S Is for Silence

hanging out with me for a couple of days. I grew up in north county, so we’ve known each other since we were kids. She was two years behind me from grade school all the way through high school. She’s an only child, and I’m telling you this business with her mother has messed her up bad.”
    “How so?”
    “Well, for starters, she drinks too much, and when she drinks she flirts and when she flirts she gloms on to the nearest loser. She has terrible taste in men…”
    “Hey, half the women I know have bad taste in men.”
    “Yeah, well, hers is worse. She’s always looking for ‘true love,’ but she doesn’t have any idea what that’s about. Not that I do, but at least I don’t marry the bums. She’s been divorced four times and she’s sitting on a ton of rage. I’m the only friend she has.”
    “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