"Um… Friday night," Ingalls said, as if guessing. "You can sit down if you want."

There was only one place to sit in the damned sty. A man-sized clearing among the garbage on the couch. Ingalls's dozing spot. Appetizing.

"No, thanks," said Schwinn. He had his pad out now. Milo waited a few moments before producing his. Not wanting to be part of some Ike-and-Mike vaudeville routine. "So Janie slept at a friend's Friday night."

"Yeah. Friday."

"Four days ago." Schwinn's gold Parker ballpoint was out, and he scrawled.

"Yeah. She does it all the time."

"Sleeps over at a friend's?"

"She's sixteen," said Ingalls, whining a bit.

"What's the friend's name? The one from Friday night."

Ingalls's tongue rolled around his left cheek. "Linda… no- Melinda."

"Last name?"

Blank stare.

"You don't know Melinda's last name?"

"Don't like the little slut," said Ingalls. "Bad influence. Don't like her coming around."

"Melinda's a bad influence on Janie?"

"Yeah. You know."

"Gets Janie in trouble," said Schwinn.

"You know," said Ingalls. "Kids. Doing stuff."

Milo wondered what could possibly offend a scrote like Ingalls.

Schwinn said, "Stuff."

"Yeah."

"Such as?"

"You know," Ingalls insisted. "Cutting school, running around."

"Dope?"

"I dunno about that."

"Hmm," said Schwinn, writing. "So Melinda's a bad influence on Janie but you let Janie sleep over Melinda's house."

"Let?" said Ingalls, coughing. "You got kids?"

"Haven't been blessed."

"Figures you ask me that. Nowadays, kids don't get let anything. They do whatever the hell they want to. Can't even get her to tell me where she's going. Or to stay in school. I tried dropping her off, personally, but she just went in, waited till I was gone, and left. That's why I figured this was about school. What is it about, anyway? She in trouble?"

"You've had trouble with Janie before?"

"No," said Ingalls. "Not really. Like I said, just school and running around. Being gone for a few days. But she always comes back. Let me tell you, man, you can't control 'em. Once the hippies got in and took over the city, forget it. Her mother was a hippie back in the hippie days. Hippie junkie slut, ran out on us, left me with Janie."

"Janie into drugs?"

"Not around here," said Ingalls. "She knows better than that." He blinked several times, grimaced, trying to clear his head and not succeeding. "What's this about? What'd she do?"

Ignoring the question, Schwinn kept writing. Then: "Hollywood High… what year's she in?"

"Second year."

"Sophomore."

Another delayed-reaction nod from Ingalls. How many of the cans had been consumed this morning?

"Sophomore." Schwinn copied that down. "When's her birthday?"

"Um… March," said Ingalls. "March… um… ten."

"She was sixteen last March ten."

"Yeah."

Sixteen-and-a-half-year-old sophomore, thought Milo. A year behind. Borderline intelligence? Some kind of learning problem? Yet another factor that had propelled her toward victimhood? If she was the one…

He glanced at Schwinn but Schwinn was still writing and Milo hazarded a question of his own: "School's hard for Janie, huh?"

Schwinn's eyebrows rose for a second, but he kept making notes.

"She hates it," said Ingalls. "Can barely read. That's why she hated to-" The bloodshot eyes filled with fear. "What's going on? What'd she do?"

Focused on Milo, now. Looking to Milo for an answer, but that was one ad lib Milo wasn't going to risk, and Ingalls shifted his attention back to Schwinn. "C'mon, what's going on, man? What'd she do?"

"Maybe nothing," said Schwinn, producing the blue envelope. "Maybe something was done to her."

He fanned out the snaps again, stretching his arm and offering Ingalls the display.

"Huh?" said Ingalls, not moving. Then: "No."

Calmly, no inflection. Milo thought: Okay, it wasn't her, false lead, good for him, bad for us, they'd accomplished nothing, Schwinn was right. As usual. The pompous bastard, he'd be gloating, the remainder of the shift would be unbearable-

But Schwinn continued to hold the pictures steady, and Bowie Ingalls continued to stare at them.

"No," Ingalls repeated. He made a grab for the pictures, not a serious attempt, just a pathetic stab. Schwinn held firm, and Ingalls stepped away from the horror, pressing his hands to the sides of his head. Stamping his foot hard enough to make the floor quake.

Suddenly, he grabbed his melon-belly, bent over as if seized by cramps. Stamped again, howled, "No!"

Kept howling.

Schwinn let him rant for a while, then eased him over to the clearing on the couch, and told Milo, "Get him some fortification."

Milo found an unopened Bud, popped the top, held it to Ingalls's lips, but Ingalls shook his head. "No, no, no. Get that the fuck away from me."

The guy lives in a booze-haze but won't medicate himself when he sinks to the bottom. Milo supposed that passed for dignity.

He and Schwinn stood there for what seemed to be an eternity. Schwinn serene- used to this. Enjoying it?

Finally, Ingalls looked up. "Where?" he said. "Who?"

Schwinn gave him the basic details, talking quietly. Ingalls moaned through the entire recitation.

"Janie, Janie-"

"What can you tell us that would help us?" said Schwinn.

"Nothing. What could I tell…?" Ingalls shuddered. Shivered. Crossed skinny arms over his chest. "That- who would- oh, God… Janie…"

"Tell us something," pressed Schwinn. "Anything. Help us."

"What… I don't know… She didn't- since she was fourteen, she's basically been gone, using this place as a crash pad but always gone, telling me to fuck off, mind my own business. Half the time, she ain't here, see what I'm sayin'?"

"Sleeping at friends' houses," said Schwinn. "Melinda, other friends."

"Whatever… oh God, I can't believe this…" Tears filled Ingalls's eyes, and Schwinn was there with a snow-white hankie. PS monogram in gold thread on a corner. The guy talked despair and pessimism, but offered his own starched linen to a drunk, for the sake of the job.

"Help me," he whispered to Ingalls. "For Janie."

"I would… I don't know- she… I… we didn't talk. Not since… she used to be my kid, but then she didn't want to be my kid, telling me to fuck off all the time. I'm not saying I was any big deal as a daddy, but still, without me, Janie would've… she turned thirteen and all of a sudden she didn't appreciate anything. Started going out all hours, the school didn't give a shit. Janie never went, no one from the school ever called me, not one time."

"You call them?"

Ingalls shook his head. "What's the point? Talking to people who don't give a shit. I'da called, they'da probably sent cops over and busted me for something, child neglect, whatever. I was busy, man. Working- I used to work at Paramount Studios."

"Oh, yeah?" said Schwinn.

"Yeah. Publicity department. Information transfer."

"Janie interested in the movies?"

"Nah," said Ingalls. "Anything I was into she wasn't into."

"What was she into?"

"Nothing. Running around."

"This friend, Melinda. If Janie never told you where she was going, how do you know she was with Melinda Friday night?"

"Because I seen her with Melinda on Friday."

"What time?"

"Around six. I was sleeping, and Janie busts in to get some clothes, I wake up, by the time I'm sitting up, she's heading out the door, and I look out there." He jabbed a thumb at the shuttered windows. "I seen her walking away with Melinda."

"Walking which way?"

"That way." Hooking his finger north. Toward Sunset, maybe Hollywood Boulevard, if the girls had kept going.

"Anyone else with them?"