Alan Cook - Hotline to Murder

Tony kept a wary eye out for any suspicious people as he entered the building to work his first shift since Joy’s murder. There were the usual customers entering the shops in the mall, but nobody seemed to have any interest in him. Inside, he took the stairs two at a time to the third floor and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was not panting quite as hard as he had in the past. The workouts at the health club he had joined must be paying off.

The door to the Hotline office was locked, but it was now standard procedure to keep it locked after the office staff left for the day. He entered the combination to the lockbox and extracted the key. Upon entering the office, he saw two people, one male and one female, in the listening room, both on the phone. By the time he signed in, the man had ended his call.

The man walked out of the listening room and said, “We had some callers asking about Joy. Whether she worked for the Hotline. That’s how some people get their kicks. We told them we couldn’t give out any information.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Tony said. “I’m Tony.”

“Nathan.”

They shook hands. Tony noticed that Nathan didn’t look him in the eye. He remembered that Nathan had been at the Friday meeting. He guessed that the man was a few years older than he was, with sandy hair. Nathan was taller, but Tony was stockier. Nathan was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, in spite of the summer warmth.

“How long have you been on the Hotline?” Tony asked. It was a standard question.

“Six months.”

“This is my first shift without a mentor. I guess I’m about to lose my vir…”

Tony stopped in mid-word and Nathan laughed, a strange laugh that sounded like the cackle of a hen after laying an egg. “It’s okay; you can say it.”

The girl came out of the listening room, and when Tony gave his name, she introduced herself as Cecile. They shook hands. Most girls shook hands these days. Upon being assured that Nathan was walking out with Cecile, Tony went into the listening room and appropriated the table he liked best-the one facing the window.

He came back out to check the calendar. They were supposed to be working in pairs. But if nobody else had signed up, he would work alone. He wasn’t afraid. However, the calendar showed that S. Lawton was scheduled to 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.”