Frederick passed an open door, and heard a woman talking. The open door made him uncomfortable. He found Cole's office, and stood facing the closed door, breathing hard. He slid his right hand into the gun case and put his finger on the trigger. He made sure the safety was off. He gripped the knob with his left hand. It felt slick and wet.

The woman said, "He's not there."

Frederick clutched the knob and tried to turn it, but his wet palm slipped.

"He doesn't come in anymore, not since all that mess."

Frederick twisted and jerked the knob, pulling and pushing, but unable to open the door.

She said, "Excuse me."

Frederick realized someone was talking to him. A neatly dressed young woman with long fingernails stood in the open door across from Cole's. Frederick could see an older woman at a desk behind her. Frederick slipped his hand out of the case, and managed a smile.

"Oh, hi. I'm supposed to deliver this to Mr. Cole."

"He's hardly ever here anymore. You could leave it with us if you want."

"Oh, thanks, that's really nice, but I couldn't. Will he be here later?"

Frederick didn't like it that she glanced at the gun case, as if she was trying to figure out what was in the package.

She said, "I haven't seen him in weeks. I know he's been here, but he doesn't keep regular hours."

"Ah-huh, okay, well-he doesn't have a secretary or anything?"

"No, there's just him. You can leave it with us, though. We've done that before."

Frederick considered his options. He could probably find Cole's home address in Cole's office. He wanted to kick down the door, but couldn't very well do it with all these people across the hall. He would have shot Cole, but that would be that and he wouldn't mind if they saw; but if they saw him breaking into Cole's office, Cole would be tipped off.

Frederick said, "Where does he live?"

A frostiness rimed the woman's eyes.

"I wouldn't know."

Frederick said, "Well, I could just bring it up to his house. That would probably be okay."

"I'm sorry. I can't help you."

Frederick could see the stiffness as she turned away. Bitch. He tried Cole's door again, then returned to the elevator. He would come back later when everyone was gone. Then he would find out where Cole lived.

It was a quarter after seven by the time I got back to my house and searched the Triple-A map of California to find Anson. It was a tiny red dot on Highway 86, southeast of the Salton Sea. I called information, told the operator I wanted a listing in Anson, then asked if he had any Reinnikes. I spelled it for him.

"No, sir, I don't show any listings for that name."

The nearest two towns were Alamorio and Westmorland.

"How about in Alamorio and Westmorland?"

"Sorry, sir."

I went to the next town.

"Calipatria?"

"Here you go, Alex Reinnike in Calipatria."

He punched me off to the computer before I could ask for more, so I copied the number, then called information again. This time I told the operator I wanted to check several towns, and asked her not to hand me off to the machine.

Three minutes later, we had covered six more outlying towns, and I had one more name, Edelle Reinnike, who was listed in Imperial.

I looked at the two names and their numbers, then went into the kitchen for a glass of water. I drank it, then went back to the phone. At least it wasn't gin. My hands were shaking.

I dialed Alex Reinnike first because Calipatria was closest to Anson. Alex Reinnike sounded as if he was in his thirties. He listened patiently while I explained about George Reinnike from Anson, and asked if he was related.

When I finished, he said, "Dude, I wish I could help, but I only moved here last April when I got out of the navy. My people are from Baltimore. I never heard of this guy."

I thanked him, then called Edelle Reinnike.

Ms. Reinnike answered on the fourth ring with a phlegmy voice. Her television was so loud in the background that I could hear it clearly. Wheel of Fortune.

She said, "What is it? Yes, who is this? Is someone there?"

I shouted so she could hear me.

"Let me turn this down. It's here somewhere. Where is it?"

She made a little grunting sound like she was reaching for something or maybe getting up, and then the volume went down.

She said, "Who is this?"

"Edelle Reinnike?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"My name is Cole. I'm calling about George Reinnike from Anson."

"I don't live in Anson. That's up by the lake."

"Yes, ma'am, I know. I was wondering if you know George Reinnike."

"No."

"Are there other Reinnikes in the area?"

"They're dead. We had some Reinnikes, but they're dead. I got two sons and five grandchildren, but they might as well be dead for all I see them. They live in Egypt. I never knew an American who lived in Egypt, but that's where they live."

You hear amazing things when you talk with people.

"The dead Reinnikes, did any of them live in Anson?"

She didn't answer, so I figured she was thinking.

"This goes back a while, Ms. Reinnike. George lived in Anson about sixty years ago. He was a child then, probably younger than ten. He had surgery on his legs."

She didn't say anything for a while.

"Ms. Reinnike?"

"I had a cousin who had something with his legs. When we all got together, he had to sit with his parents and couldn't come play with the rest of us. That was my Aunt Lita's boy, George. I was older, but he had to sit."

"So you did know a George Reinnike?"

"Yes, the one with the legs. That was them up in Anson. I didn't remember before, but that was them."

"Does George still live there?"

"Lord, I haven't seen him since we were children. We weren't close, you know. We didn't get on with that side of the family."

"Would you have an address or phone number for him?"

"That was so long ago."

"Maybe in an old phone book or a family album. Maybe an old Christmas card list. You know how people keep things like that, then forget they have them?"

"I have some of Mother's old things, but I don't know what's there."

"Would you look?"

"I have some old pictures in one of those closets. There might be a picture of George, but I don't know."

She didn't sound thrilled, but you take what you can get.

"That would be great, Ms. Reinnike. Would it be all right if I come see you tomorrow?"

"I guess that would be fine, but don't you try to sell me something. I know better than that."

"No, ma'am, I'm not trying to sell anything. I'm just trying to find George."

"Well, all right, then. Let me tell you where I live."

I copied her address, then hung up. I was still standing by the table. My hands were still shaking, but not so badly.

I studied the map of Southern California. Anson was in the middle of nowhere. What would have been the odds? My mother had vanished for days and sometimes weeks when I was a child. I never knew where she went, but Southern California was so far from where we lived it was unlikely she had gone so far. Still, I didn't know. She had vanished again and again. More than once, my grandfather hired someone to find her.

Ken Wilson

Miami, Florida

Wilson sat in the dark on his porch, feeling old and disgusted as he listened to the frogs squirming along the banks of the Banana River. Moths the size of a child's hand scraped against the screen that was the only thing saving him from the clouds of mosquitoes and gnats that filled the night with a homicidal whine. Wilson figured all he had to do was punch one finger through the screen and so many goddamned monsters would swarm in they could suck him dry before sunrise. He thought about doing it. He thought it would be pretty damned nice to be done with the whole awful mess of his life.