"Beats me. I assumed he was just too busy with his other cases."

"Maybe so," I said with a shrug. "Anyway, I'll call as soon as I know anything. I'm planning to pop by the office later with an update for the files."

"Good luck."

I scribbled a few hasty notes to myself after we hung up. I fished out another couple of dimes and tried Bibianna's work number, a dry cleaning establishment on Vaquero.

The man who answered the telephone was terse and impatient, probably his chronic state. The excess stomach acid was audible in his voice and I pictured him tossing Turns in his mouth like after-dinner mints. When I asked for Bibianna Diaz, he said she was out. Period.

When there was no other information forthcoming, I gave him a prompt. "Do you expect her back soon?"

"I don't expect nothin'," he shot back. "She said she'd be out all week. Back problems, she says. I'm not gonna argue anybody has a bad back. First thing you know I get slapped with a goddamn workmen's comp claim and I'm out big bucks. Nuts to that. Who's this?"

"This is her cousin, Ruth. I'm passing through town on my way to Los Angeles and I promised I'd stop and see her. Is there any way you could give me her home address? She gave it to me last week when we chatted on the phone, but I walked off without my address book so I don't have it with me."

"Nope. Sorry. No dice. And you wanna know why? Because I don't know you. You could be anyone. Nothing personal, but how do I know you don't go around slashin' young girls with a butcher knife? You see what I mean? I give out an employee's address and I'm liable for anything happens after that. Burglary, harassment, rape. Uhh-huh. No way. That's my policy." He sounded like he was in his sixties, a man besieged with lawsuits.

I started to say something else, but he plunked the phone down in my ear. I made a face at the receiver, a mature and effectual way of handling my irritation, I thought. I paid for the gasoline, got back in the VW, and drove over to the police station, where I paid eleven bucks for a copy of the accident report. The address listed was the same nonexistent street address I'd started with. The clerk working at the desk wasn't one I knew and I couldn't get her to run a check on Bibianna for me.