“Charlotte says the president met Marilyn Monroe at Bing’s,” Margaret said in an attempt to fill the void between them and fight off her loneliness. “Says the whole scene was wild—amyl nitrite, interns. Bing wasn’t there.”

Charlie leaped at the chance to have a conversation with her, but it took just seconds for the topic to remind Margaret of Lola, and her terse responses resumed.

That evening, Charlie had just grunted on his way out the door. He had begun taking his dinner in the lobby. His meals were mostly liquid at this point, anyway. He had convinced himself he was the aggrieved party here, that he was unappreciated, that she was being too tough on him. But now, with this new lead on where he might find Violet, he felt something he hadn’t experienced in some time: hope.

Charlie updated his friends in the car: An FBI tipster had heard about a party being thrown at Disneyland, the theme park that had opened seven years earlier and was now a full-on international tourist attraction. White had said there were a number of underage girls being brought in for the party. The tipster had previously been shown a photo of Violet at the FBI Los Angeles field office and believed she was one of the girls who would be there.

“You ever make a Disney picture, Peter?” Davis asked, clearly trying to lighten the load of the conversation.

“Nope. You?”

“Nope,” Davis said.

“I assume Walt wouldn’t, like, officially permit this kind of party at his Magic Kingdom,” Charlie said. “How would these creeps get the keys to the castle?”

“I’m sure Uncle Walt doesn’t know,” Lawford said. “Do you have any idea how many layers of bureaucracy exist between him and the guys who watch the park at night?”

Lawford made a right on Harbor Boulevard, and soon enough he was pulling his sports car into a parking lot with plenty of other shiny, exotic vehicles: Jags, Aston Martins, Caddys, and a Rolls or two.

“Someone’s going to make some bank off this shindig,” Charlie said.

“This is Hollywood, mate,” Lawford said. “Everything is for sale.” Davis mimicked the sound of a cash register as Lawford put the car in park.

The three men got out and began walking toward the empty ticket booths; the American flag fluttered in a light wind, and music emanated from somewhere in the darkened theme park.

Charlie’s drunken clattering around in the bathroom on his way out the door had, in fact, woken up Margaret. After he left, she checked the time, then rolled over in a huff. She was surprised when, not thirty seconds later, the phone rang again.

“It’s Charlotte,” said the shaky voice on the other end of the line.

“Are you okay?” asked Margaret, sitting up.

“Listen,” she said. “I pinched the keys and opened the files.”