“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.