get the general idea.”

“Right. These physicians are all doctors we’ve dealt with before, and there’s no hint of fraudulent diagnoses or padded bills. If the police hadn’t cited Lisa, we’d be a lot more inclined to dig in our heels.