Self-Defence

'Would you mind if I did a little follow-up?'

'What kind of follow-up?'

'Calling the families of the four missing girls. Especially Faylen.'

'Why, Alex?'

'To eliminate as many variables as possible for whoever ends up doing therapy with Lucy. For Lucy herself. She's sounding more and more confused. The clearer the information we have, the more likely we are to get close to the truth.'

'What if no one ends up doing therapy with Lucy? You said she wanted to drop out.'

'Then I wasted a few phone calls. Let's say she ends up on your doorstep. Wouldn't you want to know as much as possible if she starts convincing herself she witnessed a murder?'

'Guess so… Okay, here're the numbers, I hope for your sake all of them did show up. Twenty-one years of grief ain't a pleasant thing to dig up.'

***

I'd copied down:

Jessica Gallegos. Last Seen: 7/2. Parents, M/M Ernesto Gallegos.

Iris Jenrette. 7/29. Husband, James Jenrette.

Karen Best. 8/14. Parents, M/M Sherrell Best.

Christine Faylen. 8/21. Shelley Anne Daniels, Lisa Joanne Constantino. Parents, M/M David Faylen.

I sat for a long time trying to figure out how to cushion the shock of each call.

Then I punched buttons.

***

The Gallegos home number was now Our Lady of Mercy Thrift Shop. The Ventura/Oxnard directory listed a couple of dozen Gallegoses, none of them Ernesto or Jessica. The high school student would be close to forty now, maybe married, maybe with kids of her own…

I turned to the next number. Iris Jenrette. Boise. A woman answered.

'Is James Jenrette there?'

'He's at work. Who's this?'

'I'm calling about some information he requested on homeowner's insurance.'

'He never mentioned anything about that. We're already insured up the hilt.'

'Is this Mrs. Jenrette?'

'Iris,' she said impatiently. 'I don't know what he's up to now. You'll have to call him back after nine. He's working late at the store.'

'Sure,' I said.

Dial tone.

The Best family's number in Massachusetts was busy, and at the Faylen household I got a recorded message: an older woman's voice softened by an undertone of laughter.

'Hi, you've reached the home of Cynthia and Dave, we're not in or maybe we are and are just too darn lazy to get off our butts and come to the phone. So if you're one of those persistent types, wait for the proverbial beep and speak your proverbial piece.'

I tried Denver Information for a listing on Christine Faylen and got one immediately.

'Law offices.'

'Christine Faylen, please.'

'The office is closed, this is the exchange.'

'I'd like to reach Ms. Faylen. It's important.'

'One moment.'

A few minutes later a woman came on.

'Chris Faylen.'

'Ms. Faylen, I'm calling from the Records Department at the City of Malibu. We're going through our old files, and your name came up as the subject of a missing persons report twenty-one years ago.'

'What?'

I gave her the exact date and time. 'A Christine Faylen was reported missing from the Zuma Beach by Shelley Anne Daniels and Lisa Joanne Constan-'

'Shelley and Lisa, sure, sure, what a hoot. You're kidding, that's still on the books?'

'I'm afraid so.'

She broke into loud, hearty laughter. 'Unbelievable. Well, I can assure you I'm not missing- maybe a little mentally, but the bod's right here, safe and sound. Ha-ha.'

'That's good to hear.'

'All this time… no one's been looking for me, have they? God, this is so-' Guffaws.

'Not recently, it's just a matter of-'

'Unbelievable,' she repeated. 'What a scream. Do I have to fill out any forms or anything?'

'No, your verbal assurance is-'

'You're sure, now? Because I'm an attorney, it wouldn't do to be a nonentity. And I've seen all sorts of screw- ups when the paperwork's not complete- for all I know I haven't been accruing my Social Security all this time… unbelievable.'

'None of our records are sent to the federal government.'

'You're sure?'

'Absolutely.'

Giggles. 'Missing persons. Ha ha ha. I was only gone for three days, met a- ha ha, no need to get into that. Anyway, thanks for calling.'

'Pleasure, Ms. Faylen.'

'Back from the Land of the Missing. Ha ha ha.'

I tried Karen Best's number again. This time the phone rang three times before a woman said, 'Hello.'

'Mrs. Best?'

'Yes?'

'Mrs. Sherrell Best?'

'No, this is Taffy. Who is this?'

'I'm calling from California, trying to locate Karen Best.'

Silence.

'Who is this?'

Her voice had ratcheted tight. A phony story wouldn't work.

'My name is Dr. Alex Delaware. I'm a psychologist who sometimes works with the Los Angeles police. Karen's name came up in a review of missing persons cases that I've been following up.'

'Following them up how?'

'Checking whether or not the person ever showed up.'

'Why?' More tension. My gut was tight, too.

'Because they may relate to a current case. I'm sorry, but I can't say any more, Mrs.-'

'What'd you say your name was?'

'Delaware. You can call Detective Milo Sturgis at the West Los Angeles Substation for verification.'

I started to recite Milo's number.

She broke in. 'Hold on.'

The phone clanged down.

Moments later, a man said, 'This is Craig Best. Karen was my sister. What's going on?'

I repeated what I'd told his wife.