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the country. He was born in 1923, and has been married to the same woman since 1944. Russell was born in 1945. Attended Berkeley but didn’t graduate. During the Vietnam war he was a naval air cadet but washed out of the training and was discharged for a health disorder which none of my sources were able to specify. Most of this is old newspaper clippings and. Who’s Who-type entries. The discharge was honorable. In 1970 he married a woman named Tyler Smithson. There were two children, Heather, born 1971, and Jason, born 1972. I have no address. There is no record of a divorce. Russell often represents his father in public. Transpan maintains an office in Washington, D.C., and Russell spends a fair amount of time there. He’s not registered as a lobbyist, but one of his principal duties for some years was to influence government action on behalf of the family business. Now that he is executive vice-president-it’s a new post, by the way, no one seems to have filled it before him-he is less often in Washington. But he still gets there regularly. The business keeps a suite at the L’Enfant Plaza. Russell has been arrested several times for minor things. Public drunkenness. Driving while impaired. Possession of a Class D substance. He’s been party to several altercations arising, apparently, out of disputes in public places where liquor is served. None of these arrests resulted in anything but a quick trip downtown by one of the company lawyers, and they didn’t get much press coverage. Only an unusually gifted researcher would have even found mention of these things.”
    “But self-effacing,” I said.
    “Yes. That is about all I have. The only other thing is that neither father nor son seems to have taken a vigorous public position on women’s issues.”
    “Amazing,” I said. “They sure seem like they’d be feminists.”
    “I can continue, in fact I will continue to dig into this. I’m a wonderful researcher. I’ll get more. But more will take time. Is there anything specific you want me to look for?”
    I said, “I also need the names and addresses of everyone connected with Costigan, Costigan Junior, and Transpan.”
    “Everyone is quite a large number,” Rachel Wallace said.
    “I’m looking for Susan,” I said.
    “Yes,” Rachel Wallace said. “I’ll be as complete as possible. There will be decisions necessary as to whom I research first and whom I put off. If I can’t reach you I will have to make those decisions.”
    “You know what I’m after,” I said. “Do what you think is best.”
    “And when you get what you’re after,” Rachel Wallace said, “when you find her. Then what?”
    “We’ll worry about that when I’ve found her. Right now finding her is all.”
    “That’s how you’re dealing with it,” Rachel Wallace said. “It’s a thing to be done. A task to be accomplished.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you won’t think about anything but how to do it best.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you will try very hard not to feel anything at all.”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re bound to feel things,” Rachel Wallace said.
    “Nobody’s perfect,” I said.
    “Hold that thought,” she said. “Call me when you can.”

CHAPTER 9

    FRIDAY THERE WAS NOTHING TO EAT. WE DRANK instant coffee and moved around each other in the apartment and stared out the window.
    “It’s not right,” Meg said. “You can’t starve us.”
    “You’ll eat tonight,” I said. “Seven more hours.”
    “I’m hungry,” Meg said. “Let me go out and get something. I won’t tell. I could go get us some sandwiches and stuff.”
    “No,” I said. “Wait until tonight.”
    “Been a long time,” Hawk said, “since I ate good.”
    “Me too,” I said. “But I’ve been sleeping badly.” We stood at the window looking down on Mission Street. I watched the women. Not so chic down here. Overweight more often. Stretch pants that fit too tight. More of them carrying groceries and almost nobody with a shopping bag