He slid the two yearbooks across the desk to her. They were both open on the double page spreads of the relevant class photographs, one Dorothy’s junior year, the other her senior.
‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
‘First, take a look at the junior year in the 1997 yearbook.’
‘Okay.’
‘Right, now what do you see?’
‘A bunch of teenagers looking pleased with themselves.’
‘Do you see Dorothy Olsen?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Clayton Burrow?’
‘Sure.’
‘Okay, now look at the senior year pictures in the 1998 yearbook.’
‘Okay,’ she said, by now sounding really bored.
‘Do you see Dorothy?’
‘And Toto,’ she said, snorting through her nose.
Alex ignored her.
‘Do you see Clayton Burrow?’
‘Ye—’ She broke off and surveyed the spread of pictures more carefully. ‘Er, no, actually I don’t. Unless he had a temporary face transplant.’
‘So what does that tell you?’
‘That he was away on yearbook day?’
‘He’d’ve had a second chance on “make-up” day.’
‘Maybe he was away then too.’
‘Then they’d’ve listed him and put “No photo available,” wouldn’t they?’
‘I guess.’
‘So what does that tell us?’
She looked at him puzzled.
‘I don’t know.’
‘It tells us that he wasn’t there.’
‘But like you said, they would have listed him and put “no photo av—”’
‘Wasn’t there at the school!’
‘But you just said—’
‘Wasn’t there at all. Not just on those days.’
Juanita turned to face Alex, as the mist began to clear.
‘You mean like…he dropped out of school before that?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
She was still trying to take it in.
‘And what does that mean?’
‘It means…did he fall…or was he pushed?’
Before Juanita could reply, or even think of anything suitably smart to say, the phone rang. She reached for the receiver. But Alex was so keyed up, his hand got there first.
‘Alex Sedaka.’
‘Hi Mr Sedaka?’ said an unfamiliar male voice.
‘Yes.’
‘I’d like to talk to you about the Dorothy Olsen case.’
‘Okay.’ Alex was disappointed. He had been hoping that it was the prison calling to tell him that Burrow had changed his mind.
‘I mean, I need to see you.’
A second phone line rang. Juanita went to another room to get it.
‘Can you tell me what this is about?’ asked Alex.
‘I’d prefer to tell you in person.’
Alex was wary of such offers. Ordinarily he would be inclined to play ball, if only out of curiosity. But right now his time was at a premium.
‘Can you at least tell me who this is?’
Ten miles away, in Daly City, the young man on the other end of the line was looking at a photograph on a mantelpiece.