“No fires.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
He went back to staring and I went back to waiting.
Beth Lawrence introduced herself two minutes later. She was a round, sturdy woman with a firm grip and cheery eyes. She led me through an empty dining room the size of an airplane hangar, along a short hall, and into her office. Her office was half the size of Josh’s studio, but painted a pale blue as cheery as her eyes.
“Carole says you’d like to speak with one of our residents?”
“Yes, ma’am. Jared Walker Philburn. Officers from Northeast Station brought him here the day before yesterday. He’d witnessed a crime.”
She nodded before I finished.
“Griffith Park.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s him.”
“He was quite the celebrity for a day.”
She unlocked a desk drawer, took out a small tablet computer, and tapped at the screen. A few seconds later, an inexpensive printer on a small metal shelf behind her spit out a page.
“I’m sorry, but he declined to stay.”
She placed the page in front of me as she continued.
“It’s a shame, but we can’t force people to accept services. So many of these folks, like Mr. Philburn, could truly benefit by using services, but if they refuse, they refuse.”
The page was an intake form for registering persons who received services, assistance, or medical care. They had photographed him, and entered whatever personal information he provided, which wasn’t much, or they observed. Jared Walker Philburn was described as being an Anglo male, five feet eight, one hundred forty pounds, with no visible scars, tattoos, or missing limbs. He had given his age as fifty-nine, but the man in the photo appeared twenty years older. His face was dark from years of unending sun, his cheeks were hollow crevices, and the skin beneath his eyes and jaw sagged like furled sails.
“I understand he has a certain degree of impairment.”
She leaned back until the little chair squeaked.
“Schizophrenia. Paranoid ideation with an aversion to closed spaces. It’s classic, in its way. He doesn’t trust doctors and refuses medication. He had agreed to see one of our medical partners, but they all agree until their anxiety builds. Then it becomes untenable.”
“So he left.”
“Early the following morning, I believe. One of our security staff saw him.”
I stared at the intake form. No entries had been made for a spouse, siblings, or children. No current or former addresses were listed. He’d given his place of birth as Sunbeam, Oklahoma, which may have been true but probably wasn’t.
“Did he have any sort of identification? An old driver’s license, maybe? A V.A. or Medicaid card?”
She shook her head.
“No, but this isn’t unusual. People in Mr. Philburn’s situation typically hide their things because they’re robbed so often. He had very little with him. The clothes he was wearing, a faded purple cap, but no personal photographs or keepsakes. It’s likely he hid his belongings before he went to the police.”
“You spoke with him?”
“Oh, yes. I handled the intake. He was very pleasant. He was looking forward to a shower and a meal. He wanted to know if we were having Italian food. Italian food is his favorite.”
Maybe I should look for him in Italy.
“Did he say anything to suggest where he might have gone?”
She thought for a moment.
“Not that I recall.”
She thought a moment longer.
“The officers told me he’d been living in Griffith Park. You might find him there.”
Returning to the park made no sense.
“You understand he found a murder victim in the park. He claimed he saw people hide the body.”
“I understand. But if his belongings were there, he’d return. He might not stay, but people like Mr. Philburn are comfortable with what’s familiar.”
The park.
I didn’t like it. Sooner or later the people who killed Rachel Bohlen would learn a homeless man who lived at the park had seen them. Then they would return to kill him.
I said, “He’d go home.”
She smiled.
“Like anyone else.”
“You mentioned a purple cap. Like a ball cap or a beanie?”
She gestured up by her head, as if she were wearing it.
“A ball cap with something embroidered above the bill. It was faded, almost white in places, like he’d been wearing it for years. He didn’t want to take it off.”
I touched the intake form.