“Why don't you tell me what you know, Ms. Solis?”

“I- he's just a little boy, maybe ten or eleven, at first I wasn't even sure it was him. Taking the books, I mean. But he was the only one who ever read the ones that were missing- this one especially he kept coming to, over and over, and then it was gone.”

“So he took other books, too.”

Solis fidgeted. “But he always brought them back- such a serious little boy. Pretending to be doing homework. I guess he didn't want to attract attention. I finally saw him do it- sneak something back. One that I'd marked missing. Something about oceanography, I think.”

“Pretending to do homework?”

“That's what it looked like to me. Always the same few pages of math problems- he always did math. Algebra. So maybe he's older. Or just gifted- from the things he read, I'll bet he was gifted.” Solis shook her head. “He'd do a little math and then head back to the stacks, find something, read for a couple of hours. It was obvious he just loved to read, and that's so rare- we're always trying to attract kids, and it's a struggle. Even when they do come in, they goof around and make noise. He wasn't like that. So well behaved, a little gentleman.”

“Except for stealing books.”

Solis worried her lip again. “Yes. Well, I know I should have said something, but he returned them, no harm done.”

“Why didn't you suggest he get a library card?”

“For that he'd need ID and an adult's signature, and he was obviously a street kid. I could tell from his clothes- he tried to look nice, damped down his hair and combed it, but his clothes were old and wrinkled, had holes in them; so did his shoes. And he wore the same couple of things over and over again. His hair was long, hanging over his forehead; looked like it hadn't been cut in a long time.” Reaching back, she touched her own locks and smiled. “I guess we were kindred spirits- please tell me, Detective, has something happened to him?”

“He may have been a witness to something. What else can you tell me about him?”

“Small, skinny, Anglo, kind of a pointy chin. Pale complexion, like he's anemic or something. His hair is light brown. Straight. I'm not sure about his eyes- blue, I think. Sometimes he walks with good posture, but other times he hunches over. Like a little old man- he has an old look to him. I'm sure you've seen that on street kids.”

“Did you ever speak to him?”

“One time, in the beginning, I came over to him and asked if there was anything I could help him with. He shook his head and looked down at the table. Got a scared look in his eyes. I left him alone.”

“A street kid.”

“Last year in college I did some volunteer work at a shelter, and he reminded me of the kids I saw there- not that they were into books. The things he read! Biographies, natural history, government- the presidents, this one, was his favorite. I mean, here was a kid society had obviously failed and he still believed in the system. Don't you think that's remarkable? He must be gifted. I couldn't turn him in- does my supervisor need to know?”

Petra smiled and shook her head.

Magda Solis said, “I figured the best way I could help him was let him use the library the way he wanted. He returned everything. Except the presidents book- where did you find it?”

“Nearby,” said Petra, and Solis didn't press her.

“How long has he been coming to the library?”

“Two, three months.”

“Every week?”

“Two to three times a week. Always in the afternoon. He'd arrive around two P.M., stay till four or five. I wondered if he chose afternoons because most kids are off from school then and he'd be less conspicuous.”

“Good thinking,” said Petra.

The librarian blushed. “I could be all wrong about him. Maybe he's a rich kid from Los Feliz, just likes to act weird.”

“When's the last time you saw him, Ms. Solis?”

“Let's see… a few days ago- last week. Must have been last Friday. Yes, Friday. He read a big pile of National Geographics and Smithsonians- didn't take anything.”

Last weekday before Lisa's murder. He hadn't returned since.

A kid. Living in the park. Reading in the dark- how? By penlight? Part of a street kid's survival stash?

From the Griffith Park lot to the North Gardner burglary was a good four, five miles. Traveling west- why? This was a kid who'd settled down, set up a routine, not a wanderer.

Scared? Because he'd seen something?

“I don't want to put him in danger,” said the librarian.

“On the contrary, Ms. Solis. If I find him, I can make sure he's kept out of danger.” Solis nodded, wanting to believe. The woman had bruised eyes. Kindred spirit-had she meant something beyond untrimmed hair?

“Thanks for your help,” said Petra.

“You're sure he's not… hurt?”

He was okay last night. Breaking into a house and cutting pineapple. “He's fine, but I do need to locate him. Maybe you can help me with that.”

“I've told you everything I know.”

Petra took out her pad and a number 3 pencil. “I draw a little. Let's see if we can come up with something.”

32

“Rapist! Police!”

Why are they screaming that? I throw on my clothes. The screams get far away, I crack open the door, look out, see nothing, and run out the back.

It sounds like they're out in front, still screaming “Rapist!” which is crazy. I'd never rape anyone; I know what it feels like to be hunted.

I run behind the garage, climb over the wooden fence into the next yard. Lights on in that house- colors, a TV behind the curtains; I hear someone laughing.

I run through the yard to the next street, then back up to Hollywood Boulevard, where I turn down another street, then up again, moving back and forth so no one will see me, walking, not running, blend in, blend in… no sirens. The cops haven't come yet.

If those women keep lying about rape, they might send up helicopters with those big white beams. That could turn me into a bug on paper… then I realize they never saw me; why should anyone think I'm the one?

I slow down even more, pretend everything's great. I'm on another quiet street. People locked inside thinking they're safe.

Or maybe worried they're not.

I'll keep going west, away from the park and Hollywood. Stupid women with plants all over the place who leave food to rot.

The next busy street is Sunset. Weirdos, lots more kids than Hollywood, even more cars. Lots of restaurants, clubs. Across the street a place called Body Body Body! with a plastic sign of a naked lady. Then something called the Snake. Club with a big line out in front and two big fat guys not letting anyone in.

Is that guy in that red car looking at me weird?

I turn off to the next quiet street, back and forth again. Now my feet are hurting; I've been walking all day. West, maybe the beach. The beach is clean, isn't it?

I have no money. No way to protect myself.

Should have taken the pineapple knife.