“And you haven’t seen her for a while?”

“I haven’t looked for her,” Carisse said. “You asked me for ideas, I gave you some.”

“Thank you. You’ve both been very helpful.” I gave each of them my business card. “If you see her again, you’ll give me a call.”

Rhiannon squinted at the card. “‘Cyn-thi-a Decker.’” She looked at me. “That’s you?”

“That’s me.”

“How long have you been a cop?”

“Two years.”

“So you’re still, like, new at it?”

“I’ve been around,” I told her.

“You like it?”

“Very much.”

“So, like, what does it take to be a cop?”

There was the long answer. Being a cop for me meant a passionate desire to help people and a fierce determination to seek justice. It meant courage, fortitude, physical stamina, and a tolerance for long, lonely nights. It meant having a clearly defined sense of self, a scrupulous honesty, and comfort with alienation. It meant wrestling with demons in nightmares that sometimes come true. It meant all those things to me, and a lot more.

But I gave her the short answer. It takes a high school diploma and a warm body. Oh, and if you have a clean record that always helps, although it’s not mandatory.

What’s a misdemeanor drug possession between friends?

8

I didn’t get a chance to check up on the blood work.”

“Okay.” Dad didn’t say more. He was expecting my next request.

I shifted my cell from one ear to the other. “I don’t suppose you’d like to make a phone call to the hospital?”

“Cindy, it’s not my place. Also, maybe Van Horn placed a call. Did you check?”

I knew Greg was twelve hours away from vacation time … not a chance. “I don’t think so. I just thought it would sound more official coming from a lieutenant. But you’re right. I’ll make my own call. Get my own feet wet, right?”

“Why don’t you coordinate with Detective Van Horn?”

“I will in two weeks, when he comes back from vacation.” Silence over the phone. The Loo wasn’t rescuing me. “It was nice seeing you this morning, Daddy.”

A long sigh breathed over the line. “What did you do after breakfast?”

“I went to Mid-City High School per your suggestion. It was a good one.” I related the conversation I had with Carisse and Rhiannon. Decker picked up on the blond hair as well.

“If Rhiannon could tell she had blond hair, it means to me that the woman probably has access to a shower or bath. Any idea of the age?”

“No.”

Decker said, “If there’s something off about her, maybe instead of homeless shelters, you should try looking into vocational schools for the developmentally disabled. Maybe the girl was well cared for, but retarded.”

“That would be so sad,” I said. “A retarded girl giving birth in the back alley of Hollywood. She must be so frightened. And what kind of chance does the kid have?”

“Some people are remarkable survivors.” A pause. “I’m talking to one of them.”