Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

As they approached the canopy where the uniformed doorman stood, Manny squeezed his hand. "Thanks, Jake. You're a real trouper." • • • "?Ay!?Pobrecito!"

Monserrat Sandoval's elegantly manicured hands traced the matted fur of a rescued mutt lying on a bed of rags at the Home Again shelter. The photo was one of the best in Manny's binder and it was having the desired effect. Manny saw Senora Sandoval's eyes brimming with tears as Jake, sitting next to her on the plush brocade sofa, offered his commentary.

"Yes, Comet was found swimming in a polluted canal. He contracted a terrible case of giardiasis from drinking contaminated water."

"He would drink this dirty water even though it must taste bad to him?" Senora Sandoval's English was fluent but strongly accented.

Jake reached out and stroked the pristine Maltese in Senora Sandoval's lap. Here was a dog who'd never tasted anything other than sparkling springwater, a pet every bit as well groomed as its mistress. "Desperation," Jake said. "We all do what we have to do to survive."

Manny prevented her smile from reaching her lips. For a man who claimed to have no acting ability, Jake was doing a mighty fine job. Robert De Niro, hang on to your Oscars; Jake Rosen's nipping at your heels.

Things were going even better than she had expected. It was Friday, and Paco was at school, or, more accurately, on a daylong senior class field trip. In the next half hour, Manny had to find some clue to her client's whereabouts.

Now that Jake had fully engaged Senora Sandoval's attention, Manny was free to scope out the apartment. The foyer separated the living area from the bedrooms. There were two closed doors in the foyer; Manny figured one must be a closet, the other a powder room. Luckily, the Sandovals didn't subscribe to the minimalist school of home decor. The apartment, while elegant, was quite crowded with art and antiques the family had acquired on their world travels. A large etagere packed with china and figurines partially blocked the view of the bedroom hallway from where they were sitting in the living room. Once she excused herself to go to the powder room, Manny was sure she could slip down that hallway unnoticed, as long as Jake kept Senora Sandoval occupied with the photos.

Jake was turning a page in the binder and Manny made her move.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but could I trouble you to use your powder room?"

"Of course. Let me show you." Senora Sandoval moved to escort her guest there, but Manny motioned for her not to get up.

"You just keep talking. Is it there in the hall?"

"Yes, the second door."

Manny crossed the room quickly, and when she reached the powder room, she glanced back and saw both heads bent over the book of photos. She reached into the powder room, switched on the light and the fan, shut the door, and slipped down the hallway. Dressing the part of the committed animal welfare worker, she had worn flat black Crocs-adorned with numerous multicolored Jibbitz poodles, of course-so she didn't make her usual high-heeled clatter.

She suspected the door at the far end of the hall must be the master suite. That left a door on the left or the one on the right to be Paco's. She opened the door on the left and was about to back out, thinking that such an orderly, uncluttered space must be a guest room. Then she spotted the Monet Academy logo on a throw pillow and realized she was, in fact, in Paco's room.

Manny stepped in and shut the door quietly behind her.

What a difference from Travis's bedroom! No piles of clothes and unmade bed-the Sandovals had a maid to take care of that. But neither was there any sign of the occupant's personality. The crisply color-coordinated curtains and bedding revealed only the taste of an expensive decorator. Antique prints of sailboats hung in lieu of rock star and sports posters. And the desk looked like it belonged to the receptionist at a swanky Park Avenue law firm-no paper, no pens, just a perfectly placed computer and a phone. Kind of weird, really. What kind of kid lived like this?

Her eyes lighted on a framed photo, the only personal touch in the room. It showed a smiling Paco with his arm around a man who looked to be about ten years older. Manny figured he must be an older brother, or maybe a cousin. They both had dark hair, wide smiles, and snappy blue blazers. A sparkling blue sea and brilliant sailboats formed the backdrop. A happy family vacation shot, no doubt.

She began searching the bureau. Neatly folded sweaters and polo shirts, stacks of boxers and tees, a sock drawer that would make a drill sergeant weep with joy. The closet: no junk, no hiding places-just two poles of hanging shirts, jackets, and pants. The desk drawers were just as unrevealing-they looked like an advertisement for an office-supply store. Shit! All the effort she'd made to get herself in here, and this is what she'd found-an Ethan Allen model room.

All that was left was the computer. Manny glanced at her watch. She'd been gone exactly two and one half minutes. Jake had instructions to explain her prolonged trip to the powder room by saying she had contracted a digestive disorder from the animals, which made her prone to episodes of nausea. Did she have enough time to boot up the computer and sort through Paco's documents? She had come this far. She might as well go whole hog.

Unlike Travis, Paco had a standard-issue desktop computer with no bells and whistles. Manny moved the mouse and the screen sprang to life. Good, it had only been in sleep mode. She clicked on the documents icon. Would it be password-protected? No, it opened right up.

There were folders labeled for every subject he took at school, as well as one for college essays and another for cover letters. Geez, the kid was really anal-retentive. She didn't have time to open every folder-she had to assume that they were what they claimed to be. Near the bottom of the alphabetical list of folders was one called "Stuff." That sounded more promising. Manny double-clicked and discovered three documents, each identified only with initials. One was entitled "TAH." Travis Andrew Heaton? She opened it.

It was single-spaced, as a letter would be, but contained no salutation or closing. Was it the draft of a letter, some sort of plan? Manny's heart rate kicked up. Sure enough, Travis's name was repeated throughout the document. Unfortunately, the rest of the words were in Spanish. She could translate a few: problema, ayuda, solamente.

Something about a problem and needing help. She needed a native speaker, or at least a good dictionary, to really understand what Paco was saying. She'd have to print this document out and take it with her.

Manny crossed to the door and listened. She couldn't hear Jake and Senora Sandoval, so presumably they wouldn't be able to hear the printer. Time check: Five minutes had passed.

She ran back to the computer and gave the command to print. The printer, a low-end ink-jet one, buzzed and clanked to life. A message appeared in a window on the monitor: "Printing page one of three." The printer made a strange digesting sound and laboriously pulled a sheet of paper into its maw. Slowly, slowly words began to appear. Manny stood anxiously by, silently urging it to hurry. C'mon, c'mon. You'd think the Sandovals could spring for a high-speed laser printer for their baby.

Finally, the first page slid into the tray. Manny snatched it up and looked for the next page. The printer fell silent.

What the hell? She sat down in front of the screen, trying to detect what was wrong. Just as she doubled-clicked the printer icon again, the printer lurched back to life, made the digesting sound, and pulled another sheet of paper through its feeder. Now she had commanded it to print again and she'd have to stay here while it coughed out six pages instead of three. Frantically, she began to look for a way to cancel the second print order.