Page 21

Chapter

21

I searched for Sherilyn Dorsey-Komack’s home number and came up predictably empty. But her husband’s name led me to Redondo Beach Fire Station 1, one of three in that city. And that linked me to Chairman Of The Boards, a surf shop in nearby Huntington Beach owned by the couple.

Plenty of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Yelp, and LinkedIn.

More important, open on Sunday. For another hour.

I spent a portion of that time trying to come up with a believable approach. Came up with nothing and decided to speak in generalities and hope she’d say something that would give me an opening. Not so different from what I did as a therapist. But in therapy, you’re out to help the person sitting across from you, and I’d be doing nothing but using Sherilyn Dorsey-Komack.

For a good cause. Theoretically.

At least, I rationalized, I’d be doing her no harm.

I punched numbers.

—

An adenoidal teenage male voice mumbled, “Chairman.”

“Is Sherilyn there?”

“ Sher? For you. Don’t know. Hold on, dude.”

Half a minute later: “This is Sher. What can I do for you.”

“My name’s Anthony Davenport, ma’am. I work with LAPD and wondered if you could spare a few minutes to talk about a victim named Victoria Saucedo.”

“Police? About the hit and run?”

Bingo.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m with Traffic Safety and we’re sorting various accidents and doing what’s called a victimology. Basically learning as much as we can to see if we can safeguard people better.”

“I respect what you do, my husband’s an EMT, but what does Vicki’s accident have to do with me?”

“We’re talking to Vicki’s friends to learn more about her. Your name came up.”

“From her parents? I knew her real well in high school and for a few years afterward, but not much since,” said Sherilyn Dorsey-Komack.

“I see. Well if you feel there’s nothing you can say—”

“All I can tell you is Vicki’s super nice, really sweet and gorgeous but not full of herself. Just the opposite, super-shy. At least when I knew her.”

“Shy with people.”

“Yup. Can’t see that mattering when a drunk plows into you, huh? Some customers just walked in, sorry, gotta go.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh sure.”

Click.

Thirty-second conversation during which I’d failed to draw out anything related to a vengeful love interest. But I had learned the cover story the family had used to explain her injuries.

And the fact that she was extremely shy to the point of being unaware of her looks. And that made me consider the little I did know about her family.

Sister a teacher, brother on full scholarship at a selective college.

Vicki serving drinks to rich people.

Had social anxiety resulted from failure to measure up academically? Had there been some sort of learning disability?

All that might explain vulnerability to a predator.

So what? These were the kinds of questions and answers that occupied me as a psychologist but not what Milo meant when he asked for “insight.”

Milo had no knowledge, period, of Vicki Saucedo.

With nothing to offer him, best to leave it that way.

—

I returned to Bach for an hour, was putting my guitar back in its case when Robin and Blanche came in looking buoyant.

“Good,” said Robin. “We’re all in fun mode. I’m thinking steaks and whatever.”

Blanche’s nubby tail twitched.

I said, “Perfect.”

—

Later, that night, Robin and I lay naked and entwined and kissing deeply. Her tongue sweet, her compact body smooth and tan and glossed by sweat sheen.

Guitar-shaped.