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possibly think that a person dressed like this could conceal anything bigger
than a Swiss army knife?"
She gestured at herself, and the two louts looked again at the nylon running
shorts and the damp and clinging tank top, then finished bolstering their
guns.
"We had a report, ma'am& " began the shorter one, the driver, with no trace now
of a drawl.
"Some old lady in one of those houses over there no doubt, who saw me poking
around and took me for a mad bomber. And now she's watching you making asses
of yourselves."
"Yes, ma'am. But do you mind telling us what you were doing?"
"This is a public park."
"Now, look you "
"Shut up, Randy," hissed the driver.
"But Nelson "
"Nelson?" snorted Kate. No wonder he had a chip on his shoulder. She stood and
waited for further grumbles of authority, but there was more apprehension than
aggression in their faces.
"No, I'm not going to file a complaint. But you two better think three times
before you pull that kind of damn fool stunt again. I don't expect to have to
ID myself every time I go for my keys, and it's too damn hot to wear a
uniform."
Kate waited an instant before this penny dropped, and she was suddenly aware
that she felt better than she had in a long time. Happy, even. She stepped
forward and held out her hand to Nelson.
"Inspector Kate Martinelli, SFPD. Homicide."
She was still feeling marvelously cheerful as she pulled her car in beside
Nelson and Randy's black-and-white in the parking lot of a nearby hamburger
joint, and she could feel the bounce in her steps as she accompanied the two
looming uniforms inside. She ordered a large iced tea, excused herself to
scrub her face and hands in the rest room, and then joined the men at the
table, where she flipped her ID onto the table and sat down.
"Okay," she said without preamble. "What I was doing there in that weird
outfit was looking for a boy. Friend of mine met him in the park a few times;
he disappeared five days ago. He told her that he lived there, in the park, so
I thought I'd have a look. He was telling the truth, but he's not there now,
hasn't been for a few days, by the look of it, left behind some things of
value - a ring, a couple of odd earrings, pair of shoes. He's a light-skinned
Hispanic male, age maybe fourteen or fifteen, five seven, slim, no
distinguishing marks except for a chip on the top right incisor, calls himself
Dio and his name may be Claudio, hung around the park a lot. Any bells?"
"Sounds like half the kids in the park, come summer," Nelson said, all
business now and damned glad if nobody referred to that little episode
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earlier.
"This one was a loner, would've avoided group activities, didn't use the pool
or take classes, just drifted. Talked to a young girl a lot; she's twelve,
five four, black braids, hazel eyes, slightly Oriental-looking. Pretty, acts
older than her age."
"She sounds familiar. Reads a lot?"
"That's her."
"I remember a boy," said Nelson. "Never talked to him, though."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep an eye out for him. He hasn't done anything,
not that I know of, and he sounds the kind of kid who, if he's been pulled
into the game or onto the needle, might cut all ties."
"Some self-respect, you mean?" asked Nelson. He wasn't a total loss, then, in
the brains department.
"Might be salvaged," she agreed. "Well, gentlemen, it's been real. When you
find out who made the call about that dangerous madwoman in the bushes, you
might ask her if she's seen our young man. Here's my card, and my home
number." (Handing out a lot of these lately, she reflected.) "Give me a ring
if you get anything. Thanks for the drink."
Kate drove the thirty miles home without thinking of much of anything, parked
on the street in front of the house, and let herself in the front door. When
she closed the door behind her, she was hit by the miasma of a house that was
not merely empty but abandoned. She stood in the hallway of the house and
heard its silence, smelled the staleness beneath the remnants of the breakfast
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