CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I had met and questioned another seven people by one o’clock Monday afternoon—relatives, friends, and even one former employer of the young women on my list. All of them had been cooperative and happy to help. They all had one thing in common. None of them had known anything useful to me. As much as I hated to admit it, maybe Reyes had been right. Following up on the reports seemed like a waste of time. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I intended to keep working on the list mostly because I didn’t have any better ideas.
It was a humid late summer day in Los Angeles, ninety degrees, according to the radio meteorologist, and partly cloudy. Even with the air conditioning in my car, I was conscious of how my shirt stuck to my back under my sports coat.
The day wasn’t
