you, arrange a place to meet. Got it?'
'Sure.'
'Okay. I'm going upstairs to change. Be down in fifteen, twenty minutes.'
He threw me a half–salute. Then he went back to mooning over the Plymouth.
I
shaved carefully. Put on the gray business suit with the chalk stripe. White shirt, wine–colored silk tie. A black leather attache case and I was in business. I checked through my stock of ID's, found the business cards that listed me as a private investigator, complete with telephone and fax numbers. I knew a lawyer who let me front him off in exchange for some favors. One of his phone numbers was a dead line— his secretary would answer any calls and cover for me no matter who was asking.
I walked downstairs, ready to ride. The kid looked me over.
'How do I look?' I asked.
'Like a cop. A mean cop.'
'Close enough. You ready to ride?'
'Sure. Uh…'
'What?'
'Could I…take the Plymouth?'
'Drive carefully,' I told him, handing him the registration papers. 'Juan Rodriguez?' he asked, looking at them.
'A close personal friend of mine,' I told him.
T
he Blankenship house was small, almost a bungalow, but set well back from the road on a big piece of ground. The curtains were drawn in front— no signs of life. A blue Saturn station wagon sat in the driveway— the garage door was closed.
I pulled into the driveway as the Plymouth moved away ahead of me, the kid driving sedately while I had him in my sights.
The house was white shingle with a gray slate roof. The front door was painted a dark shade of red. I tapped gently with the iron knocker. I was just about to try again when the door opened. The man standing there was about my age, shorter than me, slim–built. His light brown hair was cut short, receding at the temples. He was wearing a white shirt with a button–down collar over a pair of chinos. One of the buttons on the collar was undone. He wasn't wearing a belt. And he'd missed a few spots when he shaved that morning.
'What is it?'
'Mr. Blankenship?'
'Yes. What is it? Are you from the police?'
'No sir. I'm a private investigator. Could I come in and talk to you for a few minutes?'
He stepped back, but not far enough— I had to brush against him as I walked by. The living room was trashed: overflowing ashtrays, containers of take–out food, a raincoat thrown carelessly over the back of a chair. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a month. I sat on the green cloth couch, facing a brown Naugahyde easy chair, figuring the chair for his. I reached in my coat pocket, took out a small notebook and a felt–tip pen, looked up with an expectant expression on my face. He was still standing, hands clasped behind him, watching.
'A private investigator? Who hired you…one of the other kids' parents?'
'Yes sir. Mrs. Lorna Cambridge.'
'Cambridge? That wasn't one of the names.'
'No sir. Her son Randall went to school with some of the kids. He's the same age. She was concerned… frightened, really. And she thought I might be able to look around, maybe be of some help.'
'What could you do?'
'I don't know, to be honest with you. It's a mystery. There doesn't seem to be any reason…'
'There's got to be a reason,' he said, sitting down in the brown chair. 'There's got to be.'
'Yes sir. Could you tell me, was there anything in your daughter's behavior that might have led you to suspect…'
'You mean like drugs?'
'That. Or alcohol. Problems in school. With a boyfriend. A pregnancy. Anything.'
'Diandra had problems. All kids that age have problems, right?'
I nodded, waiting.
'Her mother and I, we used to get into it about her grades. And she had a smart mouth …at least to her mother.' He fumbled in a shirt pocket, came up empty. He felt around with his right hand, located a pack of cigarettes. He put one in his mouth, lit it with an old brushed aluminum Zippo. 'I haven't smoked in fifteen years, he said ruefully. 'Before this happened…'
'She fought with her mother?'
'Not fights, exactly. Arguments, more like. Her grades were slipping, she broke curfew a few times. And they'd go round and round about the clothes she wore.'
'Did she have one of those arguments just before…'
