Jonathan Kellerman - Self-Defence

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… unbe liev able."

"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.

"No, she was never found. What is this, some sort of a research project?"

"Your sister's name came up in relationship to another case."

"What kind of case?"

"An individual here in L.A.'s having memories of seeing a young woman abducted at a certain time and place. We've been reviewing missing persons cases that might be related."

"Memories? What, some kind of psychic? 'Cause we went through all that."

"No. This is a possible witness, but I have to emphasize it's very tenta-"

"What time and place are you talking about?"

"The Malibu area. Mid-August. Your sister was working as a waitress at a place called-"

"The Sand Dollar. Before that she worked in Beverly Hills."

"Waitressing?"

"Yeah, a Chinese place, Ah Loo. She got jobs in the fancy neighborhoods because she wanted to be an actress and thought she'd run into movie stars. God knows who she did run into. What makes you think it was Karen this witness saw?"

"We don't think anything of the sort, Mr. Best. The investigation's still at a very early stage, and I'm sorry if this-"

"Investigation?" he said. "We could never get Malibu Sheriffs to do a serious one. So what are you investigating?"

"Would you mind verifying a few things for me?" I read off Karen's height and weight.

He said, "Yeah, that's right."

"Blond hair-"

"Jesus," he said. "I can't believe that's still on there. We told them she dyed it brunette that summer. Brilliant!"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd she go from blond to brunette? It's usually the other way around."

"That was her point. Everyone in L.A. was blond. She wanted to stand out. Her natural hair was gorgeous; my parents thought it was- what color hair did this supposed witness see?"

"It's by no means a clear memory, but the girl's described as having long dark hair and long legs."

Silence.

"Karen had really long legs; everyone said she should model- Lord Jesus, are you telling me we might finally get something here?"

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "Everything's very tentative."

"Yeah," he said. "Of course. Sure. No reason to start hoping now. Nothing to hope for anyway. She's dead. I accepted that years ago, haven't thought of her as alive in a long time. But my father… it was him you were calling, wasn't it? He'll freak out."

"He still thinks she's alive?"

"At this point, I don't know what he thinks. Let's just say he's not the type to let go. Looking for Karen wiped him out financially. We bought the house from him as a favor, after my mother died and he moved to California."

"He lives out here?"

"Highland Park."

An hour and a half drive from Malibu. I said, "Did he move in order to look for Karen?"

"That was the official reason, but he's… what can I say? He's my dad. Speak to him, see for yourself."

"I don't want to upset him."

"Don't worry- you couldn't. Here's the address and number."

I thanked him.

He said, "Now what do you mean by abducted? Kidnapped, something worse?"