U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

“So twenty-one years later, you’re clueless and hoping I can figure out where you were.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You want me to find an unmarked grave, basically a hole.”

“Can you do it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried before.”

I studied him, chasing the idea around to see where it might go. “It’s an interesting proposition. I’ll give you that.”

I rocked in my swivel chair, listening to the squeak, while I sifted through the story, wondering what I’d missed. There was something more going on, but I couldn’t imagine what. Finally, I said, “What’s your stake in the situation? I know it bothers you, but why to this extent?”

“I don’t know. I mean, the article talked about how the kidnapping ruined Mrs. Fitzhugh’s life. She and her husband divorced and he ended up leaving town. She still has no idea what happened to her little girl. She doesn’t even know for sure she’s dead. If I can help, it seems like the right thing to do.”

“It’s going to cost you,” I said.

“I figured as much.”

“What sort of work do you do?”

“Nothing right now. I lost my job so I’m on unemployment.”

“What was the job?”

“I sold advertising for KSPL.”

KSPL was the local AM station I sometimes tuned in on my car radio when I was tooling around town. “How long were you there?”

“About a year, maybe a little less.”

“What’s it mean when you say you ‘lost’ your job? Were you laid off, downsized, fired, what?”

He hesitated. “The last one.”

“Fired.”

He nodded.

I waited and when it was clear he had no intention of continuing, I gave him a nudge. “Uh, Sutton, I’d consider it a courtesy if you’d be a bit more forthcoming. Would you care to fill me in?”

He rubbed his palms on his pants. “I said I had a BA from Stanford, but it wasn’t really true. I was enrolled and attended classes for a couple of years, but I didn’t graduate.”

“So you lied on the application?”

“Look, I know I made a mistake . . .”

“That would cover it,” I said.

“But I can’t do anything about it now. What’s done is done and I just have to move on.”

I’d heard a host of criminals make the same remark, like boosting cars, robbing banks, and killing folks could be brushed aside, a minor stumble on the path of life. “Have you given any thought to how you’re going to pay me out of your unemployment benefits? We’re talking about five hundred bucks a day, plus expenses. Assuming I agree to help, which I haven’t.”

“I have some money set aside. I thought I’d write a check for one day’s work and we’d see how it goes from there.”

“A check?”

A flush tinted his cheeks. “I guess that’s not such a hot idea.”

“You got that right. What’s plan B?”

“If you’re going to be here for a while, I could make a quick run to the bank and bring you cash.”

I considered the notion. The prime item on my Thursday To Do list was to make a bank deposit and pay bills. I had two reports to write and a few calls to make, but I could shift those to Friday. The job itself might end in folly, but at least when he mentioned “the right thing to do,” he didn’t turn around and ask me to work for free. I wasn’t convinced he was right about what he’d seen, but Cheney must have considered the story credible or he wouldn’t have sent him over to me.

“Okay. One day, but that’s it. And only if you pay me cash in advance. I’ll be here until five o’clock. That should give you plenty of time.”

“Great. That’s great.”

“I don’t know how great it is, but it’s the best I can do. When you get back, if I happen to be out, you can stick the money through the mail slot. In the meantime, give me a contact number so I’ll know how to reach you.”

I handed him my yellow pad and watched while he scribbled down his address and telephone number. In return I handed him my business card with my office number and address.

He said, “I really appreciate this. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t agreed.”

“I’ll probably regret it, but what the hell? It’s only one day,” I said. If I’d been listening closely, I’d have caught the sound of the gods having a great big old tee-hee at my expense.