F Is for Fugitive

wife and two young boys was prominently displayed, probably to dispel any fantasies his staff might entertain about his availability. "Tawna says you have some questions about an old high school classmate. Given recent events, I'm assuming it's Jean Timberlake."
    "How well did you know her?"
    "Not very well. I knew who she was, but I don't think I ever had a class with her." He reached for a set of plaster-of-Paris impressions that sat on his desk, upper plate positioned above the lower in a jutting overbite. He cleared his throat. "What sort of information are you looking for?"
    "Whatever you can tell me. Bailey Fowler's father hired me to see if I could come up with some new evidence. I thought I'd start with Jean and work forward from there."
    "Why come to me?"
    I told him about my conversation with Daisy and her suggestion that he might be of help. His manner seemed to shift, becoming less suspicious, though a certain wariness remained. Idly he lifted the mold's upper plate and stuck his finger in, feeling the crowded lower incisors. If I had banged a fist down on the mold, I could have bitten his finger off. The thought made it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. "I've been thinking a lot about the murder since Bailey Fowler's arrest. Terrible thing. Just terrible."
    "Were you in that group of kids who found her, by any chance?"
    "No, no. I'm a Catholic. That was the youth group from the Baptist church."
    "The one in Floral Beach?"
    He nodded and I made a mental note, thinking of Reverend Haws. "I've heard she was a bit free with her favors," I said.
    "That's the reputation she had. Some of my patients are young girls her age. Fourteen, fifteen.
    They just seem so immature. I can't imagine them sexually active and yet I'm sure some of them are."
    "I've seen pictures of Jean. She was a beautiful girl."
    "Not in any way that served her. She wasn't like the rest of us. Too old in some ways, innocent in others. I guess she thought she'd be popular if she put out, so that's what she did. A lot of guys took advantage." He paused to clear his throat. "Excuse me," he said. He poured himself half a tumbler of water from the thermos sitting on his desk. "You want some water?"
    I shook my head. "Anybody in particular?"
    "What?"
    "I'm wondering if she was involved with anyone you knew."
    He gave me a bland look. "Not that I recall."
    I could feel the arrow on my bullshit meter swing up into the red. "What about you?"
    A baffled laugh. "Me?"
    "Yeah, I was wondering if you got involved with her." I could see the color come and go in his face, so I ad-libbed a line. "Actually, someone told me you dated her. I can't remember now who mentioned it, but someone who knew you both."
    He shrugged. "I might have. Just briefly. I never dated her steadily or anything like that."
    "But you were intimate."
    "With Jean?"
    "Dr. Poletti, spare me the wordplay and tell me about your relationship. We're talking about things that happened seventeen years ago."
    He was silent for a moment, toying with the plaster jaw, which seemed to have something on it he had to pick off. "I wouldn't want this to go any further, whatever we discuss."
    "Strictly confidential."
    He shifted in his chair. "I guess I've always regretted my association with her. Such as it was. I'm ashamed of it now because I knew better. I'm not sure she did."
    "We all do things we regret," I said. "It's part of growing up. What difference does it make after all this time?"
    "I know. You're right. I don't know why it's so hard to talk about."
    "Take your time."
    "I did date her. For a month. Less than that. I can't say my intentions were honorable. I was seventeen. You know how guys are at that age. Once word got out that Jeannie was an easy lay, we became obsessed. She did things we'd never even heard about. We were lined up like a pack of dogs, trying to get at her. It was all anybody ever talked about, how to get in her pants, how to get her in ours. I guess I was no better than the other guys." He shot me an embarrassed smile.
    "Go on."
    "Some of 'em didn't even bother going through the motions. Just picked her up and took her out to the beach. They didn't even take her out on a date."
    "But you did."
    He lowered his gaze. "I took her out a few times. I felt guilty even doing that. She was kind of pathetic... and scary at the same time. She was bright enough, but she wanted desperately to believe someone cared. It made you feel sheepish, so you'd get together with the