her.
Susan looked at her plate and said, "Yum."
"You going to be able to handle all that, little lady?" I said.
"I think so," Susan said. She grinned at me. "But thanks for asking, Peekaboo Boy."
"Why you asking about del Rio?" Samuelson said.
"I need a favor from him."
Samuelson said, "Good luck," and handed me a manila envelope from the seat beside him.
"Angela Richard," he said. "Hollywood Vice busted her twice, 1982, 1983. Sheriff's department got her once in '85. When the Sheriff's department got her they sent her out to detox in Pomona."
"Pomona?" I said.
Samuelson nodded.
"Busted her pimp, too," he said.
"That's unusual," I said. "LAPD or the Sheriff's guys?"
"Sheriff," Samuelson said. "I guess he hassled them while they were collaring her, so they hauled him in too."
"What's his name?"
"Elwood Pontevecchio," Samuelson said. "How many wops you know with a name like Elwood?"
"Anybody named Vaughn involved?"
"Nothing in the record," Samuelson said.
"Elwood do time?" I said.
Samuelson smiled at me.
"Sure he did," Samuelson said. "And it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summer time."
"Just asking," I said.
"Un huh," Samuelson said. "It's just make-work, you know it and I know it, and anybody ever worked Vice knows it. Sweep 'em up, process 'em, let 'em out. Pleases the righteous, and keeps a bunch of Vice Squad guys from getting into trouble someplace else. Why you interested in the hooker?"
"She's missing," I said. "Somewhere along the line she stopped being a hooker, changed her name, came east, and married a cop I know."
"And you're following up on a couple solicitation collars ten, twelve years ago? Out here?"
"Tells you how much I've got so far, doesn't it?"
Samuelson shrugged.
"Gotta start somewhere," he said.
"I take a ride out to Pomona, they going to be friendly about answering questions?"
"I'll give them a call," Samuelson said.
He paused as if the gesture embarrassed him. Then he spoke to Susan.
"Cop's wife, you know? I don't know him, but a cop is a cop."
Susan smiled at him.
"Certainly wouldn't want to do a favor for him." She nodded at me. "Would you?"
Samuelson grinned back at her. Susan could get a smile from a hammerhead shark.
"Peekaboo Boy?" Samuelson said. "He's so slick he doesn't need any favors."
Susan looked at me and the glint was there that I could never quite specify.
Chapter 18
Pomona is a thirty-mile ride east of LA, on route 10, along a corridor of low shopping malls and office parks with black glass windows and big air-conditioning units on the roof. I was alone. Susan had decided to sit by the pool at the hotel with a copy of a book by Alice Miller called The Drama of the Gifted Child. I didn't mind. I was used to being alone. In fact, I liked it, unless it was for too long and I started to miss her.
The place wasn't called Pomona Detox at all. Its real name was Pomona State Hospital for Alcohol and Drug Addiction. The director was a psychiatrist named Steven Ito, and he talked to me in his cluttered office overlooking the employees' parking lot.
"My name is Spenser," I said. "I'm a private detective from Boston and I'm trying to find a missing person named Lisa St. Claire, who was apparently treated here in the mid 1980s under the name Angela Richard."
"I got a call from LAPD about you," Ito said. "They asked me to cooperate."
He was a well-set-up Japanese man, with short black hair and strong hands. He had on a white coat over a blue shirt and flowered tie.
"Popular on both coasts," I said.
"No doubt, deservedly," Ito said. "How can I help you?
"Do you have a record of Angela Richard being here?"
"Yes," Ito said. "I had it pulled when I knew you were coming. She was in fact here in 1985."
"Drugs or alcohol?" I said.
"Alcohol," Ito said, "which is not to say that alcohol isn't a drug."
"Sure," I said. "So is caffeine. How long she stay?"
"Three months."
"She sober when she left?"
"She saw a social worker every day, attended all her
Susan looked at her plate and said, "Yum."
"You going to be able to handle all that, little lady?" I said.
"I think so," Susan said. She grinned at me. "But thanks for asking, Peekaboo Boy."
"Why you asking about del Rio?" Samuelson said.
"I need a favor from him."
Samuelson said, "Good luck," and handed me a manila envelope from the seat beside him.
"Angela Richard," he said. "Hollywood Vice busted her twice, 1982, 1983. Sheriff's department got her once in '85. When the Sheriff's department got her they sent her out to detox in Pomona."
"Pomona?" I said.
Samuelson nodded.
"Busted her pimp, too," he said.
"That's unusual," I said. "LAPD or the Sheriff's guys?"
"Sheriff," Samuelson said. "I guess he hassled them while they were collaring her, so they hauled him in too."
"What's his name?"
"Elwood Pontevecchio," Samuelson said. "How many wops you know with a name like Elwood?"
"Anybody named Vaughn involved?"
"Nothing in the record," Samuelson said.
"Elwood do time?" I said.
Samuelson smiled at me.
"Sure he did," Samuelson said. "And it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summer time."
"Just asking," I said.
"Un huh," Samuelson said. "It's just make-work, you know it and I know it, and anybody ever worked Vice knows it. Sweep 'em up, process 'em, let 'em out. Pleases the righteous, and keeps a bunch of Vice Squad guys from getting into trouble someplace else. Why you interested in the hooker?"
"She's missing," I said. "Somewhere along the line she stopped being a hooker, changed her name, came east, and married a cop I know."
"And you're following up on a couple solicitation collars ten, twelve years ago? Out here?"
"Tells you how much I've got so far, doesn't it?"
Samuelson shrugged.
"Gotta start somewhere," he said.
"I take a ride out to Pomona, they going to be friendly about answering questions?"
"I'll give them a call," Samuelson said.
He paused as if the gesture embarrassed him. Then he spoke to Susan.
"Cop's wife, you know? I don't know him, but a cop is a cop."
Susan smiled at him.
"Certainly wouldn't want to do a favor for him." She nodded at me. "Would you?"
Samuelson grinned back at her. Susan could get a smile from a hammerhead shark.
"Peekaboo Boy?" Samuelson said. "He's so slick he doesn't need any favors."
Susan looked at me and the glint was there that I could never quite specify.
Chapter 18
Pomona is a thirty-mile ride east of LA, on route 10, along a corridor of low shopping malls and office parks with black glass windows and big air-conditioning units on the roof. I was alone. Susan had decided to sit by the pool at the hotel with a copy of a book by Alice Miller called The Drama of the Gifted Child. I didn't mind. I was used to being alone. In fact, I liked it, unless it was for too long and I started to miss her.
The place wasn't called Pomona Detox at all. Its real name was Pomona State Hospital for Alcohol and Drug Addiction. The director was a psychiatrist named Steven Ito, and he talked to me in his cluttered office overlooking the employees' parking lot.
"My name is Spenser," I said. "I'm a private detective from Boston and I'm trying to find a missing person named Lisa St. Claire, who was apparently treated here in the mid 1980s under the name Angela Richard."
"I got a call from LAPD about you," Ito said. "They asked me to cooperate."
He was a well-set-up Japanese man, with short black hair and strong hands. He had on a white coat over a blue shirt and flowered tie.
"Popular on both coasts," I said.
"No doubt, deservedly," Ito said. "How can I help you?
"Do you have a record of Angela Richard being here?"
"Yes," Ito said. "I had it pulled when I knew you were coming. She was in fact here in 1985."
"Drugs or alcohol?" I said.
"Alcohol," Ito said, "which is not to say that alcohol isn't a drug."
"Sure," I said. "So is caffeine. How long she stay?"
"Three months."
"She sober when she left?"
"She saw a social worker every day, attended all her
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