The journalist in the Dockers and pink shirt?

That was me.

I saw an opening as Levon and Barbara McDaniels stepped away from the lectern, the crowd closing in, circling them like a twister.

I lunged forward, touched Barbara McDaniels's arm, catching her attention before she disappeared into the lobby.

I wanted the interview, but no matter how many times you see parents of lost or abducted children begging for their son or daughter's safe return, you cannot fail to be moved.

Barbara and Levon McDaniels had gotten to me as soon as I saw their faces. It killed me to see them in such pain.

Now I had my hand gently on Barbara McDaniels's arm. She turned, and I introduced myself, handed her my card, and lucky for me, she knew my name. “Are you the Ben Hawkins who wrote Red?

“Put It All on Red, yes, that's mine.”

She said she liked the book, her mouth smiling, although her face was rigid with anguish. Right then, hotel security made a cordon with their arms, a path through the crowd, and I walked into the lobby with Barbara, who introduced me to Levon.

“Ben's a best-selling author, Levon. You remember, we read him for our book club last fall.”

“I'm covering Kim's story for the L.A. Times,” I told Mr. McDaniels.

Levon said, “If you want an interview, I'm sorry. We're out of steam, and it's probably best that we don't talk further until we meet with the police.”

“You haven't spoken with them yet?”

Levon sighed, shook his head. “Ever talk to an answering machine?”

“I might be able to help,” I said. “The L.A. Times has clout, even here. And I used to be a cop.”