NICK WALKED INTO the Tustin Union High School varsity locker room before first period. A little woozy from lack of sleep. Like he was half dreaming. Three hours of del Gado’s tapes the night before, to bed at 1 A.M. but slept lousy. Then up at five for two more hours of tapes. Hadn’t said more than two words to Katy or the kids.

Nothing solid on the tapes. Janelle and Black. Janelle and Cory. Janelle and her sister, Lynette. Janelle and a bunch of other names Nick didn’t recognize. Small talk. Party talk. Gossip. Nothing. But the sound of her voice made her seem alive and Nick kept picturing her at the Thanksgiving dinner all those years ago. And at David’s church.

Lobdell had taken the morning off to take his son to the doctor. In addition to behaving badly, Kevin was never hungry and he was losing weight. Grades falling and he was sullen and mean and tired all the time. He’d dropped out of sports last year. Too bad because he could tackle anyone alive and hit a baseball a mile. Lucky said maybe there was a medical explanation for Kevin. And said he’d talk to Price Herald, the Laguna drug dealer, if he had the time.

The morning was cool and clear and the campus stirred Nick’s memory in a good way.

The locker room hadn’t changed much since he went all-CIF for the Tillers in fifty-five and fifty-six. Smell of soap and mildew and liniment, of old drains and sweat. It was quiet now, no lockers screeching open and banging shut. No coaches bellowing over towel fights and screaming students. Just the steady drip of the old showers and the echo of the drip.

Nick confirmed that the Tiller record board had been updated. His single-game rushing and season rushing records had both fallen just last year. He was still on the board for two second places, which made him proud in a modest way.

He found the locker he used for all three of his varsity years. The padlock looked exactly like the one he’d had, a black Master. He remembered the combination-38-28-34-because a classmate had once told him those were Marilyn Monroe’s measurements. The locker room made him think of the playing field and the field made him think of the crowd and the crowd made him think of Katy. He’d played those games for the contest, but also for her. He imagined her bouncing around in the red, black, and white of the Tustin cheerleading squad. Saw her midair in an off-the-back jump, with the stadium lights beaming down and her hair flying up. Now it seemed like an old cliché. But then it was life itself.

Howard Langton, the offense coach, watched Nick approach through the safety window that separated the staff office from the lockers. Stood and swung open the door.

“Thanks for the time, Howard,” said Nick.

“You’re welcome, Nick. Come in. It’s been what, five or six years since that homecoming game?”

Langton’s hand was as strong as the rest of him looked. Like he’d been carved out of something. Compact and handsome except for a bent nose. Not much neck. Monika would have called him a no-neck monster. Buzz cut, sweat shorts, white tennis shirt with an American flag pin.

Langton had gone all-Crestview League in fifty-three and all-CIF in fifty-four, leading the team during Nick’s first varsity year. He was a QB with a slingshot arm and a love of blasting through linemen and taking the linebackers and defensive backs with him. Still on the board for QB rushing and total passing points in a season. Long Beach State turned him into a safety and he started three years. Too small for the pros.

They talked football for a few minutes. Tustin had a good team this year. Some excellent kids coming up, Howard said. Graves looked good at QB and Arnie Francis was ripping off heads as defensive end.

Nick caught the unusual parallel. Howard appeared not to.

Langton’s eyes were green. Voice smooth and low. It was hard to imagine anyone hearing Coach Langton on the sideline, thought Nick. He remembered in the huddles years ago it was tough to hear Howard call the plays. And if Howard got pissed at the blockers he’d yank off his chin strap in the huddle and ping it hard off a lineman’s helmet. About deafen you.

“So what’s up, Nick?”

Nick nodded, slipped out his notebook and pen. “Janelle. Mind?”

“No. Not at all.”

“You taught her civics, didn’t you?”

“Yes. She was a good student. A good girl.”

“And she lived with you and your family from-let me check my notes here-”

“It was December of sixty-five through March of sixty-six. I can remember her and my girls playing the Beatles and Stones on that portable hi-fi Janelle had.”

“She loved music, didn’t she?”

“Did she ever.”

Nick turned a page in his notebook. “How did it go when she lived with you?”

“Fine. Easy girl to have around. Your brother suggested we take her in. This was after the drugs and the problems with her brothers, but she still needed some guidance. She never set foot in my home under the influence. That I knew about, anyway. My two girls were seven and nine and they really liked her. Like having a big sister. Linda-that’s my wife-enjoyed her quite a bit. Janelle helped out with the girls. Never really had to ask her to.”

Nick nodded. “Janelle had what looked like a dinner date on her calendar for the night she was murdered. It said ‘Red and Ho-seven.’ I had no idea who Red and Ho were until my little brother got to talking with David. I was lucky. David confirmed you three had a dinner date for that night but Janelle broke it.”

“True.”

“Tell me about that.”

Howard considered Nick with his peaceful green eyes. “Janelle and Linda stayed in touch after Janelle left our home. I think Janelle looked up to Linda. To me, too. You know-people who managed to have a good marriage. So it was going to be Linda and me, David and Barbara, Janelle and her date. But she called that morning and said she couldn’t do it. No reason. She just apologized and said we’d have to do it some other time.”

“Who was her date going to be?”

Howard shrugged, then reached into his desk drawer. He palmed a pack of smokes and an ashtray to the desktop. “Linda didn’t say.”

Nick made a note of the shrug and the smokes. “Who took Janelle’s cancellation call?”

“Linda, at home.”

“How did she sound?”

“Fine,” said Langton. He lit a cigarette and dropped the pack and matches back into the desk drawer. “Linda had no reason to think anything was wrong.”

“Had you socialized with Janelle before?”

“Three dinners, since the time she was with us. Twice in restaurants. Once she cooked in an apartment in Newport. Spaghetti. Linda and I had never seen the Laguna place and we were looking forward to it.”

This pretty much matched what David had told him. Only one thing stuck out as odd. “I didn’t know she lived in Newport.”

“That was August of last year,” said Langton.

“Remember the address?”

“No, but Linda might. I’ll ask her and call you.”

“I’d like to call her myself,” said Nick. “Like to hear her version of things if you don’t mind.”

Langton looked down at the desktop. “Not at all,” he said quietly. “She works part-time in the mornings, so afternoons are best.”

Nick set his notebook on the desk and looked around the staff office. Crowded little room. Two gray metal desks, two wheeled chairs. Linoleum floor. A dragster calendar, a Green Bay Packers poster, a Vince Lombardi poster. Two industrial lamps in the ceiling, the kind with the mesh to protect the bulb. Glass walls on two sides so they could keep an eye on the kids.

“Funny,” said Nick. “I talked to the Pepito’s hostess. Janelle came in that night, with two guys. The description of the hostess fit you and David. I wondered if you two might have just fibbed a little. A married guy. A minister. A pretty ex-beauty queen who gets her head sawed off later the night you see her. Nobody wants a piece of that action.”