Even with the address in my hand, I have no way of knowing if any members of the Gilbert family still live here, at 3581 Willow. The surrounding streets are named similarly—Mimosa, Acacia, Fig—pastoral words that clash with the blistered, derelict lawn furniture strewn over the yards and stoops, the sagging clotheslines strung up between carports. I park in a dusty pullout as a shorn-headed boy in a Hulk T-shirt roars a three-wheeler around in a wide circle a few hundred yards away. He’s staring at me as if I must be lost. Possibly I am.

Climbing out of my Bronco, I pocket my keys and approach the long, slim ranch house with Cricket at my heel. It’s done in rust-colored siding with silvery aluminum trim that throws off spears of light. A lopsided TV antenna dangles from the roof. Before I even reach the three plywood steps, the front door rocks open and a short, thick-shouldered man stops me like a bulwark. I feel Cricket’s energy change instantly, and put a hand on her collar.

“Help you?” he asks, but really he means Go away. His right eye is lower than the left and red rimmed, giving him a mournful look. The rest of him is all sledgehammer, thick biceps, unshaven double chin, wide jaw clenching as he sizes me up.

“I’m looking for Ruben or Jackie Gilbert. They’re not in trouble or anything. I just need some information.”

“They don’t live here no more.” Obviously he’s spotted me as a professional, badge or no. He coughs, waiting for me to back away.

“Are you a relative?”

“That family moved on. I don’t know where.”

“I’m working on a missing persons case in Mendocino, a fifteen-year-old girl named Cameron Curtis.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s in real trouble, Mr. Gilbert.” The name tips out and I let it fall, fishing.

His big body heaves as he takes in a deep breath. Then he says, “Get the fuck out of here. I don’t know anything about no missing girl.”

I flinch back before I can stop myself. He’s a big guy and could mess me up pretty bad if he had a mind to. Maybe coming alone has been a terrible idea. “Listen, I don’t want to hassle you, I just need to fill in some missing blanks.”

“I don’t talk to cops.”

“I’m not a cop, I’m a detective, and anyway, you’re not in trouble. This is about Cameron. You haven’t seen the news?”

He coughs roughly, throws back his shoulders. “No.”

“She may have had a connection to this place, a long time ago.”

No response.

“There are several girls missing in the area, actually, but I’m just here about Cameron. Can’t we go inside and talk a little, please?”