“She just seemed… I don’t know… a little lost.”

“I hope you’re a better cop than you are a psychologist.” A derisive sneer. “She wants to know how long until lunch. Then after lunch, they want to know how long before dinner. Their lives revolve around meals. Life would be simpler if we had bells, like in school. You’ll have to excuse me. Some of us have deadlines to meet.”

As in:Shut up.But it didn’t matter because “Nervous Girl” had reappeared with whom I assumed was Mr. Klinghoffner-a man who looked to be in his mid-fifties. He had a shock of thick gray hair, was fat across the middle, and had chubby cheeks to match. All he needed was the suit and the white beard and I was looking at Santa Claus. I got up and extended my hand. He took it politely with a limp-fish shake.

“Jamie tells me you’re from the police?”

Jamie must be the nervous girl. “That’s right, Mr. Klinghoffner. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment. Privacy would be preferred.”

“Don’t bother, I’m not listening, I couldn’t care less,” Skinny Man chimed out.

Klinghoffner laughed. “Don’t mind Buck.”

Buck?I had the good sense to keep my smile in check.

“It’s evaluation time for the Center for funds.” Klinghoffner kneaded doughy hands. “Lots of paperwork. He’s a bit tense. Let’s go into my office. This way.”

He led me through a kitchen that still had its original cabinets and fixtures. The counters were tiled in sunny yellow, and a diamond pattern of midnight blue and yellow made up the back-splash. Klinghoffner’s office was off to the right-a tiny room that was probably once a pantry. When he closed the door, it was pretty tight inside, but it did have a nice-size picture window and a skylight giving a blue clue to a world beyond.

“How can I help you, Officer?”

“If you read the papers on Tuesday morning, you’ll know that LAPD found an abandoned baby in Hollywood.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Terrible.”

“The baby is doing well. We have reason to believe that the mother is Caucasian and possibly developmentally disabled.”

“I see.”

“Any ideas?”

Klinghoffner appeared to be thinking about it. “I’m not… aware of any of our women being pregnant.”

“Was pregnant.”

“Or was pregnant. But I don’t know everything.”

Covering his rather commodious butt. “Okay. Maybe we could talk in theoretical terms.”

“I’m not being cagey, Officer Decker, I just don’t know. We try to teach our students about the birds and the bees, but most of their guardians-the parents, the siblings, the aunts-they don’t like to leave things to chance. Many of our women are sterilized coming in. The last thing anyone needs is another special child to deal with.”

I thought about my poor little baby. Maybe she’d be okay. Maybe Koby was wrong. “You said many of your women are sterilized.”

“Yes. But it’snota back-alley thing. There is full consent-from the families, from the women themselves. They request it, Officer. They know that they are in no position to raise a child, should they have sex.”

“You allow them to have sex?”

“No, not here. But drives are drives. We are realistic. And the women who aren’t sterilized, we give them the pill every day along with their vitamins. We make sure they take it.”

“Are the women aware that by doing this, they can’t get pregnant?”

“We explain it to them. Some comprehend more than others.”

“But you don’t require them to take birth control, do you?”

He heaved a great sigh. “We don’t strap them down, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I’m sorry. I know you have a difficult task. I’m not passing judgment.”

“That’s good,” the director said. “It’s hard enough teaching our students about hygiene, let alone sex. We just try to make sure that if sex happens, the women are not left coping with something they’re not equipped to cope with.”

“Do the women know what they’re doing when they have sex?”

Klinghoffner pursed his lips. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Is it consensual as opposed to forced on them?”

“Good Lord, I hope it’s consensual, although I suspect I know what you’re saying. The young women here… They’re not used to having control over their bodies. They’ve been told what to do all their lives. We have counselors here to help them integrate sex and health education.”

He looked away.

“We do not allow sex within these walls. But the few times I’ve actually caught a pair in the act, I’ve looked the other way in terms of punishment. I did take the parties involved aside and insist they get some couples counseling. For precisely the reason you stated. To make sure that nothing was forced.”

“And?”

“The parties were all right with the sexual relationship. But their guardians were not. A few times, I’ve had students pulled out of the programs because of it.”

I tried being charming. “And might you know any woman pulled out of the program because of having sex, say… within the last nine months? Maybe one with Down’s?”

“Not Down’s, although we do have students here with Down’s.”

“So you’re thinking of someone specific.”

Klinghoffner stalled. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“The girl needs medical attention.”

“Yes, of course.” Klinghoffner drummed his fingers on the table. “We have a girl here. She’s been sick on and off for the last year. I haven’t seen her in a month. She lives with her sister.”

“Heavyset and very blond?”

He thought for a moment. Then he nodded.

“But not Down’s,” I said.

“No, she’s not Down’s. She has cerebral palsy, although that doesn’t tell you anything. It’s a garbage-can term. Her gross motor coordination is very, very poor. Her fine motor coordination is not as bad as you’d think by looking at her. She’s mentally disabled, no doubt about that, but she has skills. She can take care of herself-bathe, dress, go to the bathroom, even cook a little. And she can work a computer. She does some data entry for us. Quite good at it.”

I was quiet.

“A very sweet girl. Maybe a bit more subdued the last couple of months. I probably should have said something, but there are so many kids here.” Now he was upset. “They’re like children. They upset easily. Sometimes I miss things.”

“We all do.”

“Let me walk you back to reception. I’ll get you the address.”

“Thank you, Mr. Klinghoffner. You’re doing the right thing.”

“I hope so.”

I sat back on the couch and waited. I hoped I didn’t have to tarry too long, because “Beanpole Buck” had taken a real dislike to me. He glared at me over his piles of paper. I guess if I looked like him and was named Buck, I wouldn’t be too happy, either.

At last Buck spoke. “Find what you’re looking for?”

“Maybe.”

“If you tell me what you need, maybe I could help you out.”

A legitimate offer for help? I couldn’t believe it. Nor did I trust him.

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

He stiffened. “Only trying to help.”

“I know. I appreciate it.”

Klinghoffner returned, ending the awkward moment. “Let me walk you out.”

He handed me the paper once we were outside and away from prying eyes. I thanked him again, and he left me at the curb. The name was Sarah Sanders. Her guardian was Louise Sanders, her sister.

They lived in the foothills of Hollywood.

I turned the address over and over in my hand. I really,reallywanted to go to the house, but it wasn’t my place to be the primary interviewer. I was just too low on the food chain. At this point, all I could do was collect the data and give it to someone else to interpret.

Still, I didn’t call Greg Van Horn right away. I had a lunch date to keep. No sense in making decisions on an empty stomach.