Free The Man in the Rockefeller Suit by Mark Seal

addition to her striking looks and intelligence, she had the perfect name: Chichester, which Chris pronounced Chee- chester. It was so beautifully British, especially when paired with an august first name, like Christopher.
    He suddenly had it: Christopher Chichester! And to gild the lily a bit, he threw in a fancy middle name: Mountbatten. Christopher Mountbatten Chichester. Elmer and Jean couldn’t help but smile. It was brilliant, and seemingly harmless, and they were happy for him. Their young German friend was ready for Hollywood! He had come so far since that day the couple met him, a soaking wet hitchhiker on the side of the highway in Germany. Since then he had clearly learned how to flatter and acquiesce, when to speak and when to remain silent, and how to work the American system.
    In Hollywood, they all knew, reinvention was a way of life. But Christopher Mountbatten Chichester decided not to base his new life in Los Angeles. That would be too “on the nose,” to use the screenwriters’ term for too obvious, too predictable. Instead, he would launch himself in a bucolic enclave twelve miles to the east of L.A., a tiny, self-contained, all-American town of true-blue believers, all too eager to embrace a stranger, especially one with a stellar name.

CHAPTER 4
    Christopher Chichester: San Marino, California
    D eep in the dossier of documents I had been given by my secret source in Boston, an interesting item caught my eye, a report from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, dated July 4, 1994:
    Detectives say that Chichester dresses well, is very clean cut and very articulate. He attends church services and ingratiates himself with older people in wealthy communities. He has passed himself off as a computer expert, film producer and stockbroker. He has told people that his father was a lawyer, an archaeologist or a British aristocrat and his mother an architect, an archaeologist or an actress. He is very knowledgeable on subjects of which he would speak. Although Chichester speaks with what people have described as an English accent, detectives say he is not British. He is believed to be from another Western European nation.
    Nearby in the dossier on the young immigrant were the following lines:
    May 26, 1981: Moves to California, becomes Christopher Chichester.
     
    February 7, 1983: issued California drivers license No. C309973—sometime between this date and 2-08-85 moves into the rear house at 1920 Lorain Road, San Marino.
    I had never been to San Marino, but once I learned more about it, I could see immediately why the German who now called himself Christopher Chichester had chosen to move there. GARDENS OF EARTHLY DELIGHT, read the headline of a New York Times article about the place. A 1996 story in the Los Angeles Times listed the city’s impressive statistics: area in square miles, 3.75; population, 12,959; median age, 41.2; median household income, $100,101.
    The story read:
    San Marino, known for the size of its estates and incomes, is a city of superlatives.
    Consider one of its many distinctions: One of its founders, rail tycoon Henry E. Huntington, ultimately had his name on nearly as much Los Angeles real estate as the county assessor. The city’s first mayor was George Patton, father of the famed “Blood and Guts” general of World War II. As a boy the younger George swam in Lake Vineyard, which would become a 35-acre verdant jewel called Lacy Park. . . .
    A rigorous set of regulations are enforced to maintain a posh lifestyle: a car can be visible in a driveway for no more than 48 hours continuously, only one family is allowed for each home, trash cans cannot be in view of the street, door-to-door hawkers and chain-link fences are expressly prohibited. The only salvation for some jittery souls is a double espresso, the strongest drink for sale in the city.
    One day in the fall of 2008, I took the 110 freeway from downtown Los Angeles until it stopped and suddenly turned into an