The Forgotten Man - Robert Crais Page 0,64

David," said Mrs. Alma Sims, 48, the Reinnike's next-door neighbor. "I wouldn't let my children play with him."

She recalls the time David Reinnike, then twelve, was walking in the street as she was bringing her own children home from soccer practice.

"David was walking in the middle of the street and he wouldn't move to the side. When I beeped my horn, he started making faces at me, but he still didn't get out of the way. I tried to go around him, but he stayed in front of the car, calling me the most terrible names. He was out of control."

That night, when Mrs. Sims' husband, Warren, went next door to discuss the matter with Mr. Reinnike, Reinnike allegedly threatened him.

Mrs. Sims said, "George was defensive and belligerent when it came to David. No matter what David had done, if you tried to say something, George would act threatening."

According to neighbors, the younger Reinnike was in trouble often. Stories of vandalism, fights with other children, and bizarre behavior were common.

"Someone broke windows in every house on this block one night," said Pam Wally, 39. "Everyone knew it was David, but no one could prove it."

Neighbors believe David broke the windows, because only the Reinnikes' house was spared.

Karen Reese, 47, described a similiar incident. Her two sons had gotten into an argument with David. The following day, when Mrs. Reese was driving her sons home from school, they passed the Reinnike home where David waited at the curb.

Said Mrs. Reese, "As we passed, he threw a hammer at us. It was the strangest thing, because he didn't care if we saw him or not. The back window shattered and glass was everywhere. Thank God no one was hurt."

Mrs. Reese summoned the police, but no charges were filed. Mr. Reinnike agreed to pay for repairs.

"I'm not sure the boy even went to school," said Chester Kerr, 52, who lived across the street. "It would be midday during the school year, and you'd see him running around."

Tabitha Williams, 44, the mother of two small children, tells a slightly different story.

"David had a learning disability and was being home-schooled. I never had any problems with David or George. It was hard for both of them without David's mother."

The absence of David Reinnike's mother was a mystery, too, because George Reinnike gave differing explanations. At different times, Reinnike told neighbors his wife was deceased, had abandoned them when David was an infant, or had remarried and lived in Europe with her new family.

Now, the whereabouts of George Reinnike and his son, David, are as mysterious as that of David's mother. Though police are suspicious of the circumstances surrounding the Reinnikes' disappearance, they have no evidence of foul play, and have cleared Jordan of any involvement.

"It could be the guy just wanted to live somewhere else and didn't think enough of his neighbors to tell them," said Det. Poole. "There's no law against moving, but we'd still like to know."

If you have any information about George or David Reinnike, please contact Detective Martin Poole of the San Diego County Sheriffs Department.

After the cold facts of the crime reports, the sidebar article made the Reinnikes real.

I compared what I knew with what was reported. Neither the Sheriffs nor the neighbors mentioned George Reinnike's tattoos or any sort of religious zeal. The tattoos were of such a dramatic nature that this omission indicated Reinnike had not been tattooed when he lived in Temecula. The tattoos coming later suggested a significant change in Reinnike's emotional state. The police had suspected foul play in Reinnike's disappearance, but thirty years later I knew that Reinnike had not been murdered at that time; it took another thirty-five years for someone to kill him. A rational person might not walk away from the insurance payments, but an emotionally troubled man might, and so might a desperate man. It had been the sixties. A lot of people dropped out, and plenty of them had good reasons. Maybe Reinnike felt a radical change would help his son. Maybe he walked away from the checks because they were a monthly reminder of everything he had hated about his earlier life. Maybe he needed to escape himself to heal, and the tattoos and prayers were part of the process. And thirty-five years later, he had come to Los Angeles with the belief he had fathered a child named Elvis Cole. Maybe he was crazy.

After a while I grew tired of thinking about it. I gathered together the