“Where does Lauren live?” I said.

“In the city. Near the Miracle Mile. She wouldn't just walk out without telling me, Doctor. She didn't tell her roommate anything either. And it doesn't look as if she packed a suitcase. Don't you think that's frightening?”

“There could be an explanation.”

“Please, Dr. Delaware, I know how things work. It's who you know. You've worked with the police— With your contacts, they'll listen to you. You must know someone who can help.”

“What's Lauren's address?”

She recited some numbers on Hauser. “Near Sixth Street. Not far from the museum complex— the La Brea Tar Pits. I used to take her to the tar pits when she was little— Please, Dr. Delaware, call your contacts and ask them to take me seriously.”

My contact was Milo. His turf was West L.A. Division, and Hauser near Sixth was Wilshire. Petra Connor, my only other LAPD acquaintance, worked Hollywood Homicide. A pair of homicide detectives. Jane Abbot didn't want to hear that.

I said, “I'll make a call.”

“Thank you so much, Doctor.”

“How's Lauren been doing?”

“You'd be superproud of her— I am. She— We had a few rough years after her father walked out on us. She dropped out of high school without graduating— it was kind of . . . But then she pulled herself together, got her GED, attended J.C., got her associate's degree with honors, and transferred to the U this past fall. She just finished her first quarter, got all A's. She's majoring in psychology, wants to be a therapist. I know that's your influence. She admires you, Doctor. She always said what a caring person you were.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling surreal. “It's midquarter break at the U, for another few weeks. Sometimes students travel.”

“No,” she said. “Lauren wouldn't have gone anywhere without telling me. And not without luggage.”

“I'll do what I can.”

“You're a good man, I always sensed that. You were a great influence on her, Doctor. You only saw her that couple of times, but it had an impact. She once told me she wished you were her father instead of Lyle.”

* * *

I tried Milo at home first, got no answer, just the tape with Rick Silverman's voice on it. I tried the West L.A. detectives’ room.

“Sturgis.”

“Morning, this is your wake-up call.”

“Got sunrise for that, boyo.”

“Putting in weekend overtime?”

“What's a weekend?”

“Thought the murder rate was down,” I said.

“Exactly,” he said. “So now we're all ball-and-chained to subarctic cold cases. What's up?”

“I need a favor.” I told him about Lauren, letting him know she'd been a patient, knowing he'd understand what I could and couldn't say.

“She's how old?” he said.

“Twenty-five. Missing Persons told her mother the only option was filing a report.”

“Did she file?”

“I didn't ask her,” I said.