Vanished.
Like the smog when the beach breeze hits it.
She was last seen six months ago. Leaving Marv and Barb's S.D. on foot after the night shift.
And that's the last anyone saw of her.
Vanished.
The sheriffs looked for her. They did their best, we're proud of our men in tan.
But they didn't find her.
Neither did a gumshoe hired by Sherrell and his beloved Eleanor.
So Sherrell's out here from Massachusetts. Staying at the Beachrider Motel and living off savings.
Trying to find his princess.
This is her picture.
Karen Best. Her hair might be dark. She wrote home that she was dying it.
To look more exotic.
Vanished.
Sherrell's a determined man.
He's not rich, but he'll pay a hefty reward to anyone who can find Karen.
Maybe you've seen him, handing out flyers in the parking lot at Alexander's market. Or in front of Bill and Sandy Levinger's Shell Shack or the Frostee Kup, down by Cross Creek.
Asking his questions.
"Have you seen this girl?"
Maybe you've walked right by him.
Maybe you just shook your head and said, Poor guy.
No matter. He's a determined man. He won't give up.
Help him, Malibuites.
If you can.
Maybe this story can have a happy ending.
Maybe this really is a generation of peace and freedom and love.
Maybe…
I put the page down.
Best said, "She meant well. She was a sweet old woman, died a few months later and the paper went out of business."
"Did you pay for the article?"
"I paid for many things. No regrets."
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes some more.
"More coffee?"
"No, thanks. Did the sheriffs do a thorough job?"
"I suppose they did their job. Asking questions of the same people I'd spoken to. Finally, they mounted a real search. For one day, in the canyons and gullies. Then they flew a helicopter over the coastline for an hour or so. They said the layout made it impossible to do much more. Too much brush, places that were hard to get to. I don't think they really believed she'd be found there. They were convinced she'd run away with a boy."
"Was any of this in the major newspapers?" I said.
"The papers weren't interested. I phoned all of them, over and over. They never returned my calls. Part of it was the way things were, back then. All those hippie boys and girls dropping out. But Karen wasn't like that. I'm not saying she was a perfect angel. But she was no hippie."
"When did you hire the private detective?"
"After the sheriffs stopped returning my calls. I hired two of them, really. It's all here."
He handed me a white sheet of paper, perfectly typed.
KAREN: PEOPLE INVOLVED
I. LAW ENFORCEMENT
A. L.A. County Sheriffs Dept., Malibu Station.
1. Deputy Shockley (took the call but nothing else)
2. Dep. Lester (took report)
3. Sgt. Concannon- in charge of search. His superior: Lt. Maarten, but never met him.
4. Various eagle scouts under Sgt. Concannon, along with other deputies, whose names weren't given.
B. PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS
1. Felix Barnard, 25603 Pacific Coast Highway, Malibu, CA.
(October-November. Spoke to staff at Sand Dollar: Sue Billings, Tom Shea, Gwen Peet, Doris Reingold, Mary Andreas, Leonard Korcik. Karen's landlady: Mrs. Hilda Johansen, 13457 Paso de Oro, Pacific Palisades.)
2. Charles D. Napoli, 6654 Hollywood Boulevard, Hollywood, CA.
(December-Jan. Re-interviewed F. Barnard's subjects, met with sheriffs, brokered purchase of membership in PeopleFinders.)
"What's PeopleFinders?" I said.
"Napoli told me there was a national network of detectives who specialized in looking for missing children. Subscription was a thousand dollars for the first year, five hundred every year after that. The money was supposed to buy access to hundreds of files and contacts. No such outfit existed. Napoli took the money, and another thousand I paid him for investigation, and left town."
He smiled. "I don't regret my foolishness. "Hope maketh not ashamed.' After Napoli swindled me, I went to a third firm, one that advertised finding missing people within forty-eight hours. They took a consultation fee and said all that could be done, had been."
"After the first one, why'd you hire someone out in Hollywood?"
"I was hoping someone from the outside could see clearer. Barnard was slow. Very easygoing. All of Malibu seemed that way, people smiling but moving very slowly. I'd never been to California, wasn't used to it."
"When did you move out here?"
"Two years later. Permanently, that is. Before that, I was coming out every two months for a couple of weeks at a time. I stayed in motels or lived in a rented car, driving up and down the coast every day, from Manhattan Beach to Santa Barbara. Once I went as far north as San Simeon. Every canyon or state park I'd pass, I'd drive through, walk around, talking to the rangers, ground crews, campers, anyone. It became my job. My business suffered. Then Mrs. Best developed an aneurysm and died and I sold what was left of the business and came here to settle. Craig and Taffy were starting out, and I let them live in the house. A few years later, they bought it. It was a good time for me to leave- they needed their own life and I wanted to devote myself to looking for Karen. I spent ten hours a day in the car. Hoping one day I'd run into her somewhere. Maybe she'd lost her memory and was… somewhere."
He pushed the cookies away. "What does your witness remember?"
"Just what I told you, Reverend."
"A young girl being carried away by some men. That's vague."
"Yes, it is, and I'm sorry I can't promise you it means anything."
I tried to return the data sheet.
"No, that's a copy. Take it, I've got plenty."
I folded it and put it in my pocket.
"A young girl," he said. "Long dark hair, long legs- when Karen was a little girl we used to call her Storkie. For Stork. Where does your witness- is it a man or a woman?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
He frowned. "Where does this witness think this abduction occurred?"
"Some sort of rustic site. Maybe a log cabin. Trees all around."
He pressed his belly against the table edge. "You're a police psychologist. You could hypnotize this person, couldn't you? That helps with memory."
"That's a possibility."
"Why not a probability?"
"The witness is in a fragile state of mind."
"How fragile?"
"I'm sorry, I can't say any more."
"Yes, yes, of course, sorry… but you are going to follow up."
"I'll do whatever I can, Reverend."
"You work for the police department?"
"I'm a private consultant. The witness is a patient of mine. A police detective is aware of what I'm doing, but it's not official yet."
The bulging eyes narrowed. "Why are you going to all this trouble?"
"To help my patient."
He looked at me for a long time.
"You're a devoted fellow."
I shrugged.
He fiddled with his glasses, looked at his coffee, but didn't touch it.
"I highly advise that you find some way to talk to Gwen and Tom Shea. On the sheet she's listed by her maiden name, Peet, but they're married now. They worked with Karen at the Sand Dollar. Worked with her that last shift. I've always felt they knew more than they let on."
"Why's that?"
"The way they acted when I spoke to them- shifty, nervous. Felix Barnard said they seemed innocent to him. So did the sheriffs. They were both local kids, good reputations, neither had any sort of criminal record. But I'll tell you one thing: When I asked them about Karen, they couldn't look me in the eye. They'd been friends with her; Gwen waited tables, Tom tended bar. Why would talking about her make them uncomfortable? And they left the restaurant just a few minutes after Karen did. Karen was walking, but they were in a car. Doesn't it make sense that they would have overtaken her?"