Behind her, a little girl shrieked,
"Mommy, a bee stung me!" The sky was the color of a blue party balloon
inflated to the breaking point. Rap music grunted from a boom box, and
a teenage boy swung his head to the beat as if the drums were pummeling
him from inside.
Daisy had been walking for hours.
Her feet were swollen and aching by the time she reached the arcade at
the end of the pier. The large, open space was filled with the sound of
kids' laughter and the jingle-jangle of pin-ball machines. It smelled
like the inside of a grocery bag. It smelled of mustard and hot dogs and
lemonade and floor wax.
She approached a small group of
teenage girls and showed them Anna's picture. "Have you seen my
sister?" she said.
The girls wore looks of intense
disinterest, snapping their gum and rolling their eyes.
"I have," the skinniest
one volunteered. "I used to see her with Roy all the time."
"Who's Roy?" Daisy asked.
The girl shrugged. "Just some
guy." She looked like a rag doll with green button eyes. She had terrible
posture for a teenager, a tattoo of a Japanese character on her arm
and green polish on her nails.
"What's your name?" Daisy
asked her.
"Christie."
"When was the last time you
saw my sister, Christie?"
"I don't know." The girl
made a face. "Back in January, I think. She used to hang out on the promenade
a lot, but I haven't seen her in ages."
"What about Roy? Have you seen
this guy Roy around lately?"
Christie shook her head.
"Do you know where he lives?"
"Nope."
"Does he have a phone number?
A last name?"
"I only know him from the promenade."
Her eyes grew big and round. "Why? What happened?"
"I'm trying to find my sister.
Would you help me find my sister?"
Christie wore a peach-and-white-striped
T-shirt over purple bikini bottoms, and there were green streaks in
her short dark hair. The green in her hair matched the green on her nails
and the green of her eyes. "I don't know," she said cagily.
"Could you loan me some money?"
"How much?" Daisy asked,
and the other girls became keenly interested all of a sudden.
For fifty dollars, Christie agreed
to accompany Daisy back to the De Campo Beach police station, where
Jack interviewed her for about twenty minutes. Then a sketch artist made
a composite of Roy based on Christie's best recollection.
When the sketch was completed,
Jack asked Daisy if she recognized the man in the drawing. Roy had pockmarked
skin, shoulder-length dark hair and the kind of bland, police-sketch stare
that made her fear him instinctively. His nose was long and straight
with slender nostrils. His jaw was square. His forehead was tall and
bony, and narrow coils of dark hair wound down on either side of his head.
He was just the type of powerful-looking loser Anna would fall for.
"I've never seen him before
in my life," Daisy said.
"Can I go now?" Christie
asked impatiently.
After extracting a promise from
her that she would let him know if she ever saw Roy or Anna on the promenade
again, Jack let her go.
"What are you going to do
now?" Daisy said.
"Distribute the artist's composite
to the media."
"But there must be other people
who've seen Roy, right? Are you going down to the promenade to look for
other witnesses? Can I help?"
"It's better to go through
the media," Jack told her firmly. "I'll handle it from here."
She felt a burst of resentment
and went back to her motel, where she got dressed for bed, brushed her teeth,
braided her hair, then stood staring out her window at the courtyard.
The night was very still, not a breeze stirring the palm fronds. The empty pool
was all lit up. You could count the leaves floating on its surface. She
took two aspirins and crawled into bed, then stayed up late reading her
sister's diary.
Daisy found herself delving once
again into Anna's troubled world. She needed a magnifying glass to read
the minuscule handwriting. After an hour, she had translated several
pages: "I got that tingling sensation
on the back of my arms, that stroking
"Mommy, a bee stung me!" The sky was the color of a blue party balloon
inflated to the breaking point. Rap music grunted from a boom box, and
a teenage boy swung his head to the beat as if the drums were pummeling
him from inside.
Daisy had been walking for hours.
Her feet were swollen and aching by the time she reached the arcade at
the end of the pier. The large, open space was filled with the sound of
kids' laughter and the jingle-jangle of pin-ball machines. It smelled
like the inside of a grocery bag. It smelled of mustard and hot dogs and
lemonade and floor wax.
She approached a small group of
teenage girls and showed them Anna's picture. "Have you seen my
sister?" she said.
The girls wore looks of intense
disinterest, snapping their gum and rolling their eyes.
"I have," the skinniest
one volunteered. "I used to see her with Roy all the time."
"Who's Roy?" Daisy asked.
The girl shrugged. "Just some
guy." She looked like a rag doll with green button eyes. She had terrible
posture for a teenager, a tattoo of a Japanese character on her arm
and green polish on her nails.
"What's your name?" Daisy
asked her.
"Christie."
"When was the last time you
saw my sister, Christie?"
"I don't know." The girl
made a face. "Back in January, I think. She used to hang out on the promenade
a lot, but I haven't seen her in ages."
"What about Roy? Have you seen
this guy Roy around lately?"
Christie shook her head.
"Do you know where he lives?"
"Nope."
"Does he have a phone number?
A last name?"
"I only know him from the promenade."
Her eyes grew big and round. "Why? What happened?"
"I'm trying to find my sister.
Would you help me find my sister?"
Christie wore a peach-and-white-striped
T-shirt over purple bikini bottoms, and there were green streaks in
her short dark hair. The green in her hair matched the green on her nails
and the green of her eyes. "I don't know," she said cagily.
"Could you loan me some money?"
"How much?" Daisy asked,
and the other girls became keenly interested all of a sudden.
For fifty dollars, Christie agreed
to accompany Daisy back to the De Campo Beach police station, where
Jack interviewed her for about twenty minutes. Then a sketch artist made
a composite of Roy based on Christie's best recollection.
When the sketch was completed,
Jack asked Daisy if she recognized the man in the drawing. Roy had pockmarked
skin, shoulder-length dark hair and the kind of bland, police-sketch stare
that made her fear him instinctively. His nose was long and straight
with slender nostrils. His jaw was square. His forehead was tall and
bony, and narrow coils of dark hair wound down on either side of his head.
He was just the type of powerful-looking loser Anna would fall for.
"I've never seen him before
in my life," Daisy said.
"Can I go now?" Christie
asked impatiently.
After extracting a promise from
her that she would let him know if she ever saw Roy or Anna on the promenade
again, Jack let her go.
"What are you going to do
now?" Daisy said.
"Distribute the artist's composite
to the media."
"But there must be other people
who've seen Roy, right? Are you going down to the promenade to look for
other witnesses? Can I help?"
"It's better to go through
the media," Jack told her firmly. "I'll handle it from here."
She felt a burst of resentment
and went back to her motel, where she got dressed for bed, brushed her teeth,
braided her hair, then stood staring out her window at the courtyard.
The night was very still, not a breeze stirring the palm fronds. The empty pool
was all lit up. You could count the leaves floating on its surface. She
took two aspirins and crawled into bed, then stayed up late reading her
sister's diary.
Daisy found herself delving once
again into Anna's troubled world. She needed a magnifying glass to read
the minuscule handwriting. After an hour, she had translated several
pages: "I got that tingling sensation
on the back of my arms, that stroking
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