A Cub follow-up—still no news—said the search had lasted three weeks.
After that, nothing.
I returned to the microfilm librarian, filled out cards, obtained spools from the Timesand the Daily News for the corresponding dates. Shawna’s disappearance merited two days of page 20 media attention, then a senator’s drunken son crashed his Porsche on the 1-5, killing himself and two passengers, and that story took over.
I returned to the Cub spool, wrote down the reporter’s name—Adam Green—and studied Shawna Yeager’s beauty contest photo some more, searched for a resemblance to Lauren.
She and Lauren did share a sculpted, blond loveliness but nothing striking. Both A students. Psychology major, psycho biology major.
Both were self-supporting too, one banking on pageant money, the other, “investments.” Had each been on the lookout for extra income? Consulted the campus classifieds and gotten involved in one of the research studies Gene Dalby had described?
I searched for more parallels, found none. All in all, nothing dramatic. And plenty of differences:
At nineteen Shawna had been considerably younger than Lauren when she disappeared. Small-town olive queen, big-city call girl. Divorced mother, widowed mother. And Shawna had vanished during the second month of the quarter, Lauren during the break. I scrolled to the Cub’s want ads, worked backward until I came upon a boldface entry in the middle of the JOBS!! section, posted two weeks before Shawna vanished.
Tired? Listless? Inexplicably sad? These may be normal mood changes, or they may be signs of depression.
We are conducting clinical trials on depression and are looking for
$$ PAID $$ volunteers. You will be offered free evaluation and, if you qualify,
may receive experimental treatment as well as a handsome stipend.
No address, just a phone number with a 310 area code. I copied the information, kept scrolling, found two similar ads for the entire month, one researching phobias and featuring a different 310 listing, the other a study of “human intimacy” that provided a 714 callback.
“Human intimacy” had a sexual flavor to it. Racy research in Orange County? Sex was commerce to Lauren. Might something like that have caught her eye?
I obtained microfiche for the last quarter, checked classified after classified. No repeat of the intimacy ad, nothing even vaguely similar, and the only paid-research solicitation was for a study on “nutrition and digestion,” with a campus phone extension that meant the med school. I wrote it down anyway, left the library, headed for the Seville.
Two girls gone missing, a year apart, very little in common.
Shawna had never been found. I could only hope that Lauren’s disappearance would amount to nothing at all.
I drove home trying to convince myself she’d show up tomorrow, a little richer and a lot tanner, laughing off everyone’s worries.
Gene Dalby had pegged her at thirty, and maybe he was right about her maturity. She’d been living on her own for years, had street smarts. So no shock if the last week came down to a quick jaunt to Vegas, Puerto Vallarta, even Europe—money shrinks the world.
I drove up the bridle path that leads to my house imagining Lauren partying with a potentate. Then seeing the dark side of the fantasy: Those kinds of adventures can go very bad quickly.
Lauren getting herself into something she hadn’t counted on.
Silly to let my mind run. I barely knew the girl.
Thcjirl. She was well past childhood. No sense obsessing.
I’d bother Milo one more time, tell him about Shawna Yeager, receive the expected response—the logical detective’s response—
Interesting, Alex, but. . .
I pulled up in front of the carport, pleased to see Robin’s Ford pickup there, ready to stop wondering about a near stranger and be with someone I cared about.
But as I parked and climbed the stairs to the front door, I wondered: What would I tell Jane Abbot?
I knew I’d say little, if anything, to Robin about my day.
Confidentiality protects patients. What it does to therapists’ personal relationships can be interesting. Private by nature, Robin’s never had a problem with my not discussing work in detail. Like most artists, she lives in her head, can do without people for long stretches of time, hates gossip.