I tried being charming. “And might you know any woman pulled out of the program because of having sex, say … within the last nine months? Maybe one with Down’s?”

“Not Down’s, although we do have students here with Down’s.”

“So you’re thinking of someone specific.”

Klinghoffner stalled. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“The girl needs medical attention.”

“Yes, of course.” Klinghoffner drummed his fingers on the table. “We have a girl here. She’s been sick on and off for the last year. I haven’t seen her in a month. She lives with her sister.”

“Heavyset and very blond?”

He thought for a moment. Then he nodded.

“But not Down’s,” I said.

“No, she’s not Down’s. She has cerebral palsy, although that doesn’t tell you anything. It’s a garbage-can term. Her gross motor coordination is very, very poor. Her fine motor coordination is not as bad as you’d think by looking at her. She’s mentally disabled, no doubt about that, but she has skills. She can take care of herself—bathe, dress, go to the bathroom, even cook a little. And she can work a computer. She does some data entry for us. Quite good at it.”

I was quiet.

“A very sweet girl. Maybe a bit more subdued the last couple of months. I probably should have said something, but there are so many kids here.” Now he was upset. “They’re like children. They upset easily. Sometimes I miss things.”

“We all do.”

“Let me walk you back to reception. I’ll get you the address.”

“Thank you, Mr. Klinghoffner. You’re doing the right thing.”

“I hope so.”

I sat back on the couch and waited. I hoped I didn’t have to tarry too long, because “Beanpole Buck” had taken a real dislike to me. He glared at me over his piles of paper. I guess if I looked like him and was named Buck, I wouldn’t be too happy, either.

At last Buck spoke. “Find what you’re looking for?”

“Maybe.”

“If you tell me what you need, maybe I could help you out.”

A legitimate offer for help? I couldn’t believe it. Nor did I trust him.

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

He stiffened. “Only trying to help.”

“I know. I appreciate it.”

Klinghoffner returned, ending the awkward moment. “Let me walk you out.”

He handed me the paper once we were outside and away from prying eyes. I thanked him again, and he left me at the curb. The name was Sarah Sanders. Her guardian was Louise Sanders, her sister.

They lived in the foothills of Hollywood.

I turned the address over and over in my hand. I really, really wanted to go to the house, but it wasn’t my place to be the primary interviewer. I was just too low on the food chain. At this point, all I could do was collect the data and give it to someone else to interpret.

Still, I didn’t call Greg Van Horn right away. I had a lunch date to keep. No sense in making decisions on an empty stomach.