work this shift. The name didn’t register with Tony.
He had just settled down in his chair when he heard the outside door open behind him. When he swiveled the chair around, he saw Shahla entering the office. She waved at him. His heart gave an involuntary leap before he got it under control. What was she doing here? Perhaps she had just come in to sign up for future shifts. If so, she should have come in earlier. Now he would be obligated to walk her out, because of the new rules.
Tony came out of the listening room, realizing that he looked forward to walking her out of the building. But instead of looking at the calendar, she was signing in on the daily time sheet.
“Hi,” he said. “I-I didn’t know you were working tonight.”
“Maybe if you’d looked at the calendar, you’d know,” Shahla said with a slight smile, as she also entered her hours in the logbook.
“But the per…” Tony stopped, realizing that he was about to make a complete ass of himself. S. Lawton. Of course. Shahla Lawton. He had pictured Shahla as having an unpronounceable last name. “One of my new year’s resolutions was to learn to read. I guess I’m going to have to get going on that.”
“You are,” Shahla said, leading the way into the listening room and setting a book she had brought with her on one of the tables.
Tony followed her and went back to his table. Shahla was wearing a skirt tonight. It wasn’t short-it came to her knees-but he was glad to see any kind of a skirt on a girl. It made her look feminine. Skirts seemed to be few and far between these days. Mona always wore slacks to work at the Bodyalternatives. net office, as did the other women. And most of the girls in his Hotline class had worn jeans or shorts.
He sat down trying to think of something sensible to say. “Uh, I didn’t see you at the meeting.”
“I came in late and sat in the back.” Shahla wasn’t looking at him. “I almost didn’t come at all.”
“You were close to Joy, weren’t you? This must be very difficult for you.” He wouldn’t have said that before he took the Hotline class.
“Joy was my best friend. We double-dated to the prom last year.”
Shahla still wasn’t looking at him. She was suffering. Tony could picture it. He remembered the rule about showing empathy but not sympathy. He said, “You didn’t have to come back.”
“I came back because I want to make sure that the guy who killed Joy gets caught.”
“Detective Croyden seems to be competent. I’m sure he’ll find whoever it was.”
“I’m not so sure. At least as long as we have a confidentiality policy about our callers.”
“Well, he was given a copy of the Green Book.” The policy had been bent to that extent. That fact had come out at the meeting. “Do you think one of our callers is the…suspect?”
The phone rang before Shahla could answer. She said quickly, “I’ll get it,” and picked up the receiver. “Central Hotline. This is Sally.”
She listened for a few seconds and then put the call on the speaker. Tony heard a male voice say, “…found Joy’s murderer yet?”
“Who’s this?” Shahla demanded rather than asked.
“Let’s just say I’m a friend.” The caller talked softly, with pauses between sentences. “But you’re looking in the wrong places.”
“Where should we look?”
“If I told you that, it would make it too easy for you. But you don’t think she’ll be the last one, do you?” There was a click.
Shahla hung up the phone and said, excitedly, “I know who that is. That’s the Chameleon. I can tell by the way he talks. He made scary calls before Joy was killed, too. He would call at night and say he could see us. That would freak us out, even though if you look out our window there’s nothing but the parking lot and the park. How could he see us?”
“Try calling him back with star sixty-nine,” Tony said.
“We can’t call out from these lines.”
And the phone system didn’t capture the number that was calling. Tony had never spoken to the Chameleon. He suspected the Chameleon hung up whenever a man answered the phone. He had read his profile in the Green Book, however. The Chameleon was a longtime caller. True to his name, he used many aliases. He had a gadget that disguised his voice. Sometimes he impersonated females. He had a different story for every call, but it usually involved sex at some point. Sometimes he made veiled threats. The Green Book instructed listeners to hang up on him when he was recognized since he abused the Hotline.
“Let’s do this,” Tony said. “Mark the call report to Detective Croyden’s attention, like Gail wants us to do. The Chameleon is a logical suspect, just because he calls so often. Although that sounded like a crank call to me. He probably just didn’t want to be overshadowed by Joy.”
“He’s a really creepy guy. I think Croyden should talk to him. But how can he? We don’t have his telephone number, and we don’t know where he lives or anything.”
Tony was looking at the Chameleon’s profile in the Green Book. “Maybe Croyden can find him. He told somebody he lives in El Segundo. He’s in his late twenties. He has a job as a security guard.”
“That really sets him apart, doesn’t it? I’m sure the police will be able to walk right to his door.”
Tony could understand Shahla’s frustration. He wanted to help her. He said, “Okay, let’s do this. We’ll start a file of our own on likely suspects. We’ll make copies of the call reports of suspicious callers. We might spot something that the police don’t.”
“We’re not supposed to take information on callers out of the office. And we’re not supposed to use the copy machine…”
“This is a state of emergency.” Tony wanted to assuage Shahla’s fears about violating the Hotline rules. “Besides, there’s nobody here to see us. I’ll do the copying and keep the copies so you won’t get into trouble.”
Shahla reluctantly relented. It was obvious that her parents had instilled a moral code in her. He was glad to know that. He had met enough young people who had no apparent values. He, himself, was perhaps one of them. But he was changing, he kept telling himself. However, as he had said, this was a state of emergency.
He took the call reports out of the box where the listeners had placed them. They dated back two days to Saturday, the day the Hotline had reopened. Fortunately, Gail didn’t collect them every day. But that also meant Croyden hadn’t looked at them yet. He must have plenty to keep him busy, however. Tony and Shahla pulled out the reports marked to Detective Croyden’s attention and also several identified as calls from the Chameleon. He often called more than once a day, in defiance of the rules.
In between taking routine calls, Tony made copies of these reports on the Xerox copier. Then he sorted the original call reports back into chronological order and replaced them in the box, while Shahla was on a call. He did group three calls from the Chameleon about Joy together so that they would get the special attention of Gail, and hopefully Croyden.
After Shahla had hung up and completed her call report, she said, “I have the feeling that we’re not covering all the possibilities.”
“We don’t have to,” Tony said. “That’s the job of the police.”
“But the police aren’t, either. Have they asked you for an alibi for the night Joy was killed?”
“Huh?” Tony looked at Shahla, wondering if she was kidding.
“Well, what were you doing that night?”
“Uh…” Tony was flabbergasted. “Do you think I’m the murderer?”
“What I think doesn’t matter. You’ve seen the cop shows on TV. They question everybody, including their friends.”
“Well, it’s a relief that you count me as a friend,” Tony said, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which had suddenly become very heavy. “Let’s see, what was I doing?” He hadn’t thought about it before. He hadn’t thought of himself as a suspect before. He drew a blank. He tried to work backward from the time he had heard about Joy’s murder. He had been busy all that day. And the night before? He had done some preparation for his talk to the women’s club. He had been lonely and restless. Josh was out somewhere. Carol was out of his life permanently.
“I went to a movie.”
“What movie?”
“Uh… Lost in Translation, with Bill Murray. It’s about this American actor who goes to Japan to make a Suntory commercial…”
