Hotline to Murder

he liked to talk about religion. He appeared to carry a lot of guilt. He talked as if he thought he had personally crucified Jesus. He asked listeners about their religions. He always had a television set on in the background. The page on him said not to discuss religion or give him any personal information.
    Tony had come into the Hotline office because he wanted to feel as if he was doing something to help find Shahla. Besides, he couldn’t stand the quiet in his townhouse with Josh gone. He had called the Bonita Beach police first thing this morning to get an update on the search for her. No news. Now that he was here, he realized that this was where he usually saw her. He missed her. It occurred to him for the first time that if something had happened to her, he might never see her again. He shuddered.
    He was sitting at the white table in the outer office. A girl named Anne was in the listening room. Tony knew she had been a listener for a couple of years. When she hung up from a call, Tony carried the Green Book into the listening room and said, “Anne, did you ever speak to this guy called Cackling Crucifier?”
    “Several times,” she said. “He was what I would call a Jesus freak.”
    “Did he ask a lot of questions?”
    “Yeah. He wanted to know if I went to church and if I had accepted Jesus as my personal savior. I didn’t tell him I was Jewish.”
    “Did he ever ask where the Hotline was located?”
    “He may have, but if he did, I didn’t tell him.”
    “What else can you remember about him?”
    “He had a distinctive laugh. Kind of a cackle. That’s how he got his name. I’d recognize his laugh anywhere.”
    “Anything else?”
    “He asked what I looked like and whether I’d go out with him. He got pretty personal. I blew him off. Once or twice he became abusive, saying that I was immoral and would go to hell. When he did, I hung up on him.”
    “The book says he lives in Los Angeles. Did he ever tell you anything more specific than that?”
    “I don’t think so. I imagine he lives somewhere within fifty miles of here.”
    He and a few million other people.

    CHAPTER 30
    When Shahla left Jane’s house, she walked to the beach. One of her friends from school, Lacey, lived in a three-story house right on the beach. Lacey’s parents were away for the weekend. Lacey had decided this was the ideal opportunity to throw a party.
    Rasa didn’t allow Shahla to attend parties that weren’t supervised by adults. So Shahla hadn’t bothered to tell her about this party. Doing schoolwork with Jane was her excuse to go out. And she and Jane had done schoolwork, Shahla rationalized, as she felt a twinge of guilt. But she also deserved a little fun.
    It had been exactly one month since Joy had been murdered. A month during which she had grieved for Joy while she attended school, filled out college applications, and run cross-country. And hunted for Joy’s killer. A month of unrelieved stress. Except for the trip to Las Vegas with Tony. That had been fun, at least until Tony got hurt.
    She wouldn’t stay at the party long, only an hour or so. Just long enough to relieve her tension. It was a beach party, mostly outdoors. During the day. What could happen?
    The party was already swinging when Shahla arrived. She heard it while still a block away as she turned onto the concrete beach path at the end of a street. Music blared from strategically placed speakers and inundated passersby. As Shahla approached the house, she saw teenagers strewn across the back patio: bikinied girls and bare-chested boys. They were eating, drinking, and shouting at each other over the din of the music.
    Shahla stepped onto the stone floor of the patio from the beach path and threaded her way among the bodies, saying hello to several of them, although her voice was drowned out. She entered the house through wide open doors and spotted Lacey ladling some liquid concoction out of a large punch bowl.
    Lacey, who was dressed in the skimpiest bikini Shahla had seen for a while, gave Shahla a hug and shouted in her ear, “Have some punch. It’s better than beer because the cops patrol the beach path and might see it. And get out of those clothes.”
    The cops should be looking for Joy’s murderer, not underage drinkers. Shahla picked up a cup of the yellowish liquid and looked for a spot where she could stow her daypack. Various articles of clothing were lying along the wall. She picked a corner of the spacious living