“Maybe there’s more to the book than just Janie’s photo.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a second look.”

He didn’t answer. Made no effort to leave the car.

“So,” I said.

“So . . . I was thinking of a visit to Achievement House, maybe pick up on the latest trends in special education.”

“You’re still on it.”

“I don’t know what I am.”

I took Pico east to Motor, sped past Rancho Park and into Cheviot Hills. In the daylight, Achievement House didn’t look any more impressive. The light stucco I’d seen last night was baby blue. A few more cars occupied the lot, and a dozen or so adolescents hung in loose groups. When we pulled up to the curb, they paid scant notice. The kids were a varied bunch ranging from black-lipped Goths to preppy chirpers who could’ve been extras on the Ozzie and Harriet set.

Milo rang the bell on the gate, and we were buzzed in without inquiry. Another buzz got us through the door. The lobby smelled of room freshener and corn chips. A reception desk to the right and an office door marked ADMINISTRATION were separated by a hallway that emptied to a softly lit waiting room where no one waited. Cream walls hung with chrome-framed floral prints, plum-colored carpeting, neatly arranged magazines on teak tables, off-white, overstuffed chairs. Glass panes in the rear double doors provided a view of more corridor and bursts of gawky adolescent movement.

The receptionist was a young Indian woman in a peach sari, surprised, but untroubled, by Milo’s badge.

“And this is about?” she said, pleasantly.

“An inquiry,” said Milo, with downright good cheer. During the ride he’d been tense and silent, but all that was gone now. He’d combed his hair, tightened his tie, was coming across like a man with something to look forward to.

“An inquiry?” she said.

“A look at some student records, ma’am.”

“I’ll get you Ms. Baldassar. She’s our director.”

She left, returned, said, “This way,” and showed us to the door across the hall. We entered a front office and a secretary ushered us through a door to a tidy space where an ash blond woman in her forties sat behind a desk and stubbed out a cigarette.