“Well, we won’t keep you,” Carol said. “It must be way past Shahla’s bedtime. But it was great to see you both.” She tucked her hand into Horace’s arm and guided him to a table in the corner.

“Who was that?” Shahla asked, her eyes wide.

“That was my ex-girlfriend,” Tony said, following Carol with his own eyes and wondering how she still had such control over his emotions.

“She’s very pretty. But…”

“Pushy? Sarcastic?”

“I didn’t want to say anything bad about her.”

“You don’t have to. I know all her faults by heart.”

***

“I love your house.”

Tony had driven Shahla home, and they were sitting in his car in the driveway of a roomy and modern two-story house—the kind Tony would like to be able to afford someday. A house without attached neighbors.

“Fortunately, my father had lots of life insurance. And my mom works.”

“Your father? Your father is…?”

“My father is dead.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.” Tony couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a parent. Both of his parents were still alive.

“He was murdered.”

“Ohmygod.”

“It’s been long enough so that I can talk about it. Five years. But the pain never goes away.”

“It must be very hard for you.” Before taking the class he wouldn’t have known what to say. But that didn’t seem strong enough, somehow.

Shahla was silent. And Tony didn’t know what else to say. Should he ask for details? It was time for her to go into the house, but he didn’t want to push her to get out of the car. That would seem heartless. He saw a light on in an upstairs window. Perhaps her mother had heard them drive in. As Shahla had said, his wasn’t the quietest car in the world. At least Mom would know her daughter was safe.

“My father was coming home from a meeting at night,” Shahla said softly. She seemed to be speaking to herself. “He stopped at a place like a 7-Eleven to get a loaf of bread or something. A man came into the store and pulled a gun on the clerk. I don’t think he even saw my father. The clerk gave him the money, and the robber was going to take him to the back of the store, probably to shoot him. My father intervened, and the bastard shot him.”

“Oh.” When Shahla remained silent, Tony said, “And the clerk?”

“The robber lost his cool at that point. He shot at the clerk and then took off. The clerk was wounded, but he survived. That’s how we know what happened.”

“And they didn’t get him?”

“No, they did. But the police screwed it up. They didn’t read him his rights, or something. The man made a confession, but the court threw it out. It was a big mess. He never went to jail.”

“No wonder you don’t like the police.”

Tony had been looking straight ahead out the car window at the house, but Shahla was silent so long that he stole a look at her. In the moonlight he could see tears running down her cheeks. He felt very awkward. He should do something to comfort her, but what?

She laid her head on his shoulder. He didn’t dare move. He felt tense and uncomfortable. He had never felt that way with a girl before. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than five minutes, she lifted her head and said, “I have to go.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and got out of the car. After she entered the house and closed the door, Tony sat for a minute, with conflicting emotions. Then he started the car, revved the engine, and backed out of the driveway.

CHAPTER 11

Nobody stopped Tony as he walked through the door into the gymnasium. He knew that a visitor entering the high school campus was supposed to report to the administration office first, but school was over for the day and, anyway, the gymnasium was next to the parking lot, somewhat removed from the classrooms.

The inside of the building immediately brought back memories of every gymnasium he had ever been in, with its wooden pull-out bleachers and the basketball nets at either end. And perhaps a faint odor of sweat, or was that his imagination? Tony could remember his own days on his high school basketball team, vividly, although his memories consisted mostly of him riding the bench while the taller, quicker and more talented players received the playing time.

A volleyball net dominated the center of the floor. A couple of dozen fans were scattered throughout the bleachers, some students, some parents. A few may have been grandparents. He was too old to be a student and too young to be a parent. Where did he fit in? Feeling self-conscious, Tony picked a seat near the door of the gym and put his cell phone on vibrate. If he received a call, he would run outside and take the call there. He didn’t want to have the background noise of a sporting event if Mona, his boss, called. And since it was 3:30 in the afternoon, that was a real possibility.

Tony hadn’t responded positively to Shahla’s feeling that Martha might be Joy’s killer, thinking that it sounded more like jealousy on Shahla’s part. Martha and Joy had enjoyed a certain amount of intimacy over the years, in spite of the supposed differences in their ability. He had decided, however, that if he was going to actively assist in the investigation, every lead was worth following up, to determine if it should be reported to Detective Croyden. But he didn’t want Shahla present to color his judgment.

The teams were huddling around their coaches; the match was about to start. The Bonita Beach players wore white home uniforms with red numbers on the shirts. The other team was dressed in green. The players on either side placed their hands together in the center of their circle and shouted bonding words, intended to psych them up for the battle to come. Then the six starters of each team trotted onto the court.

Tony had no trouble picking out Martha from Shahla’s description. She was tall and lanky and looked a bit awkward, in a body that had grown faster than her coordination. Acne spoiled her otherwise pretty face, indelibly marking her as a teenager, even though with her size she could have been a lot older.

The female referee, who sat on a platform at courtside, blew her whistle and gestured with her arm. A Bonita Beach player served the ball and the game began. Tony was immediately impressed by the quality of the play. Of course, here in the beach volleyball capital of the world, outstanding players were the rule, but Tony, who had grown up in western New York, was always fascinated with them.

Each player knew her role. One of the back players would dig out a smash so hard that Tony barely saw it and bump it to the setter. The Bonita Beach setter moved like a ballet dancer. She handled good balls and bad balls alike, making perfect sets, low, high, and sometimes backwards over her head in response to secret signals that Tony didn’t understand.

Unfortunately, the Bonita Beach hitters didn’t do as well. They scored some kills, but they also hit balls out of bounds or into the net. And too often two of the opposing players would leap at the same time as the hitter and block the ball back into the Bonita Beach court, often for a point or a side out.

In the middle of the first game, Tony felt his cell phone vibrate. He got up from his seat and walked quickly through the door of the gym, extracting the phone from his shirt pocket as he went. Outside he pressed the Talk button and said, “This is Tony.”

“Tony, Mona.”

“Hi.” Several students were talking loudly nearby. He walked away from them, hoping their voices wouldn’t carry over the phone.

“How is that presentation coming for the lunch tomorrow?”

He was presenting the company program to a group of doctors. Mona, who didn’t usually accompany him for these presentations, was going with him. Everything had to be perfect.

“It’s almost ready. I’ve got one more call to make, and then I’m coming back to the office to work on it. I should be there by six.” It was the correct thing to do. Mona was a workaholic, and he knew she’d still be there. He looked at his electronic organizer. “Oh, I forgot. I’m supposed to work at the Hotline tonight. Well, maybe I can skip that.”

“Do you have any calls scheduled for tomorrow morning?”

“Well, no.”

“Can’t you finish the presentation then? I don’t want you to miss the Hotline. I’ve noticed a change in you since you started there. You’re more sensitive to people.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I guess I can finish it in the morning.” That’s what he had been planning to do before Mona called. And now it was her idea, which was good. And his working on the Hotline had also been her idea. Whatever it took to keep her happy. Within limits.

They said goodbye, and Tony walked back inside. As he took his seat, Martha spiked the ball into the net. She hit the ball hard, but not always where she wanted it to go. Occasionally she scored with a blistering shot, and the handful of spectators would yell their approval. When she learned to control her shots, she would be a standout. Tony guessed that would happen within two years. She did better on defense. Using her height and jumping ability to advantage, she blocked several shots.

Tony hadn’t seen Joy play volleyball, but he suspected that she had looked a lot like Martha on the court—with better coordination. Shahla said she had been a league all-star. Bonita Beach could have used her today. The opponents lacked an outstanding player, but their teamwork eventually paid off in a close victory. Their players were ecstatic. They probably hadn’t beaten Bonita Beach for a long time.

After the game, the Bonita Beach players congratulated the players of the other team, an act of good sportsmanship Tony appreciated. As the sweat-soaked players headed toward the locker room, he stepped in front of Martha and said, “Nice game, Martha.”

She glanced at him with a who-is-this-guy look, made a rueful face and said, “Thanks.”

“I’m Tony, from the Hotline,” he said, falling into step beside her. She was taller than he was.

“Oh.” She stopped walking and faced him. “I’ve heard about you. What are you doing here?”

Who had talked to her about him? “I’ve been reading good things about your team, and I wanted to see it in action.”

“Yeah, right. It was good before Joy…” her voice broke, “when Joy was on the team.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Tony said. “May I buy you a coke at the Beach House?” It was only a few blocks away.

“I’ve got to shower. And I’ve got a lot of homework.”

“I’ll wait here until you shower. And I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.” Tony gave her his best pickup smile, the one he had used so successfully in college.

“Well, all right. I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes.”

Tony congratulated himself on still having the old charm, but he suspected that the reason she had accepted had more to do with the fact that they both worked on the Hotline. That created a bond between people.

***

“Joy was my best friend,” Martha said, stirring the milkshake she had ordered, with a straw. “I loved her. We grew up together. We did everything together. We learned to play volleyball together.”

Shahla had also said that Joy was her best friend. This tended to confirm his jealousy theory—not that Martha was jealous of Joy, but that Shahla was jealous of Martha. He said, “I suppose the other players were a little envious of the fact that Joy was an all-star.”

They had driven to the Beach House in separate cars. Many of the Bonita Beach students had their own cars, or at least had ready access to cars. This amazed Tony, who hadn’t had a car until he had bought one for himself after he finished college. He wondered if this affluence was good for them.

Martha shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. When you’re part of a team, you want the team to win. With Joy on the team, we were winners. Without Joy, we’re…well, we’re kind of mediocre. And she didn’t have a big head. She was a team player. We shouldn’t have lost today. With Joy, we would have won easily.”

She was lecturing him. Could she fake that level of intensity? Tony knew from his own experience as a teenager that they could be devious. But she sounded sincere. Seeing her up close, he realized that when she lost her acne, she would be a knockout. And when her coordination improved, she would be a good volleyball player. She didn’t have to take a backseat to anybody. He sipped his black coffee and shifted tactics. “Do you have any idea who might have killed Joy?”

“Detective Croyden asked me that question. It sounds crazy, but maybe it was somebody who wants the Bonita Beach volleyball team to lose. We’ve been dominating the league for years. The other teams would give a lot to beat us. You saw how they celebrated today. And it’s not just the kids. It’s the parents. When I was playing AYSO soccer, sometimes the referees had to red-card a rowdy parent.”

“Well, that narrows it down to a few hundred suspects.”

Martha smiled. “It’s just my idea. I don’t know of anybody in particular.”

“When Detective Croyden asked me what I was doing the night Joy was killed, I realized that I had nobody to vouch for me. Did you have that problem too?”

Martha noisily sucked the dregs of her milkshake through the straw and looked at Tony. She said, “I was studying at the library. When it closed at nine, I went over to visit Joy. She didn’t like to work alone at night.”

It took a moment for this to sink in. “You saw Joy the night she was killed?”

Martha nodded. “I was just there for a few minutes. I didn’t take any calls because I wasn’t working.”

“What time did you leave the Hotline?”

“About 9:30.”

“Did you walk out with the guard?”

“No. I left by myself.”

“And then did you go home?”

Martha shook her head. “I went and walked on the beach. Alone. I sometimes do that. I didn’t get home until about eleven.”

“How did Detective Croyden react to you telling him this?”

“He didn’t say anything; just wrote it all down. But he did ask me a lot of questions about my relationship with Joy. I think he was satisfied, especially because I volunteered that I had seen Joy. If I hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t have known.”

“Has it occurred to you,” Tony asked, “that you might have been the one to get killed?”

“Yeah. All the time.” Martha had a haunted look on her face. “I feel guilty about it. That Joy got it instead of me. Or that I didn’t stick around until she left. I might have been able to prevent it. I have nightmares about that night. It’s strange, but as a result, I’m working harder to be a better volleyball player. And a better person.”

CHAPTER 12

Tony arrived at the Hotline before Shahla. She had signed up to work every shift he worked. Although he knew she had done it only because she hoped that he could help solve Joy’s murder, he felt good about it, because it meant she trusted him more than the other men and boys on the Hotline. Still, there was the possibility that he wouldn’t meet her expectations. Again. He thought back to his encounter with the Chameleon.

A boy and girl were working the four-to-seven shift. Tony said hello to them but didn’t bother to introduce himself. They left before Shahla arrived, so she didn’t get the opportunity to quiz them about what they had been doing the night Joy was killed. Tony was glad, because he became embarrassed when she did that. He guessed he wasn’t cut out to be a detective.

He signed in and took the good seat by the window. No sooner had he sat down than the phone rang. He answered it with his usual greeting: “Central Hotline. This is Tony.”

“I’m fifteen, and I’m a runaway.”

There was nothing like being smacked in the face by the first pitch. It was a girl’s voice. Tony thought fast. He said, “Are you safe where you are right now?”

“I’m at a phone booth.” She named an intersection in Santa Monica. “And I’m not going back home.”

Tony decided not to ask her reasons. It wasn’t his job to judge her. It was his job to make sure she was safe. Shahla had just come in through the door he had left unlocked for her. He put the call on the speaker and looked out the window. The sun was setting. He didn’t want the girl to be out there alone in the dark.

“Do you have any friends or relatives who can help you?” Tony asked.

“Not here. Not nearby.”

She sounded frightened. She may be having second thoughts, but whatever crisis impelled her to leave home must outweigh her fear. Tony was frantically leafing through the directory of available services in Southern California. He said, “There are shelters you can go to. Some of them will pick you up.”

At that moment, his eyes focused on such a shelter with a Santa Monica address. Thank God. “I’ve got a number for you. Do you have money so you can call the number or do you want me to call it for you? Oh, they take collect calls.”

“I’ve got some money.”

“Do you have a pencil and paper?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, write this down.” He gave her the number. “Call it immediately. If they can’t help you, call us back. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“And call us back to let us know that you’re all right.”

She promised and hung up. Tony hated to lose the connection. The chances were that she wouldn’t call back.

“She’ll be okay.”

Tony looked up into Shahla’s dark eyes.

She said, “That’s a tough call because we probably won’t find out what happened. But you did the best you could.”

What if that wasn’t good enough? Tony continued to brood about it.

“I see you grabbed the good seat.”

Shahla feigned being upset and sat down at another table.

He had to shake himself out of his depression. “You snooze, you lose.”

“I had to take my mom to her class. It was the only way I could get the car.”

Apparently, they were a one-car family. Unusual for Bonita Beach. But with her father dead…. She had a tough road to travel with only one parent.

Shahla went to the snack room and came back with her usual plate of chips. She said, “Have you thought over what I told you about Martha?”

He had not told her he was going to talk to Martha. He was hoping that as a result of their meeting he could report that she had an ironclad alibi and couldn’t possibly be a suspect. Unfortunately, it hadn’t turned out that way. Martha’s alibi was clad in a light mist that could be blown away by a gentle breeze. However, Detective Croyden also knew that.

Tony wanted to keep Shahla out of it. He didn’t believe Martha had a motive for murdering Joy, even though Shahla might not agree. If Shahla was jealous of Martha’s relationship with Joy, she might do something she would regret.

“I think Detective Croyden has already talked to her. I understand he talked to all the members of the volleyball team.”

“Who told you that?”

Who told him that? “I can’t remember. Maybe Croyden did.”

“But he hasn’t talked to all the members of the Hotline.”

“There are a lot more of us. And I think he’s talked to everybody who knew Joy.”

“How does he know who knew Joy?”

Tony didn’t like getting the third degree. He said, “Let’s work on that poem. Have you thought of anybody else who might have written it?”

“No. And before we start speculating, shouldn’t we find out if there were any fingerprints on it?”

“How are we going to do that? I know. I’ll call our Indian buddy and see if he’ll tell us.”

“Our Indian buddy?”

“Crooked Nose.” Tony took out his cell phone and then extracted Detective Croyden’s card from his wallet. Croyden had been working late on Friday. Maybe he was working the afternoon-evening shift to give him a better opportunity to talk to people who might have knowledge of Joy’s murder.

“Tony, it’s Native American, not Indian.”

“Sorry. When I went to school they were still Indians.” Tony called the number on the card. He could picture it being answered by the officer on the desk. He asked for Detective Croyden.

“Croyden.”

“Hi Detective Croyden, this is Tony Schmidt.”

“Tony Schmidt. What have you got for me?”

“A question. Were there any fingerprints on that envelope Shahla and I brought in?”

“Your fingerprints were on it.”

“Okay, but were there any other prints?”

“I suppose you’ll bug me until I tell you. No. There were no other prints on the envelope or on the paper inside. Whoever sent it was probably wearing gloves. They shouldn’t show those damn police shows on TV. They make the perps too smart.”

“One more question. What was in the envelope?”

“I don’t have to tell you that. You already know.”

“How would I know?”

“You’re going to play dumb, is that it? Okay, no games. It was a poem.”

“Written by the killer?”

“Either that or it’s a prank.”

“May I have a copy of the poem?”

“Go flog yourself.”

Croyden hung up. Shahla was on a call. As soon as she saw that Tony was free, she put the call on the speaker. The voice sounded like a woman with a cold.

“…stare at me when I go out without wearing a bra. I think they can see my nipples. It makes me very uncomfortable.”

Shahla pressed the Mute button and said, “It’s the Chameleon.”

The Chameleon? Oh, yes, he sometimes imitated women. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve heard him use this voice before.”

The breathy voice was saying, “What do you think I should do?”

Tony said, “Try to find out if he wrote the poem.”

Shahla cancelled the Mute and said, “So, do you wear tops with spaghetti straps?”

“Spaghetti straps. I love to wear spaghetti straps. Do you like to wear spaghetti straps?”

“Sometimes. But we have to wear bras in school. Do you know that the assistant principal has the job of bra-snapper?” Shahla winked at Tony. “It’s his job to make sure all the girls are wearing bras. I don’t like it when he checks from the front—and his hand slips. On purpose.”

“It’s so…when men have their hands all over you.” The Chameleon dragged this out, making it sound as if the hands were at work on him.

“He’s masturbating,” Shahla mouthed.

“Hang up,” Tony mouthed back.

Shahla shook her head.

“I don’t like to wear a bra,” the Chameleon said in a breathy monotone. “I like my tits to be free of restraint. It makes me feel so…free.”

“I know a poem about spaghetti straps,” Shahla said.

“Men shouldn’t be allowed to make us feel uncomfortable. We should be able to wear what we want.”

“She wears a summer dress, spaghetti straps to hold it up…”

“I love spaghetti straps. I could wear them every day.”

“You and I have a lot in common. Let’s get together. What do you think?”

There was a click.

“I think you violated just about every Hotline listening rule,” Tony said. “Again.” He was relieved that the Chameleon had hung up.

“Just following orders, General.”

“But I didn’t ask you to try to meet him again.”

“Cold feet? I thought we were in this together.”

“Anyway, you scared him off. It’s probably just as well. And he didn’t pick up on the poem.”

“I guess I was a little abrupt. But I don’t think he wrote the poem. He’s about as poetic as a mud fence. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t the killer.”

“Okay, but let’s let Croyden handle him. Fill out a call report, and we’ll leave it for Nancy to give to him. But don’t mention the poem.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Shahla gave an imitation of a salute. “I don’t know what you think of me, but I’m not really a bad person. I get good grades. I don’t smoke, drink, or do drugs. And if I listen to dirty talk, it’s because it’s part of my job.”

Tony was taken aback for a moment. She was fishing for a compliment. He was not great at giving compliments. “I-I think you’re doing a super job. Just don’t do anything risky.”

Shahla held his eyes. “Do you care what happens to me?”

“Of course I care what happens to you.”

Shahla seemed satisfied with that. She filled out the report while Tony took a call from somebody who wanted a referral to a therapist. When he hung up, Shahla was on another call. It wasn’t until an hour later that they were both free at the same time. Tony still figured that their best bet to help the investigation was to try to track down the writer of the poem, especially since Croyden didn’t have any leads there.

He looked up the information on Paul the Poet. The page in the Green Book said that Paul still lived at home, even though he was in his late twenties. He apparently had a job and girlfriends, so he wasn’t completely stunted. That he lived at home didn’t square with his claim of having been abused by his parents. But he did admit to sleeping with a teddy bear and a night-light.

“It’s funny,” Shahla said as they read it. “When you talk to him, he brings up this abuse issue, but then if you ask him where he lives, he says he lives at home. I asked him once who paid his phone bill. He didn’t give a straight answer. And I think he has a job. It doesn’t all make sense.”

“I’ve discovered that our callers don’t always make sense. How often have you talked to this guy?”

“Many times.” Shahla spun her chair around to face him. “He’s one of our more intelligent callers, in spite of the contradictions. We actually had some good conversations about poetry. He read a few of his poems to me.”

“And were they really good?”

“They weren’t bad. They showed talent.”

“So you think he could have written the poem?”

Shahla hesitated and then said, “He’s the best guess I have right now.”

“So he just happened to be in Southern California. And he just happened to write a poem he wanted to deliver to the Hotline. And somehow, he found out the address of the Hotline.”

“Sounds farfetched, doesn’t it?”

“Especially if he’s going to be a murder suspect. Why would he come all the way here to murder somebody? Did he ever show animosity to you on the phone?”

“No, he was one of the easiest repeat callers to talk to. He was always appreciative. He often thanked me for listening to him.” Shahla kicked the floor with her feet and spun her chair around, a child at play. “I guess we can eliminate him.”

Tony furrowed his brow. “Still, it would be nice to talk to him. Did he ever give any indication of where in Vegas he lives? Or where he works? There’s nothing here.”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Wait. The book gives a last name for him. Vicksburg.”

Shahla shrugged. “Who knows whether that’s correct? Our callers use a lot of aliases.”

“But since we don’t ask for last names, he must have volunteered it. I’m going to Google him.”

Tony went into the office and started up Patty’s computer. It asked him to enter a password. He looked at Shahla, who had followed him.

“The password is ‘m-i-g-i-b,’” Shahla said.

“How do you know that?”

“Patty told me. I helped her with some computer stuff one time.”

“What does it mean?”

“She wouldn’t tell me. But her boyfriend’s name is Marty. So I remember it as, ‘Marty is great in bed.’”

Tony didn’t comment on that. He connected to the Internet and then the Google search engine. He typed in “Paul Vicksburg.” On the first try he got mostly references to pages about Vicksburg, Mississippi, and the Civil War, so he modified his search with the word poet.

“He’s got a website,” Tony told Shahla, who had come in to see what he was doing. “And there’s poetry on it.”

They looked at the pages together. The poems were the kind of plaintive meanderings that had always put Tony to sleep, but he noticed that some of them did rhyme, just like the spaghetti strap poem. They showed the egotistical nature of a person who thought his problems were the most important problems in the world. Still, Tony realized, many people believed that, including some of the Hotline callers. Poets went a step further and put the thought into words.

“Is this the guy?” Tony asked Shahla, after she had read several of the poems.

She reread one of the poems and said, “He recited that poem to me on the phone. I’m sure of it. Does it say where he lives?”

It didn’t, but there was a “Contact me” button. Tony clicked on it and found the poet’s e-mail address. He said, “Let’s say we want to arrange a meeting with him, like you’re always trying to do with your beloved Chameleon. Would he respond better to an e-mail from a man or a woman?”

“A woman. He likes girls. Isn’t this the point when we have to turn the evidence over to Detective Croyden?”

Tony smiled at her imitation of his voice and said, “I haven’t been to Vegas for a while. I just might take a run up there. My car needs the exercise anyway. What’s your e-mail address?” He added, “Keeping in mind that you’re not going to be the one to meet him.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? That’s a long drive for probably nothing.”

“You’re the one who wants to follow up every lead.”

“Yeah, but…”

Tony was surprised at Shahla’s reluctance. It took him several minutes of talking before she agreed that this might be a good idea. But all at once her face lost its frown, and she smiled, like clouds parting to let the sun shine.

She said, “Okay, you’re right. We need to check this out.”

The first part of her e-mail address was “writeon,” which was gender-neutral. Having the word “write” in it didn’t hurt, either. Both of Tony’s addresses, business and personal, had “tony” in them, so they agreed to use Shahla’s. Shahla was able to log into her e-mail from Patty’s computer.

Tony said, “You’re the writer. Compose a note to him that he can’t resist. Tell him you’d like to meet with him on Saturday afternoon. Let him name the place.”

He watched as Shahla worked. She wrote fast and confidently and then made a few changes until she was satisfied: “Hi, Paul. I have read and enjoyed the poems on your website. They have spirituality that I find lacking in today’s poets. As I read them, I am drawn into an ethereal world of promise. I would love to meet you. I heard from another one of your admirers that you live in Las Vegas. Is this true? It so happens that I will be in Las Vegas on Saturday. Can we get together in the afternoon? That would be fantastic. Name the time and place. Yours, Sally.”

“‘Spirituality’ and ‘ethereal world of promise’? What does all that mean?”

“Not a thing,” Shahla said with a smile. “But poets love big words.”

“You’re too smart for your own good. Just remember, if he should happen to reply to this, I’m the one who’s going to meet him, not you.”

“Of course,” Shahla said, her eyes wide with innocence. “I never thought anything else.”

CHAPTER 13

As Tony opened the back gate to the small patio of his townhouse, he saw that all the downstairs lights appeared to be on. Then he heard explosions through the open sliding door and figured that Josh must be watching a war movie on his big-screen TV. He heard raucous laughter and knew that Josh had some of his friends over. On a Monday night.

This had happened before, and Tony thought he had put a stop to it. The rule was that Josh could have friends over on Friday or Saturday nights, but not the other nights. Tony had hinted that he would make an exception for a well-behaved woman, as long as Josh and the woman did whatever consenting adults do behind the closed door of Josh’s bedroom, but Josh never seemed to have women over anymore. Was this the same Josh who had tried to date every coed at the University of Michigan?

Time for action. Tony slid open the screen door and entered the townhouse. He marched through the family room, down the short hallway, and into the living room. The scene was much as he had anticipated. Josh reclined on the reclining chair with a can of beer in his hand. Two men sat on the couch, each with his own can of beer. They were all casually dressed, in jeans and T-shirts touting athletic teams or running events that they undoubtedly hadn’t participated in. If they were like Josh, their main exercise was elbow bending.

Spilled potato chips littered the carpet and were in danger of becoming a permanent part of the weave. The ubiquitous cooler sat on the floor at Josh’s side. Tony glanced at the screen of the television set and recognized a scene from the movie, Saving Private Ryan. Nobody saw him for a few seconds. All eyes were intent on the screen. He cleared his throat, between explosions.

Josh turned his head toward Tony and said, “Noodles. You’re home from the Hotstuff Line. The hero returns to collect his reward for valor.”

Tony knew what was coming and stepped aside as Josh tossed a can of beer to him, so that most of the ice water flying in formation with it missed him as he reached out and deftly caught it with one hand. He had always had good hands. If he had only been taller and about twice as fast, he could have been a wide receiver. He popped open the beer and took a swig.

Josh aimed his remote at the TV and put the movie on Pause. “Noodles, I want you to meet two of my buds.”

Josh named two names that didn’t register in Tony’s consciousness. He did shake hands with them, not bothering to apologize for having a wet and cold hand from the beer, because their hands were equally wet and cold.

“There was a time when Tony would have been here partying with us,” Josh said. “But, alas, that doesn’t happen anymore. Because Tony has been saved. Speaking of being saved, how went the battle tonight? Did you convince any queers with AIDS that were about to blow their brains out not to, even though that’s probably a mistake? And was that underage babe working with you tonight? What’s her name—Sarah?”

“Sally.”

“Sally.” He turned to his friends. “Tony has a tough job. He answers telephones and listens to the problems of people more fucked up than we are, all night. So you think you should feel sorry for him, right? But what you don’t know is that while he’s doing it, he hangs out with these teenage babes who don’t wear any clothes.”

“Cool,” friend one said. “I wish I could get a job like that.”

“The only problem,” Josh said, standing up, “is that they have their bodies pierced in so many places that you can’t touch them without getting stabbed.”

“That’s not true,” Tony said, realizing how dorky he sounded.

Josh ignored him and said, “It’s not just their ears, although some of them have enough metal in their ears to build a tank.” He lifted his T-shirt and said, “Belly buttons.” He pointed to his own belly button, which stuck out, along with the rest of his belly. “Wouldn’t I look great with a navel ring?” He moved his belly in and out, using more muscles than Tony had seen him use in a while.

The friends laughed. Tony wondered how he could put a stop to this.

“Nipple rings.” He pushed his T-shirt higher and grabbed one of his nipples with the same hand. The other hand still held a can of beer. “How do you suck on that with a ring in your mouth. Ugh. But worst of all is the clit ring. Does Sally have a clit ring, Tony?”

Tony had to restrain himself to keep from throwing his beer can at Josh. He said, “I want to talk to you in the other room. Now.”

Josh was still playing to his friends. He shook his head and said, “When Noodles uses his school-teacher voice, I have to listen. It won’t be pretty.” He unpaused the movie and said, “I don’t want you guys to have to hear it.”

Tony led the way through a short hallway into the family room and then turned left into the kitchen, placing the maximum amount of distance between them and the living room. He turned to face Josh, who had followed him. He was seething so much he couldn’t talk. Josh stood and sipped beer, an innocent look on his face.

“First of all,” Tony said, finding his voice, “you’re not supposed to have guys over during the week.”

“Oh, yes. Dumb me.” Josh struck himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. “Dorm rules. But I figured since you weren’t here, it would be okay. I planned to kick them out before you got home. Sorry. I lost track of the time. What time is it, anyway?”

“It’s ten-thirty. And I don’t care whether I’m home or not. You disturb the neighbors with all your noise.”

“Okay, okay, I know when you’re provoked. I’ll tell them to leave now.”

“Wait. I’ve got something more to say. I don’t like the way you talk about the girls on the Hotline. In fact, I don’t like the way you talk about all women. You know what you are? You’re a misogynist.”

“A what-gynist? Is that anything like a gynecologist? Tony, my boy, you have flipped. You have absolutely flipped. Do you know what that job has done to you? It has made you into a wimp, a wuss. A goddamned wuss. You are not the same Tony I knew. And I don’t like the new model.”

“Well then, maybe you should move out.”

This stopped Josh in his tracks. He became quiet. Gone was the bluster. His face became as red as his hair. He stared at Tony. “Move out? You want me to move out?”

“If you don’t like what you call the new me. If you don’t like the rules around here. If you can’t become a civilized member of society. Don’t you think, Josh, that after all these years, it’s time for us to grow up? If you can’t handle that, then yes, you should move out.”

“I’ll be out of here in thirty days.” Josh turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.

***

Tony couldn’t sleep. He was having second thoughts about Josh moving out. For financial reasons. How was he going to make the payments on the townhouse without Josh? He might have to get another housemate. And as obnoxious as Josh was, at least Tony knew him and his habits.

He knew that although Josh might spill beer and potato chips on the living room rug, he wouldn’t completely trash the place. He had a steady job and paid his bills. He might bring in loud friends to party with, but at least they wouldn’t be drug dealers and hoods. He was a bigot, but Tony could ignore that. Most of the time. He might badmouth women, but he didn’t physically abuse them. He might belittle Tony’s job on the Hotline, but he wouldn’t actually interfere with anything Tony did.

Maybe he should talk to Josh in the morning. Well, he probably wouldn’t see him in the morning because Josh would still be in bed when he left. But tomorrow evening for sure. This thought didn’t give Tony peace. There was something else. Something unresolved. He had called Josh a misogynist. A woman hater. He had never thought of Josh as hating women before. Was this true?

Tony started remembering things. Josh aggressively pursuing women in college. But did he do it because he liked them? Sometimes it had seemed to Tony as if he had a score to settle. Josh had been his hero because he could get the girls. Tony had learned from him. Learned very well from him. But in spite of the reputation he had gained of picking them up and then dumping them, Tony’s relationships had lasted longer than Josh’s.

Tony couldn’t remember Josh ever dating the same woman for more than a month or two. When the romances fizzled, it was always the woman’s fault—never Josh’s. Tony had met many of them. They were personable, good-looking, smart. No, Tony didn’t believe that the women were always at fault. It was something about Josh.

Tony remembered things Josh had said. “Women were put on earth for our pleasure.” “A broad lying on her back with a sack over her head and her legs spread is pretty much like every other broad.” Were these the statements of a man who liked women?

And Josh’s nickname for him—Noodles. It dated from college. A bunch of the guys and gals had been eating sushi and drinking sake at a Japanese restaurant. At some point, one of the guys and one of the gals went outside to the guy’s van. The guy came back a while later and said the girl was in the van, stripped and waiting for anyone who wanted to have her. Josh had immediately volunteered.

When he returned, he tried to get Tony to go. “She’s hot to trot, Tony. Never pass up a free piece of ass.”

The prospect had sickened Tony. She was probably too drunk to know what she was doing, and the idea of following Josh and another guy almost made him puke. One or two others may have gone; Tony didn’t remember. But Josh had never let Tony forget that he had failed, in Josh’s eyes. Thus the nickname, Noodles. Tony would rather eat a bowl of noodles than get laid.

A thought struck Tony like a bolt of lightning. Did Josh hate women so much that he would murder a girl? A girl he envisioned to be part of a plot to alienate Tony from him? Impossible. But Josh did call Carol about him and that was out of character. He knew that the Hotline closed at ten p.m. because of the hours Tony had been working. Yes, but he didn’t know where it was. Or did he?

Tony turned on the lamp beside his bed and sat up, more awake than ever. He got out of bed and walked silently from his bedroom into the study across the hall. He could hear Josh snoring behind the closed door of the third bedroom. Loudly. Snore, snore, then break for a few seconds. Then snore some more. It sounded like the snort of a mad bull before he charged. Josh always seemed to snore after he had been drinking.

Tony turned on a light in the study and stood in the doorway. From here he could see his bookcase. Standing on a shelf of the bookcase, in plain sight, was his notebook for the Hotline. It contained all his notes from the class. Tony went to the bookcase, picked up the notebook, and set it on his desk. He opened it up. The first page, neatly three-hole-punched, had printed on it the address of the Hotline and a map showing how to get there.

This information had been given to the students after they graduated from the class. Tony had never thought about hiding it from Josh. As far as he knew, Josh never went into his study. But Josh had been upset when Tony wouldn’t tell him where the Hotline was. After all, they were supposed to tell each other everything, like fraternity boys. Of course, Tony had stopped telling Josh everything years ago, but he had never told Josh he wasn’t telling him everything.

Where was Josh on the night of the murder? Tony realized that he didn’t know. He hadn’t seen Josh all evening. In fact, Josh had returned home after he had. After he was in bed. And as far as Tony could remember, Josh had never said anything about that evening, which wasn’t like him. Because he still told Tony everything. Or did he?

There was nothing Tony could do about it now. Reluctantly, he went back to bed. But his mind wouldn’t shut up. He did manage to get a few minutes of restless sleep before the alarm went off.

CHAPTER 14

Tony was running on coffee. It had been a long day, with several intense sales calls and a lot of driving. That, coupled with his lack of sleep and the late summer heat, made him feel as if he couldn’t take another step. Or even get out of his car. And getting out of a Porsche was no mean feat.

He was parked in front of the Church of the Risen Lord. He had looked up the address after Nathan had said he was a member, out of curiosity more than anything else, since he had never heard of it. And today, after his last call, he had been in the neighborhood, if you could call being within five miles the neighborhood. He had gotten here with the help of his Thomas Guide. “Here” was somewhere northeast of the Los Angeles Airport.

It wasn’t much of a church. The small building had obviously been used for something else before the Risen Lord had occupied it. It had no steeple or visible cross. No stained-glass windows. It did have a crude sign on the small, weed-infested lawn in front, announcing its name and telling when it had services. There were Thursday evening services at 7 p.m., which tended to support Nathan’s story of where he had been during Joy’s murder, assuming they went on for three hours.

Since he was here, he should do more than stare at the front from his car. Tony opened the car door and laboriously lifted himself up from the seat. It was hot in the open air after the coolness of the air-conditioned car, but evening was coming and with it cooler temperatures. That was something you could always count on in Los Angeles. He shut the door and locked the car, looking around at other cars parked on the street. None were Porsches, but some were new. There was no indication that people feared that their cars would be stolen. And it was still broad daylight.

A small gravel parking lot sat beside the church, with weeds poking through the gravel. The only car in the lot was a Chevrolet that had a few miles on it. Maybe a few hundred thousand miles. Tony walked up the cracked sidewalk to the dilapidated front door. A coat of stain would help it, just as a coat of paint would help the stucco walls of the church.

Tony tried the door; it was unlocked. He opened it and stepped into the gloomy interior. The only light came from several windows along each side wall. He could make out wooden pews and a raised platform at the other end. In addition to a lectern, the platform supported a table with candlesticks and a picture of a man, probably Jesus. It was too dark to tell for sure. Some seats at one side of the platform might be for a choir. A small organ stood near them.

Nobody was in sight. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to anybody, anyway. He stood at the back, wondering why Nathan was attracted to this particular church. It didn’t look very substantial. He was about to leave when he heard footsteps resounding from contact with a hard floor, coming from somewhere behind the platform. He hesitated, wondering whether it would look as if he were up to something if he left now.

A man came through a doorway that Tony hadn’t seen before, in the wall behind the platform. He was a big man, and he walked rapidly, with a purpose that gave Tony a moment of trepidation, until he realized that the man hadn’t seen him. He took a step to attract the man’s attention.

The man stopped halfway down the aisle that went between the rows of pews and said, in a deep voice, “How can I help you, brother?”

Tony’s first thought was to wonder whether Shahla would claim that the man should have said, “How may I help you, brother?” He hesitated for an awkward moment and then decided that truth was the best policy. He said, “I know somebody who attends services here and I was curious.”

The man came up to him and stuck out a giant hand saying, “I am the Reverend Luther Hodgkins.”

Tony said, “Tony Schmidt,” failing to match the resonance of the Reverend’s voice. His hand got lost in that of the larger man. He was dark-skinned, with graying hair, and could have played football with Detective Croyden. He was dressed in a colorful Hawaiian shirt.

“Who is this parishioner of whom you speak?” Reverend Hodgkins asked, or rather rumbled.

“His name is Nathan…” Tony tried to remember Nathan’s last name.

“Nathan Watson?”

“Watson…right. He’s white.”

“We do not discriminate at the Church of the Risen Lord. What has Nathan told you about the church?”

“Nothing, actually. He said he had attended an evening service here on Thursday, August 29.”

Reverend Hodgkins stepped past Tony and opened the outside door, letting in a slanting ray of light from the setting sun, which momentarily blinded him. The Reverend turned around and surveyed Tony, who realized he had let in the sunlight so that he could see him better.

“Are you with the police?” the Reverend asked.

“No sir,” Tony said, blinking to regain his eyesight. He stepped back from the doorway so that the sun wasn’t in his face. “Nathan and I, ah, work together. I was interested in finding out more about the church.”

“Nathan is a faithful member of the Church. However, I’m not surprised that he has not told you anything specific about our beliefs, because we have been ridiculed by nonbelievers in the past. However, if you are serious about wanting to learn the truth, I will be glad to enlighten you. Take a seat.”

Reverend Hodgkins sat down at the end of the last pew and motioned Tony to sit in the pew across the aisle from him. Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to learn so much about the Church that he be required to sit down to do it, but he was under the spell of the Reverend. He sat.

“First, I must apologize for the lack of lights,” the Reverend said. “The electric company lists its employees among the nonbelievers. However, we will not be needing electricity or anything else of the material for very long.”

As soon as Tony sat down, his feeling of tiredness came back to him, and he slumped on the hard, wooden bench. However, the statement of Reverend Hodgkins woke him up with a jolt. The Reverend was looking past him, lost in some sort of reverie. Tony waited for him to continue.

“All churches seek the truth. Few find the whole truth. Others have tried to pinpoint the Day of Judgment. They have failed, resulting in great embarrassment and financial loss. It is only now, with the advent of powerful computers and the Internet, that I have been able to do what others failed to do.”

“The Day of Judgment?” Tony had been raised in a Protestant church-going family, but it had been years since he had been inside a church, except for weddings and his grandfather’s funeral.

“The day when Christ shall return to earth and clasp the faithful to his bosom. The day when the believers shall rise triumphantly into heaven. The day when we will no longer need the worldly goods that keep us fettered. The day when the chains of greed and ambition shall be cast off.”

The Reverend’s voice grew louder as he talked, filling the small church auditorium. He was no longer seeing or speaking to Tony. He went on in the same vein, while Tony wondered whether he was going to preach a whole sermon. He apparently came back to reality, because he stopped after a couple of minutes.

Tony said, “Reverend, when is this Day of Judgment?”

Reverend Hodgkins looked at him. When he spoke, it was back in his normal voice, which was loud enough. “It is for the believers to know when the great day will occur. Our parishioners will be ready. Ready to be swept up to glory.”

“In other words, I have to join your Church in order to receive this information?”

“In one word—yes.”

Tony remembered hearing stories about people who thought they had pinpointed the Day of Judgment. “So all your followers are selling or giving away all their possessions and meeting on a hilltop on this glorious day?”

Reverend Hodgkins fixed Tony with a disconcerting stare. Perhaps a suspicious stare. He stood up. Tony stood up. The Reverend walked to the entrance and said, “Brother, I have things to do, and I’m sure you do too. I hope that God goes with you on your journey.”

The interview was over. Tony had enough presence of mind to shake hands with the Reverend as he went out the door and say, “Thank you for a most enlightening conversation. God be with you, Reverend.”

The Reverend stood in the doorway and watched Tony as he climbed into his Porsche. Or perhaps he was looking at the car. There was a gleam in the Reverend’s eye that Tony didn’t think he had seen before in a man of the cloth.

CHAPTER 15

When Tony reached home, he wanted nothing more than to drink a beer, eat a frozen dinner heated in the microwave, collapse in front of the television set for a couple of hours, and then retire to bed for some much-needed sleep. As he pulled into his carport, he saw that Josh’s car wasn’t in the space next to his and that buoyed his spirits. He wasn’t up to facing Josh at the moment, especially after their fight last night.

The temporary uplift was dashed when he opened the refrigerator and discovered that all the beer was gone. Josh and his buddies had drunk it all. Unless there was some left in the cooler. He fruitlessly looked for that container in the living room and finally went out onto the patio and discovered it upside down, where it had been left to drain. Beerless.

He settled for a glass of white wine from a half-empty bottle in the refrigerator. It was the cheap stuff from Trader Joe’s, but it wasn’t bad. He found a dinner in the freezer that he knew would be the consistency of wood chips and dirt, with a taste to match, but he didn’t care. He placed the container in the microwave and turned it on.

Tony sipped his wine and checked the messages on his answering machine. Two for Josh, both from males. None for him. While he waited for the dinner to heat up, he thought about his roommate. He remembered for the first time in his busy day that he had wondered last night whether Josh was Joy’s killer. Now, after a day had elapsed, he couldn’t picture Josh as a murderer, but he knew the thought would nag him unless he made sure. He had to find out what Josh had been doing the night of the murder.

Josh was probably at work at the television station, but he might be coming home any time. Tony raced upstairs and into Josh’s room. He turned on the light and then remembered that since Josh’s room faced the carport area, if Josh drove in right now, he would see the light on in his room and become suspicious.

Damn. Tony turned off the light, went down the hall to his own room, and retrieved a small flashlight. This was going to make the job harder. Returning to Josh’s room, he wondered whether Josh had left his calendar there. Tony knew that Josh had recently started using an electronic calendar at work, but he was suspicious of automation and had loudly proclaimed that he was still going to maintain his manual calendar.

Josh was messier than Tony. The bed was unmade. Dirty clothes were piled on the only chair. A distinct locker-room odor emanated from them. Tony was thankful he didn’t ordinarily have to look inside this room. It was a better situation than college, when they had shared a single room. Josh did have a table, which he used as a desk. Papers were piled on it in seemingly random fashion.

Tony quickly leafed through them, using his flashlight to see, looking for a calendar. He heard the sound of an engine in the carport area. It was either Josh or a neighbor. He went to the window and peeked out between slats of the blinds. He saw Josh’s car pulling into his carport. Tony figured he had thirty seconds.

He riffled quickly through another pile of papers. In the middle he found the calendar, one page per month, not exactly state-of-the-art. It was open to September. He went back one page and checked the square of August 29. Nothing was written in the square. It was completely blank. Other days had notices of appointments or social engagements, so Josh was still using the calendar.

Tony could hear Josh coming in through the unlocked door from the patio. He quickly shoved the calendar back into the stack—too hard. The whole stack of papers fell onto the floor. Frantically, Tony scooped them up with both arms and plunked them on the table. Then he took two giant steps out of the room and closed the door. At the last instant he remembered to close it softly. As he was going down the stairs, Josh started up them.

“Hey, Tony,” Josh said as they passed each other. “How was your day?”

“Tiring,” Tony said warily. “And yours?” At least he hadn’t called him Noodles.

“Swinging. We got a scoop on network news in the case of the kidnapped little girl.”

“Wonderful,” Tony responded, but he was already down the stairs and headed back into the kitchen. Josh didn’t seem to be in a bad mood. Now if only he didn’t notice that his papers were messed up. And if he didn’t bring up last night, Tony wouldn’t. Tony retrieved his TV dinner from the microwave, poured himself another glass of wine, and sat down at the table in the family room, which doubled as a dining room.

Josh came downstairs five minutes later, looking comfortable in baggy shorts and a T-shirt. He opened the refrigerator. After a few seconds of searching, he said, “Looks like I blew it. Drank up all the beer. Sorry about that. You want me to make a beer run?”

“Don’t do it for me,” Tony said. “I’m going to bed early tonight.”

“I’ll get some tomorrow.”

The area between the family room and the kitchen was mostly open, so Tony watched as Josh poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the counter and then took a package of wieners out of the refrigerator. He stabbed one with a fork and held it over the flame of a burner on the gas stove, as if he were at a wiener roast. He whistled as the wiener started to sizzle. Tony cringed as he watched the grease drip onto the burner, but he was determined not to say a word, especially one that might upset Josh.

“I haven’t heard anything new about the Hotline murder for several days,” Josh said. “Have you got any inside information for me that I can put on the air?”

“Nothing new.”

Josh ate this wiener right off the fork and then stabbed a second wiener and held it over the flame.

Tony saw his chance. “Detective Croyden has been checking the alibis of everybody who was connected to Joy in any way. When he asked me about my alibi, I realized that I didn’t have anybody to vouch for me that night.” He forced a smile. “I went to a movie all alone. I don’t remember where the hell you were. Where were you, anyway?” He said this in what he hoped was a jocular tone.

Josh turned his wiener over to sear the other side. With his free hand he scratched his head. “Where was I the night of the murder? I’ll have to think about that.”

Josh fell silent as he finished cooking his wiener to his satisfaction and ate it off the fork. Tony felt frustrated that the opportunity to get Josh’s alibi had apparently been lost. If he asked again, Josh was sure to get suspicious. Josh brought his glass of wine over to the table and sat down.

He said, “Was Joy one of the girls that was here the day you had the Hotline people over when I was out of town?”

The question startled Tony. He had never told Josh that he had invited the class over and had hoped he wouldn’t find out. He said, “What are you talking about?” still trying to maintain a bantering tone.

“Don’t pull that shit with me. Rob told me all about it. He said the pool was full of young babes in bikinis. He and some of the other guys who live here sat around the pool, drank beer, and watched. But you did it behind your old roommate’s back.” Josh affected a hurt look.

Watched. Ogled. Tony remembered that well. Rob was a neighbor. Since the pool was in the common area, he couldn’t exactly drive them away.

“They particularly mentioned a tall, gorgeous blonde,” Josh continued. “Stacked.” He placed his hands around imaginary breasts. “I kind of figured that might be Joy.”

“It was Joy,” Tony conceded. “In fact, that was the only time I ever saw Joy.”

“You’re one up on me. I have to live with the pictures we got from her parents. But I’m still pissed that you left me out.”

“I didn’t want you ravishing all of them. My reputation is that of a good guy, and I can’t let them know I have you for a roommate. They’d probably kick me out of the Hotline.”

“That might be the best thing that could happen. I don’t like what you’re turning into.”

Josh kept score of all the beautiful girls he saw, dated, bedded. It was a contest for him. Still, he had no reason to kill one.

“In a theoretical sense, I can understand the attraction,” Josh said, as if analyzing a movie. “A beautiful but unobtainable girl. If you can’t have her, then nobody can have her. Kill her while she’s still perfect. Then you’ll have a memory that nobody else can have. Forever.”

Or did he have a reason to kill her? Tony remembered something—the missing underwear. He needed to search the drawers of Josh’s dresser. But he would have to be more careful the next time he went into his room.

CHAPTER 16

As Tony entered the Hotline, office he saw two people in the listening room. Young people on the four-to-seven shift. He signed in. It was only Wednesday, and he wasn’t scheduled to work again until Friday, but he had decided to come in tonight because curiosity had gotten the best of him. He had called the office and talked to Gail, who had told him that Nathan was working the seven-to-ten tonight. Tony had decided to work with him.

Tony said hello to the two as he went into the listening room. He recognized their faces, if not their names. He admired the listening skills of the girl as she finished up a call. These kids were good. They certainly didn’t fit one common stereotype of teenagers: egoists who ignored the rest of the world. Older generations might not approve of their clothes, their tattoos, and their piercings, but they had to admit that at least these particular youths had compassion. They cared.

Nathan arrived right on the dot of seven. Tony watched him as he signed in. He admired Nathan’s tall, blond good looks and compared them to his own shorter, darker appearance. But there was something different about him. Tony realized that it was the first time he had seen Nathan wearing short sleeves. Well, they had been having hot weather—hotter even than in August. But this was typical in Southern California.

Nathan came into the listening room. He showed surprise as he said hello to Tony.

“I wasn’t doing anything tonight,” Tony told him, “and I couldn’t stay away. I thought I’d keep you company.”

“Good. Kyoko was scheduled to work, but I don’t think she’s going to show. I was going to work anyway, all alone if necessary. Who cares about the rules? I’m not afraid.”

After Nathan got himself something to eat and they each took a phone call, Tony had a chance to start a conversation. He said, “Tell me about your church—what is it, Church of the Resurrected Jesus, or something like that?”

“Church of the Risen Lord. What would you like to know?”

Tony noticed, as he had before, that Nathan didn’t look directly at him when he spoke.

“Well, how did it get its name, for one thing?”

Nathan finally looked at him, for a moment, as if he were trying to find out what he was driving at. “Are you a Christian?”

“You mean, as opposed to being a Jew or a Muslim? Yeah, I guess I’m a Christian.”

“That didn’t exactly sound like a wholehearted religious endorsement. Anyway, you know the story, right? Jesus was crucified, dead, and buried. The third day he rose from the dead and ascended into heaven, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, well the deal is that he’s coming back to get us. And take us with him. At least some of us.”

“The true believers.”

“Uh huh.”

Tony figured he had better ask his next question carefully. “Who are the true believers? Are they just the members of your church?”

“Well, there may be some others who got it right,” Nathan hedged.

“How many members does your church have?”

“I don’t know. A couple hundred, I guess.”

“Isn’t it going to be awfully lonely in heaven?”

Nathan looked upset. “Are you scoffing at my religion?”

“No, no, just trying to find out the truth. When is it going to happen?”

“When is what going to happen?”

“This…Ascension, or whatever you call it.” He had almost said Day of Judgment, but that would have been quoting Reverend Hodgkins, and Tony didn’t want Nathan to know that he had actually gone to the church.

Nathan clamped his mouth shut, reminding Tony of a baby Gila monster named Franklin that he had tried to raise when he was young. But Franklin, who may have missed his mother, wouldn’t eat and died of starvation. Reverend Hodgkins had also clammed up when Tony had asked him the same question. They must be pledged to secrecy. Well, what did he care? Let them have their silly little secret. However, he was still curious about other things.

“What are you doing to prepare for this day?” He wasn’t sure Nathan was going to answer this question either. After an embarrassing silence, Tony said, “I mean, are you selling all your things, divesting yourself of your worldly possessions, as it were?”

“Why is this any of your business?”

Nathan was getting hostile. It was too late for Tony to pretend he wanted to join the church. Besides, if he said he did, he would actually have to go to a service, and he figured if he attended a service, the roof of the church would fall in. Retribution from the Lord. It had been a long time since he had attended an actual church service. And the roof had looked pretty shaky anyway. But he shouldn’t have let his skepticism show.

Tony said, “Well, if you have a good car, I might want to buy it from you.” That was a flat-out lie. There was no way he was going to trade his Porsche for any other car on the road.

“I’ll let you know.”

Tony had a more serious reason for his questioning, but when he brought that up, he was sure it would further upset Nathan. However, he felt it was his duty to at least try to warn him. He said, “Are you…that is, are you expected to give your money or your possessions to the Church, by any chance?”

Nathan was glaring at him now, but Tony felt he had better finish what he wanted to say. “Have you at least considered the possibility that this is a scam—a way to get all your money? That the people who are running the church are fleecing the members?”

Nathan’s look was more hostile than ever. Tony figured he had said enough. They finished out the shift in almost complete silence, except when they were on the phones.

CHAPTER 17

It wasn’t until Tony had arrived at the Hotline on Friday and saw Shahla that he remembered that they had sent an e-mail to Paul the Poet from Shahla’s address. Other challenges had crowded that out of his mind.

She was looking as fetching as ever in a skirt and top combination that bared her midriff and a few other things. But he had learned that the girls didn’t dress to look sexy to others. They dressed for themselves.

Before he had a chance to ask her whether she had received a reply to her e-mail, she said, “Can we go to Las Vegas tomorrow?”

“We? Do you have a mouse in your pocket?”

“I have to go. I’m the poet, remember? Or at least I can talk about poetry in a way that he won’t throw me out on my ear.”

“If you received an e-mail, why didn’t you forward it to me?”

Shahla looked calculating. “Because I knew what you’d say about me going.”

“And now I’m saying it.”

“Yes, but at least I can counter it in person. Give me a chance to explain, Tony. Here, I’ll show you the e-mails.”

“Plural? How many are there?”

“Oh, we’ve had quite a conversation.”

And she had done all this behind his back. Of course, he had been doing a few things behind her back, but that was different. Shahla had printouts of the e-mails. Paul had responded to her first one by saying that he would be glad to meet her. He suggested that they meet at his house, which, Tony recalled, was really his parents’ house.

Shahla had very sensibly replied that she would like to meet him in a public place. She had suggested a casino. Paul said that the Tortoise Club was a downtown casino with a nice coffee shop, and that they could meet there. Shahla asked how she would know him. Paul said he was six feet, two inches tall and would wear a T-shirt with a limerick on the front.

Tony finished reading the correspondence and tried to marshal his thoughts. He glanced at Shahla. She was sitting on pins and needles and not looking at him. If he met Paul alone, there was no telling what the man would do. He might bolt. Callers to the Hotline often had very fragile egos and the slightest thing could make them go ballistic. Having Shahla with him would be a big advantage in that respect. No, the whole thing was impossible. He would go by himself. If Paul wouldn’t talk to him, he would do some gambling. He needed a mini-vacation.

“You have to be twenty-one to enter a casino,” Tony said.

Shahla shrugged. “Even to go in a coffee shop?”

“No, not a coffee shop. But you can’t go with me. There’s a law against taking a girl across a state line for immoral purposes.”

“We’re not going for immoral purposes,” Shahla said indignantly. “We’re trying to solve a murder. Remember?”

“Your mother won’t permit you to do it. And you told me you always communicate with your mother.”

Shahla considered that. After spinning herself around on her chair a few times, she said, “I’ll make you a deal. After we finish here, we’ll go talk to my mother and tell her what we’re going to do. I’ll live with her decision. If she says I can’t go, I won’t go. If she says yes, then you’ve got to take me.”

Tony was astonished. “You’re willing to do that? Introduce me to your mother and abide by her decision? There’s no way she is going to say yes.”

“Then you’re off the hook.”

“All right.” Tony found that he was looking forward to meeting Shahla’s mother. And being a mother, of course she wouldn’t let Shahla go. What kind of a mother would she be if she did? So it was settled. Curiously, Tony found that he wasn’t completely happy with the result. While he was wondering about that, the phone rang.

“Central Hotline. Tony speaking.”

“Hi, Tony, this is Rick. I don’t know if I talked to you before. I called about three months ago.”

“I’m not sure, Rick.” Of course he hadn’t been on the line three months ago, but he didn’t want to sound negative.

“Anyway, whoever I talked to helped me. I had just come here from Nebraska and needed a job bad. He told me to go to this place in Santa Monica called Chrysalis. They help homeless people get back in the job market. Well, I wasn’t homeless, but close to it. So, anyway, I went there. I walked in and hadn’t even registered when I met a guy in the lobby. He said he was looking for heavy equipment operators. Man, that’s what I do.”

“So he gave you a job?”

“Yeah. Now I’m making more money than I ever made in my life. I brought my wife and kids here. Now we’re going to take a trip back to Nebraska to visit the family.”

“That’s wonderful, Rick.” It was nice to get positive feedback from a caller.

“My wife said I should show my appreciation by donating some money to a good cause. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Well, you can make a donation to the Hotline. We rely on donations to keep us operating.”

Tony gave the address of the Hotline post office box to Rick. When he hung up, he was elated. He told Shahla, “I’m going to write this up and put it on the board so everyone can see it.”

Several hang ups and several calls later, Shahla signaled that she had the Chameleon on the line. Tony knew from checking the call reports of other listeners that the Chameleon was still calling the Hotline on a regular basis, using different aliases, but nothing new had been learned about him. And as far as Tony knew, Detective Croyden hadn’t been able to track him down.

Shahla put him on the speaker. He was saying, “…step-mom just circumcised me. She’s a doctor.”

“How old are you?” Shahla asked. She was playing along with him.

“Fifteen. But when she did, I got an erection.”

The voice could be that of a teenager. Or of somebody impersonating a teenager. But Shahla was sure it was the Chameleon.

“That must have been embarrassing for you.”

“Yes, of course it was. She’s married to my dad.”

There was a pause. Tony had discussed the Chameleon with Shahla and she had agreed not to attempt to meet him. She would stick to trying to pinpoint his location. The dead air continued. He wasn’t exactly voluble tonight.

Shahla broke the silence saying, “For our records, could you tell me where you’re calling from?”

More silence. Then, “El Segundo.”

At least he was consistent in that regard. Shahla said, “I love El Segundo. There’s a cute little shop on Main Street that sells imported knickknacks. I bought some dolls there that nest, one inside the other.”

Shahla had probably never stopped in El Segundo in her life. She had just driven through it to points north. El Segundo wasn’t a destination. Tony had told her about it, in case this very situation occurred.

“They’re called matroshka,” the Chameleon said. “That means ‘little mother.’”

“You are so lucky to live in a place like El Segundo. Do you live near that store?”

Silence. Tony and Shahla looked at each other. Tony put his finger to his lips. Outwait him. Maybe he would give something away.

“I pass it on my walks.”

“When do you walk?”

“In the afternoon.”

“After school?”

“When I…. Listen, I have to go.”

He hung up.

“I think he was about to say, ‘When I go to work.’” Shahla said.

“He broke character,” Tony said. “He forgot who he was today. That may be useful. Write it up and…”

“Pass it on to Detective Croyden.”

“Right.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” Shahla wrinkled her nose. “So far, Croyden has been a big fat zero.”

***

Tony followed Shahla home and parked in the street as she pulled into the garage, which opened as if by magic as she approached, but actually in response to a remote control in her car. Tony saw that half of the two-car garage was full of stuff. He was right in thinking that they only had one car. They met on the front steps as Shahla produced a key to the house and unlocked the front door.

“Mom,” Shahla yelled. “I’m home.”

Shahla led the way into the comfortably furnished living room. They didn’t seem to be hurting for money.

After a minute, Mom appeared through a doorway and said, “You don’t have to shout, Shahla. I heard you drive in.”

Shahla’s mother had an accent and was a slightly darker and shorter-haired version of Shahla. In the dim light of the living room, she could have passed for her sister. She was slim and elegantly dressed, but definitely not like a teenager.

“Mom, this is Tony,” Shahla said. “The one I told you about.”

Shahla had called her mother from the Hotline and told her they were coming.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lawton,” Tony said. He didn’t know whether it would be proper to shake hands with her or not.

She immediately extended her hand, however, and said, “Please call me Rasa. All my patients do. I appreciate you working with my daughter.”

“You’re a nurse, aren’t you?” Tony asked.

“Yes, I work at Bonita Beach Memorial Hospital.”

“Mom, Tony’s going to drive to Las Vegas as part of Joy’s murder investigation, and I need to go with him.”

Shahla was diving in without testing the water. Tony expected Rasa to hit the ceiling, but she showed an amazing calm.

“Please sit down,” Rasa said to Tony. “Would you like coffee?”

Tony hesitated and Shahla said, “It’s American coffee. The kind you drink.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Tony sat down on a soft couch that had two sections, at a 90-degree angle from each other. Shahla kicked off her shoes and sat down on the other section. She curled one leg up underneath her.

“Your mother speaks English very well,” Tony said.

“She does all right. She has trouble with her articles.”

“Articles?”

“A, an, and the.”

“Where was she born?”

“In Teheran.”

“Iran,” Tony said. “I have a cousin who is married to an Iranian.”

“She prefers to be called Persian.”

“How about your Dad?”

“He was born in Chicago.”

The soft couch made Tony realize that he was tired. He found himself relaxing. Shahla had quit talking. He glanced over and saw that her eyes were closed. At least she didn’t feel she had to entertain him.

They both came to attention when Rasa returned with a tray containing two cups of coffee and a glass of water for Shahla. Tony declined an offer of sugar and cream and took a sip. This would wake him up.

After they were served, Rasa sat in an armchair and said, “Tony, tell me about trip to Las Vegas.”

Shahla started to speak, but Rasa interrupted her saying, “I want to hear it from Tony. You will get your chance after.”

“One of our former callers is a poet,” Tony said. “A few days ago Shahla and I found a poem that had been slipped under the door of the Hotline. Did she show it to you?”

“No,” Rasa said and looked at Shahla, who looked only the tiniest bit contrite. “She does not show me anything.”

“Since it’s evidence, I felt the fewer the number of people who saw it, the better,” Shahla said.

Rasa shrugged and said to Tony, “Go on with your story.”

“It’s a well-written poem, and Shahla felt that the only person she knows who might have written it was this former caller, Paul, who lives in Las Vegas. We sent him an e-mail, and he said he would like to meet us.”

“Me,” Shahla said. “He said he would like to meet me.”

“Okay, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for Shahla to go.”

“Is this not job for police?” Rasa asked.

“We don’t really have any evidence that he wrote the poem,” Tony said. “It’s probably what my grandmother would have called a wild goose chase.”

“I see,” Rasa said. “Okay, Shahla, tell your side of story.”

“Tony’s a good guy,” Shahla said, “but he’s not a poet. He doesn’t know how to talk to poets. He won’t be able to get anything out of Paul. That is, if Paul will even talk to him. Because he has one other problem. He’s not—a girl.”

“Is it dangerous, meeting this person Paul?” Rasa asked.

“Not if Tony’s with me,” Shahla said. “We’re going to meet him in a coffee shop in the middle of Las Vegas.”

“Do you agree?” Rasa asked Tony.

“Er, well, no, it shouldn’t be dangerous. As Shahla says, it will be in a public place. But I still don’t think she should go.”

“I don’t think so either,” Rasa said.

Shahla started to protest. Rasa held up her hand.

“Tony, let me tell you little history,” Rasa said. “Five years ago Shahla lost her father. She is my only daughter. I have one younger son who is asleep, that is if Shahla did not wake him by shouting when she came in. Shahla was very shook up by her father’s death. It is taking her long time to recover.”

Rasa paused and took a sip of coffee. “Tony, don’t let anybody tell you it is easier to raise girls than boys. As a nurse, I see problems every day, not just with my own family. Girls are harder. Just look at clothes they wear.”

Shahla again looked ready to say something, but Rasa continued, “It is difficult to be single mom. I try my best with children, but it is hard. Shahla misses out by not having father figure. She looks up to you. I know because she told me some things about you, and she doesn’t talk about many of her friends. You are not old enough to be father figure, but you are man, much more mature than crazy teenage boys.”

Tony wondered where this was going. He glanced at Shahla. She had a look of expectation on her face.

“I do not want Shahla to go, but I do not want her to hate me, either. And I don’t want her doing things behind my back. It is tough decision. I trust you, Tony, perhaps more than I trust Shahla. I trust you not to hurt her and to keep her safe. If I give permission, will you take Shahla with you?”

Now he knew why Shahla was willing to leave the decision to her mother. She had her mother where she wanted her. But Rasa had made some good points. And from the trust that she placed in him, he knew that he would never be able to do anything to hurt Shahla.

He looked at Shahla. She was nodding her head vigorously. Tony swallowed his doubts and said, “All right, you can go. But you have to go to bed right now. Because I’m picking you up at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Sharp.”

CHAPTER 18

Tony upshifted smoothly as he merged onto the 105 Freeway eastbound from the 405 northbound. The 105 was a godsend to the commuter who lived near the coast and commuted inland—or vice versa. It was the newest of the L.A. freeways, and Tony drove it constantly for his work. Only infrequently did he think about the hundreds of people who had once lived along here and had been displaced during its protracted period of construction.

He glanced at Shahla, sacked out on the seat beside him. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had backed out of her driveway. So much for companionship. Remembering his own days as a teenager, he knew that they often didn’t get enough sleep. But he couldn’t play his radio or his CDs, which he would have been doing if he had been alone. Maybe she was more trouble than she was worth.

She was wearing her hair down, not in a ponytail. Her jeans were cut higher than usual on her hips and her top lower, closing the gap. The changes made her look older, and Tony knew enough about women to realize that this was a calculated look, to impress Paul. He admitted to himself that the more mature Shahla was more appealing. But he must not get carried away. She was still only seventeen.

***

“Where are we?”

Shahla’s sleepy voice jolted Tony out of his reverie. The Porsche had been humming along on Interstate 15, and he had been humming under his breath, in perfect synch with it. How much better than the stop-and-go driving in town. He was only going a few miles-per-hour over the speed limit. Speed wasn’t the issue. It was—freedom. Besides, he felt responsible for Shahla’s safety, especially after talking to Rasa. He felt very protective of her. Almost like a father. Almost. He would have been going faster if she weren’t with him.

“We’re approaching Barstow.”

“I’ve never been to Barstow.”

“Neither has anybody else who doesn’t drive to Las Vegas from L.A. It’s not exactly the garden spot of California.”

“I’m hungry.”

“We’re making good time. We’ll stop and grab a bite to eat. How did you sleep?”

She gave him a smile. “I had a good sleep. This is closer to the time I usually get up on Saturday.”

Tony downshifted as he cruised along an off-ramp. The desert community had plenty of fast-food restaurants and gas stations. It was designed for the traveler passing through. But, surprisingly, quite a few people lived here, also. It was a bustling place. What did the residents do? Besides cater to tourists. He pulled into the parking lot of the first restaurant they came to, in a space with campers on either side.

“It’s hot,” Shahla announced after getting out of the car.

“No cooling ocean breezes in the desert, like we get at the beach.”

However, the air-conditioning was cranking away inside. They found a booth amid the weekend visitors, with their hats and loud shirts. A waitress, who had been waitressing for a long time and would continue more or less forever, took their orders. Shahla ordered orange juice and an English muffin. Tony ordered coffee and thought the muffin sounded good, so he also asked for one.

After a couple of sips of coffee, Tony said, “We need a plan for dealing with Paul. We should get there before he does, which is good.”

“I thought we’d sit at separate tables, and I’d talk to him while you keep an eye on us.”

“No way. I don’t want to be separated from you. And I need to hear everything he says.”

“You’ll scare him.”

“No I won’t. I’ll be your…brother. Don’t you think we could pass as brother and sister?”

“In a dim light, maybe. But let me do the talking.”

Tony chuckled. “You’re really a control freak, aren’t you?”

“I’m just trying to protect you, Tony. You don’t know poetry. You might say the wrong thing.”

“I thought I was supposed to protect you. That’s what your mom wants. And speaking of, you must really have her buffaloed to convince her to let you run off to Vegas with a character like me.”

“Quit running yourself down. And she exaggerates. I’m a good daughter. Especially compared to some of the others. One of the girls at school won’t live at home. She lives with a friend and communicates with her mom mostly by e-mail.”

“Whew. No wonder I’m not married.”

“You’ll make a good father.”

“That’ll be the day.”

***

They made a nonstop run from Barstow to Las Vegas. Shahla, now fully awake, became quite talkative, commenting on the desert scenery, talking about her plans for college and life. She was in the process of filling out applications to universities. Tony reflected that she was doing a lot more planning than he had done at her age—maybe than he did now.

“Have you written a lot of poetry?” Tony asked her at one point.

“I started writing poetry when I was eight or nine. Mom sent me to my room for a time out, and I didn’t have anything better to do so I wrote a couple of bad poems. I’ve been writing poetry ever since. I’ve had some published in the school paper and a few other places. I’ve also written articles for the paper.”

“You’re so busy. When do you find time to write?”

“Oh, when I’m sad. Or depressed. Or happy. I can write pretty much any time. I have a notebook full of poems.”

They parked in a lot in downtown Las Vegas, near Fremont Street, and walked several blocks to the Tortoise Club. It was a typical downtown casino—loud and flashy, but without much substance beneath the facade, as Tony knew from experience. A good way to lose your money in the slots or at the blackjack tables slowly, with minimum bets, without the distraction of shows. Perfect for the businesslike gambler who didn’t have a large stake. And the small gamblers were out in force today—the retirees who came on buses and lost their Social Security checks before returning home to their empty lives.

Tony steered Shahla into the coffee shop, away from temptation, a half hour before their appointment, and they sat down at a table, both of them on the same side, facing the door. A quick glance at the other tables convinced them that Paul had not preceded them here. Tony suggested they order lunch.

“Can we drive by some of the big hotels on the way back?” Shahla asked between sips of a soft drink.

Tony didn’t know whether her excitement was at the prospect of meeting Paul or from the effect Las Vegas had on people. It was probably a combination. He had avoided Las Vegas Boulevard on the way in because traffic on it was so miserable—worse than in many parts of Los Angeles.

“Why not? We’ll give you a look at plastic city. They’ve recreated some of the great places in the world here—Paris, Venice, New York, Egypt. You just have to remember that it’s all fake.”

“Don’t be so cynical. This is all new to me.”

Paul didn’t appear at 1:30, the scheduled time. Tony wondered whether he was going to show up. They finished their lunches and continued to nurse their drinks.

“How much time should we give him?” Shahla asked. She sounded restless, as if she would rather be sightseeing than playing detective.

“We’ve driven all this way. Let’s give him until two.”

At five minutes of two a tall young man walked into the coffee shop, or rather eased his way in. Considering his dominating height, he looked a little timid, as though he wasn’t sure how the world would treat him. Skinny as a broomstick, he wore thick-lensed glasses and had sandy hair that stuck out at odd angles. He had on a T-shirt with some writing on it and carried a notebook.

“That’s him,” Shahla said. She raised her arm and waved at the man.

Tony wondered how she could be so sure, but he spotted them and came toward their table with a shambling step, looking relieved. Maybe it was because they weren’t monsters.

“You must be Paul,” Shahla said, standing up and extending her hand. “I’m Sally. And this is my brother, Tony.”

Tony stood up and shook hands with him across the table. “Sit down,” he said. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Maybe a coke,” Paul said, his first words other than hello.

Tony signaled the waitress while Shahla said, “So what’s this limerick on your shirt?” She read it aloud:

“Now God was designing a mammal,

With beauty and grace, without trammel,

By computer, of course,

The genetics said ‘horse,’

But the disk crashed and out came a camel.”

“The Association for the Prevention of Cruel Statements About Camels is not going to like that,” Tony said.

Paul looked uncertain, as if he didn’t know whether Tony was serious. But then he smiled. He said, “I won a contest on the Internet for writing it.”

“I like your sense of humor,” Shahla said. “I could see it in the poems on your website. “Does that book have your poems in it?”

Paul nodded shyly.

“May I see it?”

He slid the notebook across the table to her. It was a three-ring binder, crammed full of pages. Tony wondered whether he spent all his time writing poetry. Didn’t he have to work for a living? And did all poets have a similar notebook? Shahla had said she kept her poems in one.

Shahla started leafing through the book, reading and commenting on some of the poems, always positively. She and Tony had agreed that if he brought poems with him—and she had asked him to in her e-mails—that they would try to look at all of them. Of course, if they could find a copy of the spaghetti strap poem, that would be a coup. If not, they would look for other poems with similar style or subject matter.

Tony was relying on Shahla to do most of the work. In retrospect, it was a good thing she was here. He would never have been able to fake enough of an interest in or knowledge about poetry to fool Paul. When Shahla excused herself to go to the lady’s room, he was stuck for something to say. He decided on a subject he knew something about.

“Do you ever do any gambling?” he asked.

“People who live here will tell you they don’t gamble,” Paul said, “but that’s not necessarily true. I like to play video poker once in a while.”

“Where’s a good place to play?”

“I like the New York-New York because it has some machines that pay eighty to one for four of a kind. They’re hidden in a corner as you curve around from the theaters.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Tony said.

Shahla came back, and the discussion returned to poetry.

“I notice that a lot of your poems are about pain,” Shahla said. “You use metaphors for pain.”

Paul didn’t immediately reply. Tony knew from his Hotline training that he and Shahla should remain silent and wait for Paul to say something. The silence dragged on for several minutes. Shahla continued to leaf through the book, looking completely at ease. Tony admired her composure.

In his calls to the Hotline, Paul had sometimes talked about an abusive aunt. Or abusive parents. Somebody had abused him. Maybe that’s where the pain came from. If so, did that trauma color his feelings toward all women? Tony leaned toward Shahla and read pieces of some of the poems. The figures of speech in the poems, such as “a fire inside that makes me scream” must be the metaphors Shahla was talking about. They were not specific as to where the pain originated.

“I’m feeling better,” Paul said finally. “The pain is going away. Maybe I won’t be able to write poetry anymore.” He smiled.

“Has something good happened to you?” Shahla asked.

“I have a new girlfriend.”

“You should have brought her with you.”

“She’s working today.”

“When was the last time you were in Los Angeles?” Tony asked, hoping to speed things up. They didn’t seem to be accomplishing anything and he was getting bored.

Paul hesitated and then said, “I’ve never been to Los Angeles.”

“Never?” Tony said, not believing him. Everybody who lived in the West had been to Los Angeles.

“My parents don’t like big cities, and I just never got there on my own.”

Shahla had finished going through the book. She glanced at Tony and imperceptibly shrugged her shoulders. What now? It was time for direct action. Tony reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a copy of the spaghetti strap poem. It was folded and wrinkled.

He smoothed it out and said, “I’m not much of a poet, but I found one poem that I kind of like. He pushed it across the table and watched Paul’s eyes as he read it, hoping to see a spark of something. He didn’t detect anything.

When he finished reading it, Paul said, “It sounds like it was written by a teenage boy with raging hormones, but very few teenage boys can write poems like this.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it takes a lot of practice and a certain amount of ability to achieve that use of meter, rhyme and organization.”

“So who do you think wrote it, then?” Shahla asked.

Paul pushed his glasses up on his nose. He did that frequently. He said, “It was probably written by an older man who wishes he were still a teenager.”

After some further discussion about the poem, Paul excused himself to use the restroom.

Tony said, “Well, do you think he wrote it?”

“Definitely not,” Shahla said.

“Then we have no more use for him. Let’s get rid of him.”

“Tony. You know as well as I do that our callers have fragile psyches. We can’t just dismiss him.”

“Well, what do you suggest then?”

“I read about an art exhibition at one of the hotels. We could invite him to accompany us to see that.”

Was she falling for this geek, just because he was tall and wrote pretty words? Tony caught himself before he said anything he would regret. “Great idea.”

When Paul came back, Shahla brought up the subject of the exhibition.

Paul said, “I’d…really like to, but I’m meeting my girlfriend after she gets off work. If fact, I should be leaving now. It was really nice to meet both of you.”

He picked up his notebook. Tony shook his hand. Shahla gave him a hug, which apparently surprised him. He turned and almost ran to the door of the coffee shop. As he went through the doorway, he turned and looked back at them, giving a tentative wave. Then he was gone.

CHAPTER 19

“There’s the Sahara. The Riviera. Oh look, Circus Circus.” Shahla excitedly craned her neck and read the names of the hotels as they crawled past them, stuck in the Saturday afternoon traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard. “Can we go inside just one?”

“You know you have to be twenty-one to gamble,” Tony said. He had put the top of the Porsche down to enjoy the sun. It was easier to cruise slowly along in the car than to face the hassle of parking and walking in the heat.

“What are they going to do, card me? It didn’t look as if they were watching too closely at the Tortoise Club.”

“But we didn’t do any gambling there.”

“I can look older. I brought a dress with me. It’s in the trunk, er, the front.”

“We’re stuck in traffic, and there’s no place to change.”

“I can handle it. Open it up so I can get my bag.”

Shahla started getting out of the car.

“Shahla. What are you doing?” When he saw she wasn’t going to stop, he said, “Stick your fingers under the hood to release it. And when you shut it use two hands.” And do it gently.

Shahla went around to the front of the Porsche, oblivious to the stares of the other motorists stuck in traffic. Tony had no choice but to unlatch the hood. Shahla grabbed her small traveling bag and brought the cover down hard enough to make Tony wince. She was back in the car in thirty seconds.

“What are you going to do now?” Tony asked as he inched forward.

In answer, Shahla unzipped the bag and pulled out a dress. “It’s my mom’s. We wear the same size. Don’t you think it will make me look older?”

“Yes, but as you can see there’s no place to change.”

“Don’t look.”

To his amazement, she pulled her top up over her head in one fluid motion. Sure, she was wearing a bra, but all the tourists in their SUVs, towering over them, had a good view of her as they looked down at the little Porsche. And telling him not to look? She might as well tell a bear not to hibernate.

“I saw the ads for the nudie shows,” Shahla said as she unzipped her jeans. “Las Vegas is a pretty casual place.”

It was no easy job for her to wriggle out of her tight jeans in the enclosed space. She had to lift her legs and place her bare feet against the windshield of the car in order to accomplish it. Some senior citizens in a tour bus watched her, fascinated. Maybe they thought she was part of the entertainment on the Strip. Several guys in a van opened their windows and cheered. It was a good thing Tony was stuck in traffic, or he would have been in danger of wrecking the car.

She had an easier time getting on the dress. She pulled it over her head and worked it down, slowly, until eventually it reached her knees, and she became the picture of modesty.

“There,” she said. “How do I look?”

“Like a million dollars. You should be on display in a casino to show what a million looks like.”

“I’m not through.”

Next, Shahla took her long hair and wrapped it into a bun. Then she applied a little more lipstick and some eye shadow to what had been an almost makeup-free face. She turned to face Tony.

“What do you think now?”

“Okay, I give up. We’ll go to New York-New York. I heard they have some video poker machines that have a good payoff.”

It took a while, but Tony was eventually able to park within walking distance of the hotel. Shahla took his arm as they knifed their way through the crowds of pedestrians outdoors, despite the September heat, and finally made it into the air-conditioned interior of the hotel.

“It’s so big,” Shahla said, craning her neck in all directions, as they strolled through the gaming area, which was like an irresistible force that oozed its way into all corners of the building not taken up by restaurants, theaters, or shops.

They stopped beside one of the blackjack tables, where a bored dealer was dealing out of a shoe to a couple of bored players.

“Can we play this?” Shahla asked as one of the players displayed an ace-king combination and collected his reward from the dealer.

“Not here,” Tony said. In spite of her transformation, it wouldn’t be wise to let Shahla be scrutinized by a dealer and the unseen employees who watched all the games on video monitors. In addition, the minimum bets were far too high to allow her to play just for fun.

They wandered around, looking at the other games. They watched the roulette wheel spin, and Tony explained some of the bets at the craps table. They read the information about the shows that were playing. Shahla was interested in everything.

Finally, Tony realized that the afternoon was moving along, and they would be very late getting home. He told Shahla they had to go.

“We haven’t tried gambling yet, ourselves,” she said. “You promised.”

“We’ll play a little video poker.”

Tony led her to the area that as nearly as he could tell was where Paul had talked about. After some wandering around, he spotted a cluster of video poker machines in a relatively isolated place. He checked the payoffs on one of them. Sure enough, it paid eighty to one for four of a kind. It also had a slot that accepted bills. He inserted a five dollar bill and twenty credits appeared on the monitor.

“Do you know how to play poker?” Tony asked as he figured out which buttons to press.

“No.”

“Your mom is never going to forgive me for corrupting you, but here goes. This kind of poker is called five-card draw because you get dealt five cards, and then you can draw to replace any or all of them. Aces are high, deuces, that is twos, are low. You have to get at least a pair of jacks to win. Other winning hands, in order of increasing value, are two pairs, three of a kind, straight, flush, full house, four of a kind, straight flush.”

“Now tell me that in English.”

“In English, what we’re always trying for on this machine is four of a kind, because it pays eighty to one, which is better than most machines. We use our other wins to maintain our capital so we can go for the big one.”

Shahla caught on much too quickly. Soon she was pressing the buttons herself, and playing with minimal guidance from Tony concerning how many cards to draw. After ten minutes, she hit four eights and screamed as the credit counter tallied up the score.

“Congratulations.” Tony pushed the button to get the cash out of the machine. Quarters came gushing into the tray. He picked up one of the paper containers available for that purpose and scooped all the coins into it. He said, “Now we can go home.”

“Already? We’ve only just begun.”

“Any time you hit a sizeable jackpot, you cash out and start over. That way you keep your perspective. Even when you’re only playing for quarters. But this is a good time for us to leave. We’ve got a long ride.”

When they exchanged the quarters for bills, Tony figured they were about seventeen dollars ahead. Not much, but winning was better than losing.

Shahla said, “Of course, that money belongs to you because we were playing with your money to start with. Now I want to play a little with my own money so I can keep the winnings.”

She pulled a five dollar bill out of a small purse she carried.

“What if you lose?” Tony asked, but Shahla was already returning to the machine, where she inserted the bill in the slot.

“This is a good experience for a listener on the Hotline,” Shahla said. “After all, many of our callers have addictions of one kind or another, or compulsions, as they call them. I want to see what it feels like to lose. Will I want to throw good money after bad?”

Tony decided to let her lose her five dollars, and then they would leave. There wasn’t going to be any testing of compulsions. He stood by her side while she sat in front of the machine.

After playing a dozen hands, Shahla got an interesting deal. “Wait,” Tony said as she pressed the buttons to hold all her cards. “Let’s take a look at this.”

“I’ve got a flush,” Shahla said. “Five spades.”

“I know, but look at what else you have. You have the ace, king, queen, and ten. In other words, you are one card short of a royal flush which pays 250 to one.”

“Ooh,” Shahla said, taking another look at the cards. “So I have one chance in…”

“Forty-seven of drawing the jack of spades because five cards have already been played from a fifty-two card deck.”

“I want to go for it.”

They stared at the cards for a while, not wanting to spoil the anticipation. Finally, Shahla drew one card.

“I can’t look,” she said. “Tell me…”

Tony peeked at the credit counter. It was going crazy. She had drawn the jack of spades. “You did it.”

Shahla jumped up and down screaming. Then she threw her arms around his neck and lifted her legs off the ground.

“Calm down,” Tony said laughing, as he tried to keep his balance. When she let go of him, he pressed the button to cash out and scooped the quarters into the cup. “If you look too much like a teenager, you’ll blow your cover.” He started toward the cashier.

“Where are you going?”

“Now, we’re really going home.”

“But I might win some more.”

“You’ll get the opportunity to know what it feels like to quit when you’re ahead. That will give you empathy for your callers who can’t do that.”

Shahla grumbled, but Tony was adamant. He pocketed the three twenty dollar bills, plus a five and a couple of ones that he received from the cashier, telling Shahla that he would give the money to her when they got home.

She threatened to take more money out of her purse, but Tony said, “I’m leaving, and I’ve got the car.” He walked away.

Shahla caught up to him and said, “You are really mean. I’m never going to Las Vegas with you again.”

“Shhh,” Tony said suddenly, turning to face her. “Look over my right shoulder.”

Shahla peeked over his shoulder and said, “It’s Paul. And he’s got a girl with him. Should we go talk to them?”

“Wait. Describe the girl.” Tony kept his back to Paul and the girl.

“She’s blonde. She’s quite tall. And pretty. She looks something like…Joy.”

“That was my impression, too. Of course, it probably means nothing.”

“That he likes girls who look like Joy? Or maybe he really hates them.”

“What are they doing?”

“They’re going over to where we just came from, where those video poker machines are. He’s got his arm around her neck, as if he’s aching to strangle her.”

Tony turned his head and could see the pair, walking diagonally away from them. Paul did have his elbow resting on the girl’s shoulder, with his forearm curled in front of her neck. Innocent though it might be, if you could picture him as a killer, it looked scary.

“We should follow them,” Shahla said urgently, taking the thought right out of his brain.

“But if we want to learn anything, we need to be incognito.”

“I look different from what I did at the coffee shop. Turn your T-shirt inside out.”

Tony glanced down at the front of his shirt, which had the words “San Diego” on it and a picture of a beach and palm trees. If Shahla could undress in public, he could too. He pulled the shirt over his head and put it back on wrong side out.

“Now put on your dark glasses.”

He took them out of the case in his pocket and put them on. He glanced at Shahla. “Put on yours, too, so he can’t see your eyes if we get close to them. They’re a dead giveaway.”

Shahla took her dark glasses out of her purse and put them on. She said, “One thing more. I’m going to change your hairstyle. Sit down there.” She pointed to a chair in front of a slot machine.

Tony did as he was told. She took a comb out of her purse and fooled with his hair. She chuckled and said, “There. He won’t know you now.”

“What have you done?”

“Don’t worry. It looks good. I got rid of your cowlick.” She put away the comb and said, “How shall we do this?”

“It would be nice if we could get close enough to listen to what they say.”

They approached the video poker machines and saw Paul sitting in front of one. The girl stood beside him with a hand on his shoulder. The adjoining video poker machine was free.

“Do you think we can sit at that machine without being recognized?” Tony asked, speaking softly.

“You sit down, and I’ll sit on your lap, facing away from them. If we don’t say anything, Paul won’t recognize us.”

Tony took a few quarters out of his pocket that were left over from their play. He approached the machine from behind Paul and sat down in the chair while Paul was engrossed in a deal. Shahla quickly jumped up on his lap with her back to Paul. All Paul would be able to see of Tony if he looked over was a profile. Tony noisily threw his quarters into the tray and put one in the slot. He would play slowly so they could mostly listen.

He had to play with one hand because the other one was around Shahla’s waist. He was conscious of Shahla’s closeness to him. At first, Paul and the girl said nothing. He could tell from the noises of their machine that Paul was playing steadily.

After a couple of minutes, Paul said, “I’m not having any luck today. I found an interesting cliff overlooking the city. Come on, I’ll show it to you.”

Paul got up and walked away with the girl.

“He’s going to push her off a cliff,” Shahla said, jumping down from his lap. “We’ve got to stop them.”

CHAPTER 20

“I left some money in the machine,” Tony complained as they tried to keep the two in sight.

“Hurry up,” Shahla said, taking his hand so they wouldn’t get separated while navigating their way through a line of people who were waiting to see a show. “We don’t want to lose them.”

“This might be totally innocent.”

“Or it might not be. The way he talked about the cliff….”

Paul and the girl went out the door of the hotel. Tony and Shahla followed them as fast as possible. Outside, swarms of people walked along Las Vegas Boulevard in the light of the still-hot setting sun.

“Which way did they go?” Shahla asked.

“I don’t see them. Oh, there they are.” Fortunately, Paul’s head stuck up above the crowd. “They’ve turned on Tropicana.”

Tony and Shahla weaved their way through the pedestrians, trying to regain visual contact with Paul and the girl, who had disappeared around the corner. The pursuers also turned right onto Tropicana Avenue and saw the other couple again, loping along at a swift pace. The girl seemed to have no trouble matching Paul’s long strides.

“Maybe they parked in the same lot we did,” Tony said. He slowed down as the traffic thinned, away from the Strip. Fewer people between them and the pursued made their chances of being spotted greater. Shahla dropped his hand and slowed down beside him. He noticed that she wasn’t even breathing hard. She must be in good shape from cross-country.

Paul and the girl walked past the lot where Tony’s car was parked.

“We’re going to need a car if we want to follow them into the hills,” Tony said, hesitating as they approached the entrance to the parking lot. “But if we get the car now, we’ll lose them.”

“You get the car,” Shahla said. “I’ll stay behind them.”

“How will I know where you are?”

“I’ll call you. My cell phone is in my purse. Give me your number.”

Tony always carried a pen with him. He scribbled the number of his cell phone on the back of a business card he pulled from his pocket and gave it to Shahla. He said, “Be careful. Don’t let them know you’re following them.”

“Don’t worry.”

She took off at a trot to regain the distance she had lost. Tony hoped Shahla wouldn’t attract too much attention by running in a dress. He had misgivings about leaving her and almost called her to come back. He’d better get the car as fast as he could.

He ran to the car and started it. Another car was backing out of a parking space behind him—and the driver was taking his sweet time. Tony fumed, but he knew that blowing his horn would only aggravate the situation. When he finally drove out onto the street, Shahla and the other couple had disappeared. Where were they? He had promised Rasa to protect her. He warded off a surge of panic. He had to trust her. She was a smart girl.

He drove slowly, looking for a sign of any of the three. When he figured he had driven farther than they could have walked by now, he circled the block. Five minutes went by without a sighting. Why hadn’t he written down Shahla’s cell phone number? He stopped the car to work on a plan.

His cell phone rang. He punched the talk button and said, “Tony.”

“They’ve gotten in a car and driven toward the hills.”

“Where are you?”

Shahla gave an intersection. Tony remembered that one of the streets she named crossed the street he was on. He was only a few blocks from her. Relieved, he gunned the engine and took off. He spotted her within two minutes. He pulled the car up beside her, and she jumped in.

“Quick, write down their license plate number before I forget it.”

Tony took the card she was still holding and wrote the number Shahla dictated.

“Which way did they go?”

“Toward the hills.” Shahla pointed. “They’re in a gray Honda.”

“So is the rest of the world.”

“I think I’ll recognize it.”

Tony drove as fast as the traffic would allow. The sun was just setting behind the hills they were approaching, so spotting the car would be that much more difficult. Still, there only seemed to be one road that went up into the hills. And Paul had to go in that direction if he was going toward a cliff. The traffic was heavy enough so that Tony doubted that he could catch Paul. Maybe it was just as well. They would drive uphill for a while and then turn around and go home.

The views got better as they drove. This must be the right direction. Paul had mentioned a view of Las Vegas. But what chance did they have of actually spotting the car?

“I think I just saw it,” Shahla said.

“Where?”

“Parked beside the road.”

She must have sharp eyes. It was now quite dark. Tony said, “Do you want to check?”

“Yes.”

It took him several minutes before he found a place wide enough to allow them to turn around. He pulled off the road, waited for traffic to go by, and swung a sharp U.

“Go slowly,” Shahla said, as they rounded a curve. “I think it’s near here. There it is.”

Tony stopped opposite the car Shahla pointed at and pulled off the road as far as possible. They got out and crossed the pavement to a turnoff where the car that Tony now could identify as a gray Honda was parked. He compared the license plate number to the one he had written down. They matched.

“Good work,” he told Shahla. “Now where did they go?”

“There’s a path,” Shahla said. “It leads up that hill.”

The dirt path disappeared into the desert foliage and the dark.

“You wait in the car,” Tony told Shahla. He handed the keys to her.

She refused to take them. “I’m not going to let you go up there by yourself.”

He knew from experience that she meant what she said. “Okay, this is what we’ll do. There should be enough light from the moon to follow the path. I’ll go first. If I hold up my hand, stop.”

“All right.”

At least she didn’t argue. Tony started up the path, slowly, avoiding rocks and roots that made the footing tricky. He was relieved that it wasn’t especially steep. The night air was chilly—it cooled off rapidly in the desert—but he wasn’t going to take time to go back to the car for the sweatshirt he had brought. And Shahla wasn’t complaining. They walked uphill for several minutes in silence. Then the path leveled off, and Tony saw an open space ahead. And moving shadows; they must be people. He held up his hand. Shahla obediently stopped.

He beckoned for her to come up beside him. He bent down and spoke into her ear. “There are at least two people there. In order for us to get close enough to hear them, we’ll have to get behind that rock.”

A rock large enough to hide them stood fifty feet ahead. Tony moved toward the rock, staying silent and close to the ground, to keep from being silhouetted against the moonlit sky like the two figures he was watching. It was difficult work. He crouched as low as he could, but sometimes he had to get down on his hands and knees, amid small but sharp stones. He kept looking back at Shahla. She remained at his heels, stuck to him like a tick. He hoped her dress—Rasa’s dress— wasn’t getting too dirty.

Several times he saw a flash of light coming from the direction of the two people. The first one startled him, but then he realized that they must be taking pictures.

He could hear voices, but he couldn’t make out words. Probably a man and a woman. When they got to the rock, he felt more secure. At least they weren’t exposed. Tony put his finger to his lips as Shahla hugged the rock beside him. He inched forward so that he could see around it.

What he saw almost made him gasp out loud. A girl—she was now lit well enough by the moon so that he could tell—was standing right at the edge of a cliff. Behind her he could see city lights—Las Vegas. It looked to him as if one step and she would be over the edge.

Shahla leaned against his back so she could see. She put her mouth to his ear and said, “She’s going to fall over the cliff. And what is she wearing?”

Not much, as Tony could see now. It looked as if she was wearing a bra and panties. She must be cold. He spotted Paul—the angular silhouette could only be Paul—a few feet away. He had something in his hands, probably a camera.

“Now the bra,” he heard Paul saying.

The girl didn’t argue; she immediately took off her bra. Paul was aiming the camera. There was a flash. Another flash. Each flash momentarily lit up the girl. It was the blonde, no question about it—and she was beautiful.

After taking several pictures, Paul told her to take off her panties. And she did. Without any fuss. Tony was perplexed. This was too easy. Especially for someone he had said was a new girlfriend. Paul took more pictures.

Shahla said, with her mouth to Tony’s ear, “He’s got her underwear. Now he’s going to push her off the cliff.”

Was he? Was this what Paul had done to Joy? Convince her to pose for him in the nude? Pretty girls were vain about their figures and susceptible to flattery, but Joy hadn’t even known him—had she? What was going to happen next? Should he intervene?

They heard Paul say, “That’s enough of that.”

Paul placed his camera on the ground and started to walk toward the girl.

Shahla spoke into Tony’s ear, loud enough to hurt his eardrum. “He’s going to do it now. Stop him!”

Tony sprang to his feet and ran toward Paul. The girl screamed. Tony lowered his head and hit Paul with his shoulder, at waist level, the full weight of his body behind the blow. Paul crumpled to the ground, and Tony fell on top of him. Tony lay dazed for several seconds. Paul didn’t move either.

Then he realized that the girl was standing over him, yelling at him. “What are you doing?” she shouted, again and again. He was aware that she had picked up something. A rock. She was going to hit him with a rock. He staggered to his feet and raised his arms. She threw the good-sized rock at him with both hands. It was a weak throw, and he evaded it.

“He was going to push you off the cliff,” he told the girl.

“You idiot. He wasn’t going to push me off the cliff.”

“How do you know? You just met him.”

“I’ve known him all my life. He’s my brother.”

“Your brother?” He looked from the girl to the still horizontal Paul. There was definitely a family resemblance. This was terribly wrong. Tony couldn’t sort it out, but he knew he had to get out of here. Right now. Before Paul got up. And Paul was stirring.

Tony started running toward the path. Where was Shahla? Then he saw her running ahead of him. He came to the downhill portion. He was going too fast in the dark. He tripped over a root and went flying. He landed hard. He couldn’t breathe. The wind had been knocked out of him. He lay there for several seconds, wondering if he was going to die. He gasped for breath and then realized that since he could gasp, he could breathe.