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“Tell me about Valerie.”
    I got her full name and address. Her phone, but Jerry didn’t know if the rest of the family shared it. Her mother’s name was Mathilde. Jerry thought it was spelled with an “e” on the end, not an “a.” Her father was Preston W., and he was a banker, or maybe an investment counselor. Probably had to become a banker with that name. “Preston W. Haslam” had the ring of old money and I thought I might have heard it around. On the other hand, it may just have had that generic banker chime. Valerie had a little sister, maybe five or six, and Jerry wasn’t sure of her name, possibly Sherri. Something cute, with an “i” on the end.
    â€œWhen did Valerie run away?” I asked.
    â€œShe didn’t. She’s not the type—”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “When did she disappear?”
    â€œI saw her, uh, Monday, the fourth. I don’t think anybody’s seen her since then. That’s not right. I mean, it’s not right, is it?”
    â€œIt seems odd,” I said.
    â€œValerie’s a great kid, really,” Jerry said, as if I’d been about to cast aspersions her way. “I mean she hasn’t been doing so hot at school lately, but she wouldn’t run away because she flunked some stupid class.”
    â€œWhat school?” I asked.
    â€œOh,” he said. “The Emerson.”
    If rumor was true, the boy could afford my rates. The Emerson School was supposedly the ritziest private academy in Massachusetts, a state that’s no slouch in snob schools.
    â€œWhat did she flunk?” I asked.
    â€œBiology. And she was going to flunk drama, which is totally hard to do, but then I guess she turned in her stuff, so she was only really in trouble in biology. She could have gotten a tutor, or taken an incomplete.”
    â€œWere you looking for her tonight? In the Zone?”
    He stared down at the rug, lifted the ice pack to his lip.
    â€œWhy did you think she’d run there?” I tried again.
    â€œI said I didn’t think she’d run away.”
    â€œWhy were you looking for her there?”
    â€œI had some other business. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m really tired.” He was going to add that his mouth hurt, but I guess I wasn’t old enough to rate the confidence. From the way he looked at me, I had the uneasy feeling that he still classed me as a girl he wanted to impress.
    â€œWant to tell me what happened to your mouth?”
    â€œI walked into a wall.”
    â€œBefore or after you talked to the police?”
    â€œJesus,” he said, “they’re not gonna find Valerie. You know how many missing kids there are in Boston? A thousand. A thousand missing kids. And then this guy said I should talk to this Youth Assistance Unit. That sounded great, you know, until I figured out it’s two cops. Two cops looking for a thousand kids. Shit. It’s unbelievable. Totally.”
    â€œThey get busy,” I said.
    â€œI asked about you. They said you used to be a cop.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhy’d you quit?”
    â€œWhy don’t you tell me more about Valerie?” I said. “Her friends. Her habits.”
    â€œGeez,” he said. “Really, I don’t know where to start. There’s so much shit that’s not important to anybody. And I don’t know where she’s gone.”
    â€œLet me decide what’s important, okay?”
    Valerie was fourteen, almost fifteen, by Jerry’s way of counting. She was left-handed. She had one really close girlfriend, Elsie McLintock. She’d lived in the same house all her life. She broke her left arm when she was twelve, while ice-skating. She liked to wear knitted wool hats in the winter. Her favorite color was pink. She knitted Jerry a sweater once. She liked to knit and she liked to skate. She was a pretty decent skater.
    I like ice-skating.