S is for SILENCE

by Sue Grafton

  "What's she do for a living?"

  "Medical transcription. Sits in a cubicle all day long with a headset, typing up all this crap dictated by the docs for their medical charts. She's not unhappy, but she's beginning to see how she's limited herself. Her world's been getting smaller and smaller until it's coffin-sized by now. She figures she'll never get her head straight until she knows what went on."

  "Sounds like this has been going on for years. How old is she?"

  "Well, I'll be forty-three this month, so Daisy must be forty, forty-one... somewhere in there. I can hardly keep track of my birthday, let alone hers. I know she was seven when her mother bugged out."

  "What about her father? Where's he at this point?"

  "He's still around, but his life's been hell. Nobody wants to have anything to do with him. He's been shunned, like that old tribal shit. The guy might as well be a ghost. Listen, I know it's a long shot, but she's serious. If he did it, she's gotta know, and if he didn't, well think about the service you'd be doing. You have no idea how screwed up she is. Him, too, for that matter."

  "Isn't it a little late in the game?"

  "I thought you liked challenges."

  "After thirty-four years? You gotta be kidding."

  "I don't think it's that bad. Okay, so maybe a few years have gone by, but look at it this way: the killer might be ready to bare his immortal soul."

  "Why don't you talk to Dolan? He knows a lot of north county cops. Maybe he can help, at least steer you in the right direction."

  "Nah, no deal. I already talked to him. He and Stace are taking off on a three-week fishing trip, so he told me to call you. He says you're a terrier when it comes to stuff like this."

  "Well, I appreciate that, but I can't track down a woman who's been gone thirty-four years. I wouldn't know where to start."

  "You could read the articles in the newspaper at the time."

  "That goes without saying, but Daisy's capable, I'm sure. Send her to the library periodicals room —"

  "She already has all that stuff. She said she'd be happy to give you the file."

  "Tannie, I don't mean to sound rude, but there are half a dozen other PIs in town. Try one of them."

  "I'm not comfortable with that. I mean, it'd take me forever just to fill them in. At least you've heard about Violet Sullivan. That's more than most."

  "I've heard about Jimmy Hoffa, too, but that doesn't mean I'd go out and start looking for him."

  "All I'm asking you to do is talk to her —"

  "There's no point in talking —"

  "Tell you what," she cut in. "Come on over to Sneaky Pete's and I'll make you a sandwich. Gratis, on me, completely free of charge. You don't have to do a thing except listen to her."

  I'd already zoned out, distracted by the promise of free food. The sandwich she referred to was the Sneaky Pete house specialty, which Dolan claimed was the only thing worth ordering — spicy salami on a kaiser roll with melted pepper Jack cheese. Tannie's innovation was to put a fried egg on top. I'm ashamed to admit how easily I can be seduced. I glanced my watch: 11:15 and I was famished. "When?"

  "How about right now? My apartment's only half a block away. Daisy can walk over from there quicker than you can drive."

  * * *

  I elected to walk the six blocks to Sneaky Pete's in a futile effort to delay the conversation. It was a typical September morning, the day destined to be a carbon copy of the days on either side: abundant sunshine after patchy morning clouds, with highs in the mid-seventies and lows sufficient to encourage sleeping under a down comforter at night. Above me, migrating birds, alerted by changes in the autumn light, were making a V-line to winter grounds. This was the upside of living in Southern California. The downside was living with monotony. Even perfect weather palls when that's all there is.

  That week, local law enforcement was preparing for the California Crime Prevention Officers Conference, which was set to run from Wednesday through Friday, and I knew Cheney Phillips, who worked Vice for the Santa Teresa Police Department, would be tied up for the duration. That suited me just fine. Being a woman with a prickly disposition, I was looking forward to the time alone. Cheney and I had been "dating" for the past three months, if that's a word you want to use to describe a relationship between divorced singles in their late thirties. I wasn't clear about his intentions, but I didn't expect to marry again. Who needs the aggravation? All that togetherness can really get on your nerves.

  Without even having heard Daisy's long, sad tale, I could calculate the odds. I didn't have a clue how to search for a woman who'd been missing for three decades. If she was alive, she must have had her reasons for running away, electing to keep her distance from her only child. Then, too, Violet's husband was still around, so what was his deal? If he'd wanted her found, you'd think he'd have hired a PI himself instead of leaving it to Daisy all these years later. On the other hand, if he knew she was dead, why go through the motions when he could save himself the bucks?

  My problem was that I liked Tannie, and if Daisy was a friend of hers, then she was automatically accorded a certain status in my eyes. Not much of one, I grant you, but enough for me to hear her out. Which is why, once we were introduced and I had my sandwich in front of me, I pretended to pay attention instead of drooling on myself.

  The kaiser roll had been buttered and laid on the grill until the bread was rich brown and crunchy at the edge. Rings of spicy salami had been soldered together with melted cheese — Monterey Jack infused with red pepper flakes. When I lifted the top, the yolk of the fried egg was still plump, and I knew it would ooze when I bit into it, soaking into the bread. It's a wonder I didn't groan at the very idea.

  The two sat across the table. Tannie kept her comments to a minimum so Daisy and I would have the chance to connect. Looking at the woman, I had a hard time believing she was only two years younger than Tannie. At forty-three, Tannie's skin showed the kind of fine lines that suggested too much cigarette smoke and not enough sun protection. Daisy had a pale, fine-boned face. Her eyes were small, a mild anxious blue, and her lank light-brown hair was pulled back and secured in a messy knot held together with a chopstick. Several loose strands were trailing from the knot, and I was hoping she'd remove the chopstick and have another go at it. Her posture was poor, her shoulders hunched, perhaps because she'd never had a mother nagging her to stand up straight. Her nails were bitten down so far it made me want to tuck my own fingertips into my palms for safekeeping.

  While I savored my sandwich she picked away at hers, breaking off small portions she mounded on her plate. One out of three bites she'd put in her mouth while the others she set aside. I didn't think I'd known her long enough to beg for one. So far I'd left her in charge of the conversation, but after thirty minutes of chitchat, she still hadn't brought up the subject of her mom. This was my lunch hour. I didn't have all day. I decided to jump in myself and get it over with. I wiped my hands on a paper napkin, crumpled it, and tucked it under the edge of my plate. "Tannie tells me you're interested in locating your mother."

  Daisy glanced at her friend as though for encouragement. Having finished her meal, she started gnawing on her thumbnail in much the same way a smoker would light a cigarette.

  Tannie gave her a quick smile. "Honestly, it's fine. She's here to listen."

  "I don't know what to say. It's a long, complicated story."

  "I gathered as much. Why don't you start by telling me what you want?"

  Daisy's gaze flicked across the room behind me as though she were looking for a way to bolt. I kept my eyes fixed politely on her face while she struggled to speak. I was trying to be patient, but silences like hers make me want to bite someone.

  "You want... what?" I said, rolling my hand at her.

  "I want to know if she's alive or dead."

  "You have any intuitions about that?"

  "None that I can trust. I don't know which is worse. Sometimes I think one thing and sometimes the opposite. If she'
s alive, I want to know where she is and why she's never been in touch. If she's dead, I might feel bad, but at least I'll know the truth."

  "An answer either way would be a stretch by now."

  "I know, but I can't live like this. I've spent my whole life wondering what happened to her, why she left, whether she wanted to come back but couldn't for some reason."

  "Couldn't?"

  "Maybe she's in prison or something like that."

  "There's been absolutely no word from her in thirty-four years?"

  "No."

  "No one's seen her or heard from her."

  "Not that I know."

  "What about her bank account? No activity?"

  Daisy shook her head. "She never had checking or savings accounts."

  "You realize the implications. She's probably dead."

  "Then why weren't we notified? She took her purse when she left. She had her California driver's license. If she was in an accident, surely someone would have let us know."

  "Assuming she was found," I said. "The world's a big place. She might have driven off a cliff or she might be at the bottom of a lake. Now and then someone slips through the cracks. I know it's hard to accept, but it's the truth."

  "I just keep thinking she might have been mugged or abducted, or maybe she had some disease. Maybe she ran away because she couldn't face up to it. I know you're wondering what difference it makes, but it matters to me."

  "Do you really believe she'll be found after all this time?"

  She leaned toward me. "Look, I have a good job at a good salary. I can afford whatever it takes."

  "It's not about that. It's about the probabilities. I could waste a lot of my time and a shitload of your money, and at the end of it, you'd be right back where you are. I can as good as guarantee it."

  "I'm not asking for any kind of guarantee."

  "Then what?"

  "Help me, that's all. Please tell me you'll try."

  I sat and stared at her. What was I supposed to say? The woman was earnest. I had to give her that. I looked down at my plate, then used an index finger to pick up a fallen glop of cheese that I put on my tongue. Still tasty. "Let me ask you this. Didn't someone investigate the disappearance at the time?"

  "The sheriffs department."

  "Great. That's good. Have you asked what they did?"

  "That's something I was hoping you'd do. I know my dad filled out a missing-persons report. I've seen a copy so I'm sure he talked to at least one detective, though I don't remember his name. He's retired now I think."

  "That's probably easy enough to find out."

  "I don't know if Tannie mentioned this, but Dad thinks she was having an affair and the two of them ran off."

  "An affair. Based on what?"

  "Based on her past behavior. My mother was wild... at least that's what everybody says."

  "Assuming there's a guy, do you have any idea who?"

  "No, but she did have enough money tucked away to support herself. For a while, at any rate."

  "How much?"

  "That's a subject of debate. She claimed fifty thousand dollars, but that was never verified."

  "Where'd she get that kind of money?"

  "From an insurance settlement. As I understand it, there was a problem when I was born. I guess the doctor botched the delivery, and she had to have an emergency hysterectomy. She hired a lawyer and sued. Whatever she collected, she signed a confidentiality clause promising she wouldn't disclose the details."

  "Clearly, she did."

  "Well, yes, but nobody believed her. She did keep something in a safe deposit box she rented in a bank down here and she emptied that the week she left. She also took the Chevy my dad bought her the day before."

  "Tannie says there's been no sign of that either."

  "Exactly. It's like she and the car were both vaporized."

  "How old was she when she disappeared?"

  "Twenty-four."

  "Which would make her what, now, fifty-eight or so?"

  "That's right."

  "How long were your parents married?"

  "Eight years."

  I may be lousy at math, but I picked up on that. "So she was sixteen when she married him."

  "Fifteen. She was sixteen when I was born."

  "How old was he?"

  "Nineteen. They had to. She was pregnant with me."

  "I could have guessed that." I studied her face. "Tannie tells me people in Serena Station think he killed her."

  Daisy flicked a look at Tannie, who said, "Daisy, it's the truth. You have to level with her."

  "I know, but it's hard to talk about this stuff, especially when he's not here to tell his side."

  "You can trust me or not. It's up to you." I waited a couple of beats and then said, "I'm trying to make a decision here. I can't operate in a vacuum. I need all the information I can get."

  She colored slightly. "I'm sorry. They had what you'd call a 'volatile relationship.' I can remember that myself. Big screaming fights. Slaps. Broken dishes. Doors slamming. Accusations, threats." She put an index finger in her mouth and began to worry the nail with her teeth. I was getting so tense watching her, I nearly slapped her hand.

  "Either of them ever hit you?"

  She shook her head with certainty. "I usually stayed in my room till it was over."

  "Did she ever call the cops?"

  "Two or three times that I remember, though it was probably more."

  "Let me take a guess. She'd threaten to file charges, but in the end, she'd always back down and the two of them would get all lovey-dovey again."

  "I think someone from the sheriff's department was working on that. I remember him coming to the house. A deputy in a tan uniform."

  "Trying to talk her into taking action."

  "That's right. He must have made headway. Somebody told me she'd asked for a restraining order, but there was some kind of screwup and the judge never signed."

  "So given their marital history, after she disappeared, the sheriff's department talked to your dad because they thought he might've had a hand in it."

  "Well, yes, but I don't believe he'd do that."

  "But what if I find out he did? Then you've lost both parents. At least now you've got him. Do you want to take that risk?"

  Tears formed a bright line of silver along her lower lids. "I have to know." She put a hand against her mouth to still the trembling. Tears had made her complexion a patchy red, like a sudden case of hives. It took courage to do what she was doing, I had to give her that. Stirring up old dirt. Most people would have been happy to sweep it under the rug.

  Tannie pulled a tissue from her jeans pocket and passed it over to her. Daisy took a moment to wipe her eyes and blow her nose, composing herself before she put the tissue away. "Sorry about that."

  "You could have done this years ago. Why now?"

  "I started thinking. There are still a few people left who knew her back then, but they're scattering and a lot of them are dead. If I put it off much longer, they'll all be gone."

  "Does your dad know what you're up to?"

  "This isn't about him. It's about me."

  "But it could affect him nonetheless."

  "That's a chance I'll have to take."

  "Because?"

  She sat on her hands, putting them under her thighs, either to warm them or to keep them from trembling. "I'm stuck. I can't get past this. My mother took off when I was seven. Poof. She was gone. I want to know why. I'm entitled to the information. What did I do to deserve that? That's all I'm asking. If she's dead, okay. And if it turns out he killed her, then so be it. At least I'll know it wasn't about her rejecting me." Tears welled and she blinked rapidly, willing them away. "Have you ever been abandoned? Do you know how that feels? To think someone just didn't give a shit about you?"

  "I've had experience with that," I replied with care.

  "It has been the defining fact of my life," she said, enunciating every word.

 
I started to speak, but she cut me off. "I know what you're going to say. What she did had nothing to do with you.' You know how many times I've heard that? 'It wasn't your fault. People do what they do for reasons of their own.' Well, bullshit. And you want to know the hell of it? She took the dog. A yappy Pomeranian named Baby she hadn't even had a month."

  I couldn't think of a response so I kept my mouth shut.

  She was silent for a moment. "I can't have a man in my life because I don't trust a soul. I've been burned more than once and I'm petrified it's only going to happen again. Do you know how many shrinks I've been through? Do you know how much money I've spent trying to make my peace? They fire me. Have you ever heard of such a thing? They throw up their hands and claim I won't do the work. What work? What kind of work can you do around that? It sticks in my craw. Why'd she leave me when she turned around and took the fuckin' dog?"

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  I met Daisy Sullivan at my office at 9:00 the next morning. Having shown me a glimpse at her rage, she'd retreated into calm. She was pleasant, reasonable, and cooperative. We decided to set a cap on the amount of money she'd pay me. She gave me her personal check for twenty-five hundred dollars, essentially five hundred dollars a day for five days. When we reached that point, we'd see if I'd learned enough to warrant further investigation. This was Tuesday, and Daisy was on her way back to Santa Maria, where she worked in the records department at a medical center. The plan was that I'd follow her in my car, drop it off at her place, and then we'd take hers and head out to the little town of Serena Station, fifteen miles away. I wanted to see the house where the Sullivans were living when her mother was last seen.

  Driving north on the 101, I kept an eye on the rear end of Daisy's 1980 Honda, dusty white with an enormous dent across the trunk. I couldn't think how she'd done that. It looked like a tree trunk had fallen on her car. She was the kind of driver who stayed close to the berm, her brake lights flashing off and on like winking Christmas bulbs. As I drove, the flaxen hills appeared to approach and recede, the chaparral as dense and scratchy-looking as a new wool blanket. A gray haze of dried grass undulated at the side of the road, whipped by the breeze created by the passing cars. A recent fire had created an artificial autumn, the hillsides as bronze as a sepia photograph. Tree leaves were scorched to a papery beige. Shrubs were reduced to black sticks. Tree stubs, like broken pipes, protruded from the ashen earth. Occasionally, only half a tree would be singed, looking as though brown branches had been grafted onto green.