ON THE WAY out, Milo bellowed1 a cheery "Bye-bye" to Gerald the doorman.
We drove up Ocean. Night had settled in, streetlights were hazed2, the ocean was reduced to a slash3 of reflection.
"He blushed the first time you used the word sexy, and he was sweating," I said. "Did plenty of his own eye calisthenics, mostly when you suggested something personal between him and Lauren."
"Yeah, but he looked genuinely shocked when he found out Lauren was dead."
"Yes, he did," I admitted. "I thought he was going to fall down. Still, that's a strong reaction for an employer, wouldn't you say?"
He guided the wheel with one finger. "So maybe he was screwing her—or wanted to. Doesn't mean he killed her."
"True. Then again, he could be characterized as an intellectual with bucks—nice penthouse. Be interesting to get a look at his bankbook, see if there are any withdrawals4 that match Lauren's deposits."
"No way to do that," he said. "Not at this point. The guy's not even close to warrant material—at this point he's done nothing to even justify5 a reinterview. But after I have a look at Lauren's time cards tomorrow, I'll check out some of those coffee shops he mentioned. If anyone saw hanky-panky between him and Lauren, I'll start talking to the D.A."
"Want me there?"He chewed his cheek. "No, I think I'd better do this alone. Got to be careful procedurally."
"He doesn't like me."
"Well," he said, smiling, "I don't know how anyone couldn't likeyou, but right now I'm shining in comparison. Let me ask you about that experiment of his. Sound kosher?"
"Hard to say. I wonder who his client is."
"What if Lauren did get to know one of the subjects—put two people in a room and who knows what can happen. Or suppose a subject got turned on to her, decided6 to pursue it, and it turned ugly."
"Or what you suggested: A subject found out he'd been conned7, didn't like that one bit. He claims confidentiality8, but how hard would it be for a guy to sit and wait for Lauren to come out."
"I'd love to have his subject list, but unless he decides to cooperate voluntarily, forget it. Maybe I'll appeal to his sense of morality—he strikes me as someone who likes to think of himself as upstanding, buying stuff for poor kids. He's already been tenderized—maybe he'll bleed some."
He turned right on Wilshire, cruised past the Third Street Promenade9, glanced at shoppers strolling, panhandlers trolling.
"What about his ex-wife?" I said. "If anyone's gonna debeatify him, who better?"
He smiled. "You want to knock him off his pedestal."
"Maybe I do," I said. "I guess something about him bugs10 me—too good to be true."
"Tsk, tsk, such cynicism."
"Comes from spending too much time with you."
"About time you learned," he said.
Lauren's murder rated three back-page Metro11 paragraphs in the next morning's Times. The story listed her as a student.
I'd woken up thinking Benjamin Dugger. And Shawna Yeager.
The fact that Dugger's intimacy12 ad had run during the weeks before both women's disappearances— Milo was right about there being no logical connection, but rationality was his province; I was free to be foolish.
I turned it over for a while, decided to look for Adam Green, the student journalist who'd covered Shawna's story.
Back to the phone book, the four Green, Adams. In 310; Lord knewhow many others existed in the panoply13 of area codes that blanketed L.A. I began calling, got two wrong numbers, a disconnected line, then a phone message that sounded promising14:
"This is Adam Green. I may be out seeking inspiration or slaving away at my word processor or just pursuing pleasure. Either way, if you don't think life sucks, leave a message."
Nasal baritone. Boy to man.
I said, "Mr. Green, this is Alex Delaware. I'm a psychologist working with the L.A. Police Department and would like to talk to you about Shawna Yeag—"
"This is Adam. Shawna? You've got to be kidding."
"No, I'm not."
"They're reopening Shawna? Unreal. Did something happen—did they finally find her?"
"No," I said. "Nothing that dramatic. Her name came up during another investigation15."
"Investigation of what?"
"Are you still a journalist, Mr. Green?"
Laughter. "A journalist? As in working for the Cub16"! No, I graduated. I'm a freelance write— Scratch that, that's pretentious17, I write ad copy. 'Golden Dewdrops, an organic breath of morning freshness.' Half of that was mine."
"Which half?"
"You don't want to know— So what's up with Shawna? What's this other investigation all about?"
"Sorry, I can't get into that," I said. "But—"
"But I'm supposed to talk to you." He laughed again. "Psychologist, huh? What is this, some kind of FBI profiling thing? Doing a special for A & E?"
"No, I really am working with LAPD. I was reviewing Shawna's case and came across your coverage18 in the Cub. You were more thorough than anyone else and—"
"Now you're butt-kissing. Yeah, I was good, wasn't I? Not that there was much competition. No one else seemed to give a damn. Too bad Shawna's dad wasn't a senator."
"I won't say that, but it wasn't exactly a task force offensive either. Theunicops did their thing, but they're no geniuses. And the guy LAPD assigned was an old fart—Riley."
"Leo Riley."
"Yeah. Ready to retire—I always felt he was phoning it in."
"Where'd you get the material for your coverage?"
"Hung around the unicop station—mostly watched them work the phones and tack20 up flyers. When I bugged21 them, they treated me like a pain-in-the-ass kid—which I was, but so what, I was still covering it. I got the distinct feeling I was the only one making a deal out of it. Except for Mrs. Yeager, of course—Shawna's mother. Not that it did her much good—they shined her on too. Finally, she started complaining, and some dean and the head unicop met with her and told her they were really on it. She didn't think much of Riley either."
He paused. "I think Shawna's dead—I think she was dead soon after she disappeared."
"Why do you say that?"
"It's just a feeling I have. If she was alive, why wouldn't she have turned up by now?"
"Could we talk about this face-to-face?" I said. "Breakfast, lunch, or whatever?"
"LAPD's buying?"
"I'm buying."
"Cool," he said. "Sure, my screen's blank, anyway—can't gear myself up for a go at 'Ginkoba Ginger23 Gumdrops.' Let's see, what time is it— ten. Make it brunch24, eleven. I'm over in Baja Beverly Hills—Edris and Pico, east of Century City. There's a Noah's Bagel right down the block—nope, too dinky. How about the kosher deli on Pico near Robert-son?"
"Sure, I know the place."
"Or maybe I should go for something even pricier."
"The deli's fine."
"Yada yada," he said. "Maybe I'll get an extra sandwich to go."
I arrived ten minutes early, secured a rear booth, and nibbled25 sour pickles26 while I waited. The deli was clean and quiet. Two elderly couples bent28 over soup, one young, bewigged Orthodox Jewish mother corralled five kids under the age of seven, and a Mexican weight lifter in bicycle tightsand a sleeveless sweatshirt trained on chopped liver and a rye heel and a pitcher29 of iced tea.
Adam Green showed up at 11:05. He was a tall, lanky30, dark-haired kid wearing a black V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt, and regular-cut blue jeans that transformed to easy-fit baggy31 on his ectomorphic frame. Size-thirteen sneakers, gangly limbs, a face that would've been teen-idol handsome but for not quite enough chin. His hair was short and curly, and his sideburns dropped an inch lower than Milo's. A tiny gold hoop32 pierced his left eyebrow33. He spotted34 me immediately, plopped down hard, and grabbed a pickle27.
"Killer35 traffic. This city is starting to entropize." He bit down, chewed,
grinned.
"L.A. native?" I asked.
"Third generation. My grandfather remembers horses in Boyle Heights and vineyards on Robertson." Finishing the pickle, he lifted a mustard jar, rolled it between his palms. "Okay, now that we're auld36 acquaintances, let's cut to the chase: What's really up with Shawna?"
"Just what I told you."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Another investigation. But why? 'Cause some other girl dropped off the face of the earth?"
"Something like that," I said.
"Something like that. ... I always thought it would make a good book, Shawna's story. Death of a Beauty Queen—something like that. You'd need an ending, though."
A waitress came over. I ordered a burger and a Coke, and Green asked for a triple-decker pastrami-turkey-corned beef deluxe37 with extra mayo and a large root beer.
"And to go?" I said.
He showed lots of teeth and slapped his back against the booth. "Don't think you're safe yet."
When we were alone again, he looked ready to ask another question, but I got there first. "So you think Shawna was dead soon after she went missing?"
"Actually, at first I thought she'd gone off with a guy or something. You know—a fling. Then when she didn't show up, I thought she was dead. Am I right?"
"Why a fling?"
"'Cause people do that. Am I right about her probably being dead?"
"Could be," I said. "Did you learn anything about Shawna that you didn't put in your articles?"
He didn't answer, had another go at the mustard jar.
"What?" I said.
He blew out air. "It's like this. Her mom was a nice person. Basic—as in countrified. I don't think she'd been to L.A. in years—she kept talking about how noisy it was. So here she was, someone who'd grown up in this hick town, raised a daughter all by herself. Shawna's dad died when she was little—some kind of trucker. Just like a country song. And the daughter turns out to be gorgeous, goes on to become a beauty queen."
"Miss Olive."
"Shawna's idea—entering pageants38. Her mom never pushed her—at least that's what she said, and I believe her. There was something about Mrs. Yeager. Straight. Salt of the earth. She supported herself and Shawna waiting tables and cleaning houses. They lived in a mobile home. Shawna was her main source of pride, then Shawna wins that Olive thing, announces she hates Santo Leon, is going up to L.A. to study at the U. Mrs. Yeager lets her go, but she worries all the time. About L.A., the crime. Then it happens—her worst nightmare comes true. I mean, can you think of anything worse?"
I shook my head.
He said, "Mrs. Yeager was destroyed—completely. It was pathetic. She comes up here by herself, no money, not a clue as to what things are like. The U— Just the size of it scared her. She hadn't made any plans to stay anywhere, ended up in a crappy motel. Near Alvarado, for God's sake. She was taking two-hour bus rides to Westwood, taking her life in her hands walking around MacArthur Park at night. No one's giving her guidance, no one's giving her the time of day. Finally, she gets her purse snatched and the U puts her in a dorm room. But still, no one's really paying her any attention. I was the only one."
He frowned. "To be honest, I went after the story in the beginning because I thought it was a cool human-interest hook. Then, after I met Mrs. Yeager, I forgot about that— Mostly I sat there while she cried. It kind of soured me on journalism39."
He put the mustard jar down, finished his pickle, snagged another.
"You liked Mrs. Yeager," I said. "That's why you didn't answer myquestion about material you kept out of your articles. You'd hate to do anything that compounded her grief."
"The point is, what good is it gonna do? If no one's found Shawna yet, she's probably never going to be found. You're doing some profile thing to collect data, whatever reason, but you probably don't care either. So what's the point? Why add to Mrs. Yeager's misery40?"
"It might help solve another case," I said. "Maybe Shawna's too."
He chewed noisily, lowered his head.
"It might, Mr. Green."
No answer.
"What did you find out about Shawna?" I said. "It won't be released publicly unless lives are at stake."
He looked up. "Lives at stake. Sounds ominous41." His eyes were bright blue, charged with curiosity. "Hey, here comes the grub."
The waitress brought our sandwiches. My burger was good, and I ate half before putting it down. Adam Green's order was a massive thing dripping with cold cuts and coleslaw, and he chomped42 furiously.
"I still don't see why I should tell you anything," he finally said.
"It's the right thing to do."
"So you say."
"Yes, I do."
He wiped his lips, held the sandwich like a shield. "Look, I need something out of this. If anything gets resolved—what happened to Shawna, or the other case you're working on—I need to know before any of the media. 'Cause maybe I should write a book. Or at least an article for a magazine." He wiped his mouth. "The truth is, it stayed with me— Shawna. She was so gorgeous, smart, had everything going for her—here she was, just a few years younger than me, and then it was all over for her. I've got a sister her age."
"At the U?"
"No, Brown." He placed what was left of his sandwich on his plate, reverentially, like an offering. "We're talking great story elements here. If it's not a book, it could be a screenplay. You learn something, I've got to know. Deal?"
"If the case resolves, you'll be the first writer to know."
"That sounds kind of ambiguous."
"It's not," I said, without taking my eyes off him. He tried for impassive, fell way short. Just a kid. I felt exploitative, told myself he was over twenty-one, had come here voluntarily, was trying his own wheel-and-deal.
"Okay, okay," he said. "It's no big thing anyway. The basic point is that Shawna might not have been such an innocent farm girl."
He took another giant gulp43 of sandwich, washed it down with root beer. I waited.
"Shawna—and this isn't fact, it's just my assumption, that's why I never published it, along with not wanting to hurt Mrs. Yeager. Also, I did tell Riley and the unicops and they ignored me. The fact that you're here tells me they never even bothered to put it in their file. Because obviously if they did, you'd have read it."
"What did you learn, Adam?"
"Okay," he said. "Shawna might've posed nude44. Done a photo shoot for Duke magazine—or what she thought was a shoot for Duke magazine, 'cause I think it might've been a scam."
"When did she do this?"
"Might've," he emphasized. "And I don't know. Probably sometime during the first part of the quarter would be my guess."
"Not long after she arrived."
He nodded.
"How'd you learn this?" I said.
"I saw a picture—what I'm pretty sure was a picture of Shawna. And the way her roommate reacted when I brought it up told me I was probably right."
"Mindy Jacobus."
"Yeah, Mindy. I bugged her a lot, 'cause she was the last person to see Shawna alive. She never wanted to cooperate, said she and Shawna were close, she didn't want to bad-mouth Shawna. Maybe she was being sincere, but I also think she was a little jealous."
"Why'd you figure that?"
"You've seen pictures of Shawna?"
I nodded.
"Mindy was cute, but she was no Shawna. I'm not saying there was overt45 animosity between them. But something about the way she talked about her—I couldn't put my finger on it, I just felt it. Whatever the reason, Mindy really didn't want to talk about Shawna. I kept bugging46 her—showing up at her dorm room, catching47 her in between classes, playing Ace22 Newshound." He smiled wistfully. "I must've been a real pain in the ass—today, she'd probably have me arrested as a stalker. But I was like . . . driven. Things bothered me. Like why didn't Shawna have a boyfriend? Mindy had a boyfriend. Any good-looking girl can have a boyfriend at the snap of a finger, right? Mindy's answer was that Shawna was a super-grind, end of story. Went to class, came back to the dorm and studied, went to the library and studied some more. But I checked out the grinds in all the libraries, and no one remembered seeing Shawna, and neither did the librarians. I also managed to get hold of Shawna's library records—big no-no, don't ask me how. Shawna hadn't checked any books out the entire quarter."
"Your article said she was headed for the library the night she disappeared," I said.
"That was the official story. Mindy's story. And the unicops believed it. But I'm not sure Mindy believed it. I think she was covering for Shawna. Because she got all shifty when I bugged her about it. And finally I got her to admit that the reason Shawna didn't have a boyfriend was because she liked older guys. Mindy had tried to fix her up with a buddy48 of her boyfriend, and Shawna had turned her down flat. Said she preferred older guys—'grown-ups' was the term she used."
"You're thinking she was having an affair with an older man," I said.
"It crossed my mind," he said. "But I was never able to take it any further. Mindy got all pissed off at me and got her boyfriend—he was this refrigerator-sized behemoth named Steve—to warn me off. I wasn't about to risk life or limb, so I backed off. I did suggest to the unicops that they check out whether Shawna had ever been seen with an older guy— maybe even a faculty49 member—but they brushed me off."
"Why a faculty member?"
"Campus life is isolated50. What other older men do students come in contact with? But no one cared—not even my editor. She pulled me off, said they needed to run more political stories."
He shrugged51. "Being on the receiving end of all that apathy and hostility52 was an eye-opener. So now I write jingles53, which is whoring but good-paying whoring. Douche and toothpaste don't slam the door in your face."
"The photo you saw," I said. "Tell me about it."
"It was the first time I went to the dorm to talk to Mindy—maybe two days after Shawna was reported missing. I don't know if you've seen the dorms, but the rooms are tiny—cells, really. Two people in an area barely big enough for one and not enough closet space, so you tend to keep your stuff out in the open. Shawna must have been a neat freak, 'cause she'd stored her junk in shelves above her bed. I was surprised the police hadn't confiscated54 it—doesn't that show you how seriously they were taking the case? Anyway, I stuck my hand up to pull down her stuff—I really had nerve—got hold of some books and saw this magazine in the middle of the stack. Recent copy of Duke. Which was kind of weird55 in a girl's room, right? I grabbed the stuff when Mindy had her back to me, then she turned and started screaming at me and knocked everything out of my hand. That's when the photos fell out of the Duke. Black-and-whites, clearly nudies. Mindy scooped56 them up too fast for me to get a good look at them, stuffed them back in the Duke, shoved all of it under her own pillow, continued screaming at me. It all happened really fast, but I did see a killer bod and big blond hair, and that would fit Shawna. Mindy starts shoving at me, yelling at me to get out, and I'm saying, What's with the skin shots? and she says it's none of my fucking business. Then she says it belonged to Steve and I'm out in the hall and the door slams."
He took another bite of sandwich. "It was almost as if she decided to give me some answer so I'd drop it. And maybe it was Steve's, but then what was it doing on Shawna's shelves? In the middle of Shawna's books."
"Did you tell anyone about this?"
"The unicops and Riley, just like with the older-man theory. Same reaction: Thanks, we'll look into it. Maybe they did. Though my guess is if the pictures were of Shawna, Mindy might've gotten rid of them. To save Shawna embarrassment57."
"Any idea where Mindy is now?"
"She was older than Shawna, would be a senior by now. Don't imagine it would be that hard to find her."
"You never tried."
"I was out of it—did those few stories, then moved on. But like I said, Shawna stayed with me. Though I never thought I'd be talking about her again. Is our deal still on?"
"Sure," I said.
"You think any of what I told you might mean something?"
"I'm not dismissing it, Adam."
Older man, younger woman. Dugger's ad. Nude pictures. Sexual hang-ups.
I'd thought Dugger a prude, but prudes can have secret lives. Maybe Dugger's donation to the kids at the church had been a guilt58 offering.
Adam Green was staring at me.
I said, "So maybe the older man in Shawna's life was a photographer. Someone who claimed to be working for Duke."
"Why not? I mean, I can't see a sleazeball like that actually working for Duke, 'cause whatever else Duke is, it's bona fide, right? They'd have to be careful—couldn't assign some psycho to take pictures of young girls, right? But this is Hollywood—there've got to be armies of low lifes roaming around with cameras and bogus stories. Everyone says Shawna was smart, but she had gotten big-time strokes for her looks and she was still a country girl. How much of a stretch is it from posing in bathing suits and wearing a plastic crown to taking off the suit? And if Shawna did have a thing for older men, couldn't she have been vulnerable to some guy coming across mature and sophisticated?"
"Makes sense," I said.
"You're not bullshitting me?"
"No. You've put together a logical scenario59."
He grinned. "I do that once in a while. Maybe I will write a screen-play."
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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hazed
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| v.（使）笼罩在薄雾中( haze的过去式和过去分词 )；戏弄，欺凌（新生等，有时作为加入美国大学生联谊会的条件） | |
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slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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withdrawals
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| n.收回，取回，撤回( withdrawal的名词复数 )；撤退，撤走；收回[取回，撤回，撤退，撤走]的实例；推出（组织），提走（存款），戒除毒瘾，对说过的话收回，孤僻 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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conned
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confidentiality
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promenade
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bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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metro
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| n.地铁；adj.大都市的；(METRO)麦德隆(财富500强公司之一总部所在地德国，主要经营零售) | |
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intimacy
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panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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pretentious
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coverage
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| n.报导，保险范围，保险额，范围，覆盖 | |
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apathy
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tack
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bugged
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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brunch
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nibbled
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pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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pitcher
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lanky
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baggy
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hoop
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eyebrow
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spotted
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killer
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auld
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deluxe
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| adj.华美的，豪华的，高级的 | |
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pageants
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| n.盛装的游行( pageant的名词复数 )；穿古代服装的游行；再现历史场景的娱乐活动；盛会 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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40
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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42
chomped
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| v.切齿，格格地咬牙，咬响牙齿( chomp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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44
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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46
bugging
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| [法] 窃听 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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51
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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53
jingles
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| 叮当声( jingle的名词复数 )； 节拍十分规则的简单诗歌 | |
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54
confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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56
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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57
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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scenario
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| n.剧本，脚本；概要 | |
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