"Achievement House had a bad reputation?"
"In his mind, any special placement had a bad reputation."
"Did he get sent there?"
"No, he ran away, wasn't seen for years."
"Oh," he said.
I smiled. "Don't you mean 'Ah'?"
He laughed. Got himself grapefruit juice, opened the freezer and stared at the vodka bottle but changed his mind. "Ran away. Your version of loose ends."
"Loose ends were a big part of my life, back then," I said. "The price of an interesting job. As it turns out, this particular kid made it okay."
"He stayed in touch?"
"He called after his second child was born. Ostensibly to ask about how to handle sibling jealousy. He ended up apologizing for being a surly teen. I told him he had nothing to be sorry about. Because I'd finally learned the whole story from his mother. His older brother had been molesting him since he was five."
His face got hard. "Family values." He paced some more, finished his juice, washed the glass, got back on the phone. Contacting Palisades and University and Beverly Hills High Schools, then the private institutions. Putting on the charm, claiming to be conducting an alumnus search for Who's Who.
No one had Caroline Cossack on their files. "Little Miss Nowhere." He'd talked about washing his hands of the Ingalls case, but his face was flushed, and hunter's tension bunched his shoulders.
"I didn't tell you," he said, "but yesterday I went over to Parker Center and searched for Janie's case file. Disappeared. Nothing at the Metro office or in evidence or the coroner's, not even a cold-case classification or a notice that the file had been moved somewhere else. There is absolutely no paper anywhere that says the case was ever opened in the first place. I know it was because I opened it. Schwinn used to shove all the paperwork at me. I filled out the right forms, transcribed my street notes, created the murder book."
"No coroner's records, so much for science," I said. "When's the last time you saw the file?"
"The morning before my interrogation by Broussard and that Swede. After they worked me over, I was so shaken up I didn't return to my desk, just split the station. The next day, the transfer notice was in my box, and my desk had been cleared."
He tilted back in his chair, stretched his legs, seemed suddenly relaxed. "You know, my friend, I've been working too damn hard. Maybe that's what I can learn from old Mr. Serene. Stop and sniff the manure."
A smile, abrupt and broad, did something unsettling to his mouth. He rotated his head for several turns, as if working kinks out of his neck. Brushed black strands of hair out of his face. Sprang to his feet.
"See you. Thanks for your time."
"Where are you headed?" I said.
"Into a life of meditative leisure. Got lots of vacation time stored up. Seems a good time to cash in."
CHAPTER 15
Leisure was the last thing I needed. The moment the door closed, I reached for the phone.
Larry Daschoff and I have known each other since grad school. After our internships, I took a professorship at the med school crosstown and worked the cancer wards at Western Pediatric Medical Center, and he went straight into private practice. I stayed single and he married his high school sweetheart, sired six kids, made a good living, converted his square-meal-in-a-round-can defensive-guard physique to middle-aged fat, watched his wife go back to law school, took up golf. Now, he was a young grandfather, living on investment income, wintering in Palm Desert.
I reached him at his condo, there. It had been some time since we'd spoken, and I asked him about the wife and kids.
"Everyone's great."
"Especially the Ultimate Grandchild."
"Well, as long as you asked, yes Samuel Jason Daschoff is clearly the messenger of the Second Coming- another Jewish savior. Little guy just turned two and has evolved from sweetness and light to age-appropriate obnoxiousness. Let me tell you, Alex, there's no revenge sweeter than watching your own kids contend with the crap they shoveled at you."
"I'll bet," I said, wondering if I'd ever know.
"So," said Larry, "how've you been doing?"
"Keeping busy. I'm actually calling you about a case."
"I figured as much."
"Oh?"
"You were always task-oriented, Alex."
"You're saying I can't be purely sociable?"
"Like I can be purely skinny. What kind of case, therapy or the bad stuff you do with the constabulary?"
"The bad stuff."
"Still subjecting yourself to that."
"Still."
"I guess I can understand the motivation," he said. "It's a helluva lot more exciting than breathing in angst all day, and you were never one to sit still. So how can I help you?"
I described Caroline Cossack, without mentioning names. Asked him to guess where a teen that troubled might've been schooled twenty years back.
"Dosing Rover with cyanide?" he said. "Impolite. How come she didn't end up in trouble?"
"Maybe family connections," I said, as I realized incarceration would be an excellent reason not to have a social security card, and neither Milo nor I had thought of checking prison records. Both of us thrown off kilter.
"A rich, not-nice kid," said Larry. "Well, back then there was no real place for a run-of-the-mill dangerous delinquent other than the state hospital system- Camarillo. But I suppose a rich family could've placed her somewhere cushy."
"I was thinking Achievement House or Valley Educational, or their out-of-state counterparts."
"Definitely not Valley Educational, Alex. I consulted there, and they stayed away from delinquents, concentrated on learning probs. Even back then they were getting fifteen-grand tuition, had a two-year waiting list, so they could afford to be picky. Unless the family covered up the extent of the girl's pathology, but that kind of violent tendency would be hard to suppress for very long. As far as Achievement House, I never had any direct experience with them, but I know someone who did. Right around that time period, too, now that I think about it- nineteen, twenty years ago. Not a pretty situation."
"For the students?"
"For the someone I know. Remember when I used to do mentoring for the department- undergrads considering psych as a career? One of my mentorees was a freshman girl, precocious, barely seventeen. She got herself a volunteer placement at Achievement House."
"What problems did she have there?"
"The director got… overtly Freudian with her."
"Sexual harassment?"
"Back then it was just called mashing and groping. Despite her age, the girl was a clearheaded feminist way ahead of her time, complained to the board of directors, who promptly gave her the boot. She talked to me about pursuing it- she was really traumatized- and I offered to back her up if she wanted to take it further, but in the end she decided not to. She knew it was his word against hers, he was the respected health administrator, and she was a good-looking teenager who wore her skirts too short. I supported the decision. What would she have gained other than a mess?"
"Was there ever any suggestion the director was molesting students?"
"Not that I heard."
"Remember his name?"
"Alex, I really don't want my mentoree drawn into it."
"I promise she won't be."
"Larner. Michael Larner."
"Psychologist or psychiatrist?"
"Business type- administrator."