"Crais, Robert - Elvis Cole 08 - L.A. Requiem 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Crais Robert)

I ended the call, then looked over at Pike. "You know she's probably with her friends. Probably went to Vegas, or maybe spent all night swing dancing and she's crashing at some guy's."

"Could be. But Frank's worried, and he needs someone to help carry the load."

"You really were close with these people."

Pike went back to staring out the window. Getting him to talk is like pulling your own teeth with pliers.

The information operator told me that there were two Jungle Juice outlets, the original in West Hollywood on Melrose, the second on Barham in Universal City. West Hollywood was closer, so we went there first. Detective work denned by the process of least effort.

The first Jungle Juice was manned by a skinny kid with blue hair and Irish tattoos on his arms, a short girl with a bleach-blond buzz cut, and a guy in his early thirties who looked like he might be president of the local Young Republicans chapter. All three of them had worked yesterday when Karen would've been in, but none of them recognized her picture. The bleach blond worked every weekend and said she would know her if Karen were a regular. I believed her.

The Santa Anas continued to pick up as we drove north to the second Jungle Juice. Palm trees, tall and vulnerable like the necks of giant dinosaurs, took the worst of it. The wind stripped the dead fronds that bunched beneath the crowns and tossed them into streets and yards and onto cars.

It was a few minutes before noon when we reached the second Jungle Juice, just south of Universal Studios. It was set in a narrow strip mall that ran along Barham at the base of the mountains, and was crowded with Sunday shoppers and tourists trying to find the Universal City Walk, even with the wind.

Pike and I stood in line until we reached the counter and showed them the picture of Karen. The girl behind the register, all of eighteen with a clean bright smile and chocolate tan, recognized Karen at once. "Oh, sure, she comes in all the time. She always gets a smoothie after her run."

Pike said, "Was she in yesterday?"

The girl didn't know, and called over a tall African-American kid named Ronnie. Ronnie was a good-looking kid a couple of inches over six feet whose claim to fame was six seconds in a Charmin commercial. "Oh, yeah, she comes in here after her run. That's Karen."

"Did she come in yesterday?"

Now Ronnie squinted at me. "Is she okay?"

"I just want to know if she came in yesterday."

The squint turned into a frown, went to Pike, then grew suspicious. "What is this?"

I showed him the license. He squinted at that, too.

"Your name really Elvis?"

Pike stepped past me until his hips pressed against the counter. Ronnie was maybe an inch taller than Joe, but Ronnie took a fast step back. Joe said, "Did she come hi here or not?" Voice so soft you could barely hear him.

Ronnie shook his head, eyes bugging. "Not yesterday. I worked from opening to six, and she didn't come in. I would've known because we always talk about her run. I jog, too."

"You know where she runs?"

"Sure. She parks down here and runs up the hill there to the reservoir." He gestured across Barham to the hill. Lake Hollywood Drive meandered up through a residential area to the reservoir.

The girl said, "I'm pretty sure I saw her drive past yesterday. Well, it was a little red car. I didn't see her or anything. Just the car."

Ronnie said, "No way. Karen always comes in after the run, and she didn't come in." Like he was disappointed that maybe she had come for the run and not stopped in to see him. "No way."

We thanked them, then went out to the parking lot.

I said, "Well, that's something. She shows up for the run, but she doesn't go in for the smoothie, which is her habit."