“What does this have to do with Adele?”
“The doctor gave me a check for eight thousand dollars. The check cleared and the money was in my account that afternoon. Four days later, I returned the full amount.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“His daughter-in-law and grandchildren died in an auto accident the year before. The poor guy couldn’t accept the loss, I guess, so he found a way to explain their absence.”
I waited for Corbin Schumacher to say something, but he didn’t.
“It’s the same with every client, Mr. Schumacher. A stranger comes to me with a problem. I can’t know what’s real until I see for myself.”
“Of course.”
“Whatever Adele believes, no matter why she believes it, has nothing to do with her problem. She can’t reach her child, and wants to know he’s safe. I’ll find him, and report what I find.”
Corbin Schumacher was silent for several more seconds.
“Looks like Adele hired the right man.”
“One more thing, Mr. Schumacher.”
“Yes?”
“In the future, any conversation I have about this case or Joshua will be with Adele, until or unless Adele tells me otherwise. Not Wendy. Not you. Are we clear?”
Corbin Schumacher went silent again. I thought Wendy and Kurt might crash through the door and grab the thousand dollars, but they didn’t.
I asked him again.
“Are we clear?”
The line went dead. The call was over. We were clear.
3
I tucked two of the hundreds into my wallet, filled out a deposit slip for the remaining eight, and opened the manila envelope.
Adele had seemed disheveled with her flyaway hair and frumpy dress, but the information she left was presented with PowerPoint precision.
The first page showed four photographs of a heavy, unsmiling young man with a round, clean-shaven face, a double chin, and dark red hair.
Detective-2 Veronica Largo’s LAPD business card was clipped to the second page. The card identified Largo as a Missing Persons Unit detective. The case number and date of filing were written on the back of the card. I put Largo’s card aside and flipped to the third page.
The third page looked like a dossier.
Joshua Albert Schumacher’s name, current address, email, and cell number led off. His height （6'3"）， weight （280 lb）， hair and eye color （rd, bl）， blood type （O-neg）， and date of birth followed. His social security, driver’s license, and passport numbers came next, then a description of his car （a ten-year-old black-on-black MINI Cooper） and the Cooper’s license number. A highlighted note at the bottom of the page read: fingerprints and dna profile provided upon request. Including his blood type was odd, but the DNA profile stopped me. Who kept their son’s DNA profile lying around and why would they have it?
I studied Josh’s phone number, pulled Mickey close, and punched in his number. Corbin thought Josh was ignoring his mother, but maybe I’d get lucky.
A flat computer voice answered.
“The message box is full.”
So much for luck.
The last page was labeled friends. Adele had listed three names, notes about each, and their contact information. She’d already told me about Ryan Seborg, who she described as Josh’s oldest and closest friend. Traci Tanner and Josh had been friends since high school, where they were active in the school’s math, science, astronomy, and film clubs. Davis Kleimann and Josh had met during Josh’s one and only year at Caltech. According to the notes, Adele had spoken with all three, and all three denied having knowledge of Josh’s whereabouts. This made me wonder why Adele suggested I speak to them. Since all three claimed to know nothing, maybe she believed they were lying. Maybe she thought I would pistol-whip them into coming clean.
I called Largo first and got the inevitable voice mail. I left a message with the case number and asked her to call back as soon as possible. Sometimes, they do. Most of the time, they don’t.
I phoned Tanner and Kleimann next. Traci Tanner explained she wasn’t as close to Josh as she once was, and the two hadn’t spoken in more than a year. Davis Kleimann sounded wary. When I told him Adele Schumacher had given me his number, his voice turned hostile.
“I don’t know you. You could be after anything.”
“I’m after Josh. Didn’t his mother speak to you?”
“These people mean nothing to me. Don’t call again. I mean it.”
Kleimann hung up. I glanced at the heading on the page and shook my head. Friends.