Down in the Zero

'No. It wouldn't have been possible. My wife hasn't lived here for months. We separated just after Christmas. She kept after me to send Diandra for counseling, but Diandra didn't want to go. She was screwing up, I admit that. Flunking a couple of subjects. Stayed out all night once. I figured…kids. This neighborhood and all. It's a pretty fast crowd. We don't have the kind of money some of her friends' parents do…maybe she was trying to keep up, you know?'

'Yes sir.'

He dragged on his cigarette, not tasting it. 'Anyway, my wife was hot to send her to this hospital they have for kids with problems. Crystal Cove. Diandra didn't want to go. And I wasn't crazy about it either. But my little girl was really going over the line. I was worried about her too. We met with the director there. Dr. Barrymore. He's a pretty young guy, but I got to admit, he made a lot of sense. Said Diandra needed a time–out period. To decompress, get away from the pressure. So, we finally sent her. The insurance on my job covered most of it. Diandra was dead against it, but the people at Crystal Cove told us that was normal. They said they have lawyers— they could get her civilly committed if she didn't volunteer.'

'I see.'

'So she went. Last fall. It was supposed to be for only six weeks, but they kept her longer. They said she had deep–seated problems, maybe clinical depression, maybe a chemical imbalance— they wanted to run more tests.' He ground out his cigarette without looking, eyes down now.

'She came home for Christmas. She didn't want to go back. The hospital said to expect that. I didn't want to send her. After she went back, I was real down. My wife and I fought all the time about it. She always said Diandra was my girl, not hers. We were…close, her and me. Anyway, that's when my wife left.'

'When did Diandra come home?'

'Valentine's Day. That's how I remember it. I bought her a giant teddy bear, a white one with a red ribbon around its neck. She loved it. Put it right on her bed…' His control cracked then— he wiped hard at his eyes, but the tears still came. I lit a smoke, kept my eyes down. I was almost down to the filter before he got it managed.

His eyes came up to mine, red–rimmed but hard. They didn't spare me— his voice didn't spare himself. 'Things were going so great,' he said. 'She was doing good in school again, not running around. I have to work. Long hours, sometimes. Diandra used to say she was a latchkey kid, like a joke between us. She got much more responsible after my wife left…did her share of the housework and everything. And she didn't go near drugs, I know that. When I'm wrong, I cop to it. I called my wife, told her that Crystal Cove had saved our daughter. She'd been right. I thought…maybe she'd come home. But she said it really wasn't Diandra that broke us up— it'd been coming a long time, hiding under the surface. She stuck with me through everything before, but…'

'Diandra was doing fine just before she— '

'Yeah! She was, goddamn it.'

'I'm not doubting you, sir. I know she didn't leave a note…?' making it a question.

'No,' he said, watching me now.

'But maybe she… I don't know, kept a diary or something. The way girls do. Have you…?

'I tore this place apart,' Blankenship said. 'The police opened her locker at school too. There was nothing. Even when she was…messed up before, she wasn't suicidal.'

'I understand,' I told him soothingly. 'But sometimes, when a loved one searches, they let certain…emotions get in the way. Do you think I could…?'

His face came up again, a different focus in his eyes. 'Who did you say retained you again?'

'Mrs. Cambridge, sir.'

'Right. You wouldn't mind if I called her myself, just to be sure?'

'No sir.'

He got up, walked over to a small table near the TV, picked up the phone. 'What's the number?' he asked.

'Sir, I don't mean to sound like a wiseguy or anything, but anybody could give you a phone number, have somebody standing by in a pay phone, you understand? Perhaps you'd feel better if you checked the number in the local phone book?'

His eyes were even more sharply focused, watching me without a flicker. 'What'd you say your name was?'

'It's Burke,' I told him.

He punched some buttons, got information, asked for the Cambridge residence phone. Hung up, dialed again.

'Could I speak to Mrs. Cambridge, please?'

…

'I see. When will she be back?'

…

'Okay, well, maybe you can help me, Randy. Do you know anything about your mother hiring a private investigator? Name of Burke?'

…

'Thank you. That's very helpful. Yes. Thank you, we're doing the best we can under the circumstances. And please tell your mother. tell her thanks for what she's doing, all right? Goodbye.'

He hung up the phone. Walked back to his brown chair, lit another smoke.