clippings, found Marjorie Lawrence, and asked for copies of the articles. I also asked if I could use her phone. She was happy to let me do so.
I called Starkey. I could have called Diaz and Pardy, but Starkey worked the Juvenile desk. If David showed only a Juvie file, his record would be more difficult to find. Juvenile records are often sealed or expunged.
Starkey said, "Hey, dude, where are you?"
" San Diego. I found something down here maybe you can help me with."
"Oh, I live for that. You've made my day, adding more work to my load."
I gave her the headline version of Reinnike's disappearance, and told her about David Reinnike.
She said, "The guy had another son?"
"That's not funny, Starkey."
"Oh, hey."
"Will you check it out for me or not?"
"Yes, Cole, I will check it out for you. Don't be so snippy. Listen, those newspaper articles, do they name the investigating officers?"
"Yeah. The lead was a guy named Poole. San Diego County Sheriffs Department."
"Are you coming back tonight?"
"Yeah, I'm going to leave in a few minutes."
"I'd like to see the articles. With all this happening thirty years ago, having the names might help me out."
"Okay, sure."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Seeing as how I'm going to so much trouble, maybe I should come up to your house tonight and you should feed me dinner. An invitation would be nice."
Starkey made me smile.
"How about eight o'clock. I should be back by then."
"Eight o'clock. Don't get killed driving home."
Starkey always knew what to say.
I found my way back to the freeway. It had been a long, difficult day, and I had logged a lot of miles. I had more miles ahead of me, and all of it would be grudging.
My head buzzed with a remote ache from all the thinking about George Reinnike, and what he might mean to me, or not. If Reinnike believed he had a child named Elvis Cole, why did he wait so many years to get in touch? I tried to make sense of what I knew, and nothing good came to mind. Anything was possible. Reinnike might have lost both his son and his mind, then convinced himself I was a long-lost replacement. Dial-a-Child, at your service. My picture had been in the newspapers, magazines, and on television. Maybe David Reinnike looked like me; the two of us interchangeable American males, brown, brown, medium, average. George Reinnike might have seen me in the news, convinced himself I was the long-lost "other," and swept me up in his madness. Here I was, driving in traffic, thinking about a total stranger named George Reinnike, and Reinnike had become real to me. He had flesh and weakness, and his tortured path had somehow crossed mine. Even if he was not part of my past, he had begun to feel like my past. When I remembered my mother, he was now in the memory like a transparent haunt. All through my life those memories had been a puzzle with a missing piece, but now George Reinnike filled the hole. The picture was complete. Daddy was home whether he was real or not.
Three hours later I slipped between the trees along Mulholland Drive, heading for home. It had been a long day. The sky had grown smoky, and the dimming light purpled the trees.
I turned onto my street and saw a tan car parked outside my house. The last time I came home to a car, it was Pardy. I decided that if Pardy was waiting in my house again, I would scare the hell out of him.
I pulled into my carport, took out my gun, then let myself in through the kitchen. I didn't try to be quiet. I pushed open the door.
29
Starkey
Starkey put down the phone after Cole hung up, and kicked back in her chair with a wide nasty grin. She was pleased with herself for jamming Cole into dinner. It would have been nicer if the idiot had thought up the idea himself, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
"That must've been your boyfriend Cole on the phone."
Starkey's grin floundered. Ronnie Metcalf was watching her from his adjoining desk. Metcalf was a D-2 with Hollywood Robbery, which had to share office space with the Juvenile Division. Metcalf tapped his mouth.
"I can tell by the grin."
He pursed his lips and made puckered kissing sounds.
Starkey didn't flinch, flush, or turn away.
"You're an asshole."
Metcalf laughed, then got up and sauntered over to the coffee machine. Starkey turned back to her desk, but now her mood was