by Alan Cook
Tony looked around at the others. He estimated that four of them were adults. At least two were older than he was.
One of the older men said, “I have a license to carry a gun. I could bring it with me to the Hotline.”
Gail shook her head. “No, Dick, no guns in the Hotline office. We don’t want an armed camp. Or the risk of a shootout. Although there’s no evidence that the suspect used a gun.”
But there was also no evidence that he hadn’t used a gun. He certainly had a persuasive method of getting Joy into the park. Tony didn’t necessarily agree with the no gun policy, but as the new kid on the block, he figured he’d better keep quiet. But he had another question. “I assume different guards work the evening shift on different days. Have the police taken a look at all of them?”
“Nancy and I have talked at length to Detective Croyden about the guard situation,” Gail said. “And also to the building management. We would not have reopened the Hotline if we hadn’t been convinced that the guards were completely trustworthy.”
Gail had a positive way of talking that made you believe her. And Nancy did too. If they thought that the guards were reliable, Tony would take their word for it. There was some further discussion about safety procedures, which Tony used as an opportunity to glance around at the other men and boys. Most of them looked as if they could handle themselves in a fight. One of the boys was quite small, but he had a determined look in his eye. None of them talked about quitting the Hotline.
When they finished talking, they went back to the front of the stage where the signup sheets were located. Tony noticed that the teens filled most of the weekend slots quickly, since they didn’t have school those days. At first he thought he’d sign up for the seven-to-ten shift once a week, but after some hesitation, he ended up putting his name down for Mondays and Fridays for the rest of September.
CHAPTER 6
Tony kept a wary eye out for any suspicious people as he entered the building to work his first shift since Joy’s murder. There were the usual customers entering the shops in the mall, but nobody seemed to have any interest in him. Inside, he took the stairs two at a time to the third floor and was pleasantly surprised to find that he was not panting quite as hard as he had in the past. The workouts at the health club he had joined must be paying off.
The door to the Hotline office was locked, but it was now standard procedure to keep it locked after the office staff left for the day. He entered the combination to the lockbox and extracted the key. Upon entering the office, he saw two people, one male and one female, in the listening room, both on the phone. By the time he signed in, the man had ended his call.
The man walked out of the listening room and said, “We had some callers asking about Joy. Whether she worked for the Hotline. That’s how some people get their kicks. We told them we couldn’t give out any information.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Tony said. “I’m Tony.”
“Nathan.”
They shook hands. Tony noticed that Nathan didn’t look him in the eye. He remembered that Nathan had been at the Friday meeting. He guessed that the man was a few years older than he was, with sandy hair. Nathan was taller, but Tony was stockier. Nathan was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, in spite of the summer warmth.
“How long have you been on the Hotline?” Tony asked. It was a standard question.
“Six months.”
“This is my first shift without a mentor. I guess I’m about to lose my vir….”
Tony stopped in mid-word and Nathan laughed, a strange laugh that sounded like the cackle of a hen after laying an egg. “It’s okay; you can say it.”
The girl came out of the listening room, and when Tony gave his name, she introduced herself as Cecile. They shook hands. Most girls shook hands these days. Upon being assured that Nathan was walking out with Cecile, Tony went into the listening room and appropriated the table he liked best—the one facing the window.
He came back out to check the calendar. They were supposed to be working in pairs. But if nobody else had signed up, he would work alone. He wasn’t afraid. However, the calendar showed that S. Lawton was scheduled to work this shift. The name didn’t register with Tony.
He had just settled down in his chair when he heard the outside door open behind him. When he swiveled the chair around, he saw Shahla entering the office. She waved at him. His heart gave an involuntary leap before he got it under control. What was she doing here? Perhaps she had just come in to sign up for future shifts. If so, she should have come in earlier. Now he would be obligated to walk her out, because of the new rules.
Tony came out of the listening room, realizing that he looked forward to walking her out of the building. But instead of looking at the calendar, she was signing in on the daily time sheet.
“Hi,” he said. “I-I didn’t know you were working tonight.”
“Maybe if you’d looked at the calendar, you’d know,” Shahla said with a slight smile, as she also entered her hours in the logbook.
“But the per…” Tony stopped, realizing that he was about to make a complete ass of himself. S. Lawton. Of course. Shahla Lawton. He had pictured Shahla as having an unpronounceable last name. “One of my new year’s resolutions was to learn to read. I guess I’m going to have to get going on that.”
“You are,” Shahla said, leading the way into the listening room and setting a book she had brought with her on one of the tables.
Tony followed her and went back to his table. Shahla was wearing a skirt tonight. It wasn’t short—it came to her knees—but he was glad to see any kind of a skirt on a girl. It made her look feminine. Skirts seemed to be few and far between these days. Mona always wore slacks to work at the Bodyalternatives.net office, as did the other women. And most of the girls in his Hotline class had worn jeans or shorts.
He sat down trying to think of something sensible to say. “Uh, I didn’t see you at the meeting.”
“I came in late and sat in the back.” Shahla wasn’t looking at him. “I almost didn’t come at all.”
“You were close to Joy, weren’t you? This must be very difficult for you.” He wouldn’t have said that before he took the Hotline class.
“Joy was my best friend. We double-dated to the prom last year.”
Shahla still wasn’t looking at him. She was suffering. Tony could picture it. He remembered the rule about showing empathy but not sympathy. He said, “You didn’t have to come back.”
“I came back because I want to make sure that the guy who killed Joy gets caught.”
“Detective Croyden seems to be competent. I’m sure he’ll find whoever it was.”
“I’m not so sure. At least as long as we have a confidentiality policy about our callers.”
“Well, he was given a copy of the Green Book.” The policy had been bent to that extent. That fact had come out at the meeting. “Do you think one of our callers is the…suspect?”
The phone rang before Shahla could answer. She said quickly, “I’ll get it,” and picked up the receiver. “Central Hotline. This is Sally.”
She listened for a few seconds and then put the call on the speaker. Tony heard a male voice say, “…found Joy’s murderer yet?”
“Who’s this?” Shahla demanded rather than asked.
“Let’s just say I’m a friend.” The caller talked softly, with pauses between sentences. “But you’re looking in the wrong places.”
“Where should we look?”
“If I told you that, it would make it too easy for you. But you don’t think she’ll be the last one, do you?” There was a click.
Shahla hung up the phone and said, excitedly, “I know who that is. That’s the Chameleon. I can tell by the way he talks. He made scary calls before Joy was killed, too. He would call at night and say he could see us. That would freak us out, even though if you look out our window there’s nothing but the parking lot and the park. How could he see us?”
“Try calling him back wi
th star sixty-nine,” Tony said.
“We can’t call out from these lines.”
And the phone system didn’t capture the number that was calling. Tony had never spoken to the Chameleon. He suspected the Chameleon hung up whenever a man answered the phone. He had read his profile in the Green Book, however. The Chameleon was a longtime caller. True to his name, he used many aliases. He had a gadget that disguised his voice. Sometimes he impersonated females. He had a different story for every call, but it usually involved sex at some point. Sometimes he made veiled threats. The Green Book instructed listeners to hang up on him when he was recognized since he abused the Hotline.
“Let’s do this,” Tony said. “Mark the call report to Detective Croyden’s attention, like Gail wants us to do. The Chameleon is a logical suspect, just because he calls so often. Although that sounded like a crank call to me. He probably just didn’t want to be overshadowed by Joy.”
“He’s a really creepy guy. I think Croyden should talk to him. But how can he? We don’t have his telephone number, and we don’t know where he lives or anything.”
Tony was looking at the Chameleon’s profile in the Green Book. “Maybe Croyden can find him. He told somebody he lives in El Segundo. He’s in his late twenties. He has a job as a security guard.”
“That really sets him apart, doesn’t it? I’m sure the police will be able to walk right to his door.”
Tony could understand Shahla’s frustration. He wanted to help her. He said, “Okay, let’s do this. We’ll start a file of our own on likely suspects. We’ll make copies of the call reports of suspicious callers. We might spot something that the police don’t.”
“We’re not supposed to take information on callers out of the office. And we’re not supposed to use the copy machine…”
“This is a state of emergency.” Tony wanted to assuage Shahla’s fears about violating the Hotline rules. “Besides, there’s nobody here to see us. I’ll do the copying and keep the copies so you won’t get into trouble.”
Shahla reluctantly relented. It was obvious that her parents had instilled a moral code in her. He was glad to know that. He had met enough young people who had no apparent values. He, himself, was perhaps one of them. But he was changing, he kept telling himself. However, as he had said, this was a state of emergency.
He took the call reports out of the box where the listeners had placed them. They dated back two days to Saturday, the day the Hotline had reopened. Fortunately, Gail didn’t collect them every day. But that also meant Croyden hadn’t looked at them yet. He must have plenty to keep him busy, however. Tony and Shahla pulled out the reports marked to Detective Croyden’s attention and also several identified as calls from the Chameleon. He often called more than once a day, in defiance of the rules.
In between taking routine calls, Tony made copies of these reports on the Xerox copier. Then he sorted the original call reports back into chronological order and replaced them in the box, while Shahla was on a call. He did group three calls from the Chameleon about Joy together so that they would get the special attention of Gail, and hopefully Croyden.
After Shahla had hung up and completed her call report, she said, “I have the feeling that we’re not covering all the possibilities.”
“We don’t have to,” Tony said. “That’s the job of the police.”
“But the police aren’t, either. Have they asked you for an alibi for the night Joy was killed?”
“Huh?” Tony looked at Shahla, wondering if she was kidding.
“Well, what were you doing that night?”
“Uh…” Tony was flabbergasted. “Do you think I’m the murderer?”
“What I think doesn’t matter. You’ve seen the cop shows on TV. They question everybody, including their friends.”
“Well, it’s a relief that you count me as a friend,” Tony said, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which had suddenly become very heavy. “Let’s see, what was I doing?” He hadn’t thought about it before. He hadn’t thought of himself as a suspect before. He drew a blank. He tried to work backward from the time he had heard about Joy’s murder. He had been busy all that day. And the night before? He had done some preparation for his talk to the women’s club. He had been lonely and restless. Josh was out somewhere. Carol was out of his life permanently.
“I went to a movie.”
“What movie?”
“Uh…Lost in Translation, with Bill Murray. It’s about this American actor who goes to Japan to make a Suntory commercial…”
“Whom did you go with?”
For some reason he didn’t want to admit that he had gone by himself. “I…uh, couldn’t find anybody to go with.”
“So you went alone. Can anybody vouch for you?’
“No.” He would be just another faceless patron to the ticket taker. And he hadn’t seen anybody he knew.
“So you don’t have an alibi.” Shahla looked at Tony with an unfathomable look in her eyes.
“Ticket stub. I save ticket stubs. I throw them into a bowl. It shows the date and time of the show. It didn’t get over until about 10:30.”
“A ticket stub, eh?” Shahla said, imitating a prosecuting attorney. “That was clever of you. You purchased a ticket, but didn’t actually see the movie. Or you left in the middle…”
“You don’t really believe I killed Joy,” Tony said getting hot despite his attempt to stay cool. He felt sweat forming in his armpits.
“What I think is that Detective Croyden should be asking these questions,” Shahla said. “But since he isn’t, maybe you and I should.”
“Does that mean I’m exonerated?”
“For the time being. But only because you don’t appear to have a motive. However, in this kind of case, when the murderer is finally caught, the neighbors always say, ‘But he was such a nice boy. He couldn’t have done it.’ So we have to look for hidden motives.”
Tony was able to chuckle. “I think you’ve got a career all mapped out in the district attorney’s office.”
“Actually, I’m going to be a writer. But I may write true crime. And I may have my…” Shahla became choked up and couldn’t continue for a moment, “…first story.”
“You have to be careful about doing your own investigating. What if you asked the real killer for an alibi? What do you think he’d do to you?”
Tears welled up in Shahla’s eyes and started running down her cheeks. Tony had an urge to comfort her, to touch her, to hold her. He knew that was the wrong thing to do. Empathy, not sympathy. He said, “This must be very diff….” He’d already said that. He gave her a tissue from a box on one of the tables.
Shahla wiped her eyes and said, “When I heard about Joy, I didn’t believe it. It still doesn’t seem real. She can’t be gone.”
The phone rang. Tony reached for it, but Shahla said, “I’ll get it,” and answered before Tony could. She immediately placed the call on the speaker. She pressed the mute button and said, “It’s him.”
The caller was saying, “…advice on how to prevent what happened to Joy from happening to you.”
“What’s your advice?” Shahla asked.
“You girls need to wear more clothes. When you walk around strutting your stuff, showing off your body, wearing tight short skirts up to your butt, with no underwear, you’re asking for it.”
It was an inappropriate call. The Hotline rules said to hang up at this point. But it was obvious that Shahla had no intention of hanging up.
She had the Chameleon’s page from the Green Book open in front of her. She said, “Is this Fred?” using one of several names the Chameleon had previously given Hotline listeners.
There was silence at the other end of the line. Shahla said, “I need to call you something. Is it okay if I call you Fred?”
More silence. Then the caller said, “All right. Tell me, Sally, are you wearing underwear?”
“Are you on a cell phone, Fred?” There was a pause, and Shahla said, “Fred, talk to me.�
��
“How did you know?”
“I’m clairvoyant. Are you at work?”
Tony was reading the Green Book over Shahla’s shoulder. Did he really work as a security guard?
“What makes you think that?”
“Just a guess. Where do you work?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You sound like an interesting person. I was hoping we could get together.”
Tony was disturbed by what Shahla was doing, but he knew if he cut off the call, she would hate him forever.
There was silence on the line. Tony and Shahla looked at each other. Tony found himself holding his breath.
“Are you on the level?” The voice was almost plaintive.
“What do you think, Fred?”
Shahla’s answer was brilliant. Let him draw his own conclusion. The imaginations of the callers didn’t work like those of “normal” people. He might convince himself that she was interested in him.
“Well, I don’t know.”
Tony suspected that Fred, or whatever his name was, had problems relating to women in real life.
“What time do you get off work?” Shahla asked.
“Midnight.”
“And what’s your cell phone number?”
After a hesitation, Fred reeled off an area code and seven-digit number. Tony quickly wrote it down and mouthed to Shahla to have him repeat it. She asked him again, and he gave the same number a second time.
Then Shahla said, “Where shall we meet?”
Another hesitation. Then he gave an intersection. Tony wrote down the names of the streets while Shahla verified them with Fred.
“Shall we say 12:15?” Shahla asked.
“All right. Listen, I gotta go.”
The line went dead. Shahla looked jubilant. “We got him,” she almost sang. She danced around the room.
“Not so fast, young lady.” Tony was alarmed at Shahla’s reaction. “First of all, we don’t know whether the information he gave us is correct. But in any case, we have to pass it along to Detective Croyden.” He pulled the detective’s card out of his wallet.
