Gumshoe Gorilla (31 page)

"The picture looks funny," he said.

"That's because in LA they let you bring in your head shot, if you don't like the picture the DMV took. But it's perfectly good."

Another flash went off. I risked a quick glance to the side and saw two reporters with microphones out, recording our conversation.

"Look," I said, pulling out my credit card. "I've got some other ID, if that's what's worrying you. I really am Virginia Rockland."

He took my master card, and checked the name and the picture on it. Finally, he handed it back to me.

"Look, Ms. Rockland, I'm sorry. But I'm not supposed to..."

"Oh come on," I said, feeling my face burn with embarrassment. "I just came to visit my boys. Surely you can call someone and get this all straightened out."

He was wavering. I gave him the pleading doe eyes, and that put him over the edge. He got out his phone.

"Yeah, hey Veronica. I've got a Virginia Rockland out here... Yeah, their mother... Sure... OK... Yeah... I understand."

He put the phone away.

"I'm real sorry ma'am, but they're on a tight shooting schedule today, and the director doesn't want any family on the set."

I could feel my face turning red. Another flash went off. Perfect. I couldn't very well walk away now.

"What nonsense," I said, smiling. "I've been on sets all my life, I know my way around. I'm certainly not going to be in the way."

"Lady, I'm sorry. But it's not my call."

"Well then let me talk to one of my boys. If you'll just call Bernard or Charles or Doug, I'm sure they can clear this up."

"Lady, I'm just security. Even if I wanted to call one of those guys, I don't have their numbers."

Another flash.

"No, but I'm sure someone up there does. So just get on the phone to the production manager or whoever and ask them to pass along a message to my sons that I'm down here waiting to be let in."

"Lady, I can't."

"Yes, you can. You are simply choosing not to."

Two more flashes went off. My face was burning and I knew what I must look like. I fought to keep my composure. If he would just let me in, this whole embarrassing scene would go away.

"Lady..."

"My name is Virginia Rockland. That is
Ms. Rockland
to you..."

"Look, Ms. Rockland..."

"... and you are being a coward. To think that you won't even pick up a phone to help a mother see her sons!"

"Lady, er, Ms..."

"How long do you think that you're gonna have this job once my sons find out that I was here and you wouldn't even let them know!"

"Believe me lady, they know. And the director doesn't want you up there getting them all upset when..."

"Getting them all upset! I'm their mother! I'm sure if I could just see them for a minute we could work this out. If you'll just let me..."

A barrage of flashes went off. In front of me, the guard was frowning. He wasn't going to let me in. I was standing here pleading, and he wasn't going to let me in. All around me, there were reporters with cameras and microphones out. I could imagine how the story would run. Pictures of me red-faced. Clips of me begging to see my own sons. I would look like an idiot for coming all this way, and the boys... the boys would look heartless. Mean. Cruel. It was the sort of story that could ruin the image that we've been building for them all these years, ruin their careers. I had to do something, anything, to distract the reporters, to change the subject of the story.

"... see my sons, I know we can... I.." I grabbed my chest. "I... I can't breathe!"

I fell forward. Luckily the guard was fast enough to catch me before I hit the ground. It had been a calculated risk. After all, he didn't look too quick on the uptake. But it was worth it.

He held me in his arms, lowering me to the ground, as a dozen flashes went off. I'm sure it made one hell of a shot.

The road was blocked by a locked gate. I stopped the car and got out to deal with it. Normally, a simple padlock wouldn't even slow me down, but this one hadn't been opened in a few years and the internal mechanism had rusted up. After my third try with the picks failed, I got the bolt cutters out of the trunk and went with a less subtle approach.

I got back in the car and continued on, gravel crunching beneath my tires, pine trees passing by in an endless series. Next to me, the kitten was asleep on the passenger seat. I'd stopped at the animal hospital before I left town to pick up some cat milk and have the vet take a look at the little guy. The doc warned me not to get too attached. Kittens separated from their mothers at this age usually don't survive, and this one looked like he'd had a rough short life. Still, he gave the runt a shot of antibiotics and wished me luck.

A couple miles later we reached the group home where Daniel had grown up. Or at least what was left of it. From the looks of the place, it had been an old summer camp that the government had bought and converted for year-round use. Cabins with an extra layer of insulation wrapped around them. A natural gas tank for heat and power. Some trailers that were probably used for school rooms. And three big cinder block buildings.

I got out of the car to take a look around. I wasn't sure what condition the place would be in. The camps had all been mothballed a long time ago. That big group of kids who hit the system after the blood test came out were all in their twenties by now. As for the next generation... well, prenatal testing and selective abortions had taken care of that pretty effectively. I was hoping that whoever decommissioned this place hadn't been too thorough. Sometimes the government forgets to assign any money for shutting a facility down, and stuff gets left lying around.

The cabins were all unlocked. Squirrels and raccoons had gotten into them and built nests in the rotting mattresses. Another was occupied by a highly territorial rattlesnake, which I gave a wide berth. Most of the cabins still bore some sign of their former occupants. There were faded posters up on the walls. Pictures of movies stars, ads for science fiction films. A couple of the cabins had posters of soccer players up in them, and I wondered if one of them had been Daniel's.

The first cinderblock building turned out to be a mess hall, with an eating area and a kitchen. The utensils were all gone, but the big stoves had been too heavy to move. The second building had showers, and a small gym with half a basketball court. The last was just a big empty room, with lots of electrical sockets. The disintegrating carpet had pictures of clowns and butterflies and rainbows in it.

The trailers were locked, but the mechanisms were a joke. Three of them still had desks in them. Blackboards. One had a big pull down map of the U.S. Another a globe. The bookcases were mostly empty, but a few texts were lying around.
Fahrenheit 451. Geometry. A History of the Americas.

In the fourth trailer I finally found what I was looking for: the manager's offices. The computers were all gone, but the furniture had been left behind. Too much trouble for anybody to lug it all the way back to civilization, I guess. I searched the place thoroughly, hoping that they might have left some hard copy records behind, but it was no good. I found a stack of history papers, page number six from a budget for the camp's kitchen, and the final grades for Ms. Houston's fifth grade English class. But nothing that would help me trace Daniel back to his past.

I went outside and wandered down to the lake. A couple of old fiberglass canoes, full of leaves, were beached next to a wooden dock. I sat on the shore and threw rocks into the water, watching the ripples fan out.

I'd always wondered what it was like for the kids who went to the camps. In some ways, it probably wasn't so bad. Growing up out here. Swimming in the lake. Playing tag in the woods. Almost idyllic. Heck, there were probably even ducks and deer around here to feed. And they got to grow up with others like them. I could almost envy them, because of that. They were the only gay kids in history to be raised in a place where they were the majority. They had never felt isolated or different. They'd had their first crushes, played spin the bottle, taken their sweethearts to the school dance-- all the things that straight kids take for granted.

And yet... they were isolated. Two hundred kids and ten counselors out in the middle of the woods, with no one else around for miles.

A wind came up, stirring the pine trees. I lay down on the bank and listened to them. I was sleepy, but every time I closed my eyes a picture of Daniel being cut with razor blades flashed into my mind. Apparently my subconscious was not going to let me get any sleep until I got to the bottom of this. So I just lay there with my eyes open and watched the clouds drift by. Some kind of big bird, a hawk or an eagle or something like that, was soaring on the breeze way up high.

After a couple of minutes, the wind died down, and I started to hear the echoes of the place. The children running around, laughing. Counselors yelling after them. A group of girls chanting "Red Rover, Red Rover". Someone splashing in the lake. A five year old screaming for the parents who'd sent him away.

A fish jumped in the lake, and I sat up with a start. The day was wearing on, and I was no closer to what I was looking for. I pulled out my palm top and went to work running down other leads.

A search of the local newsites for stories that mentioned the camp's name turned up about twenty hits over the years. A couple big stories when the camp first opened, and another when it closed. The rest of the hits were just references to people who worked in the camp: when they got married or died, or crossed paths with another news worthy event. I managed to put together a list of fifteen different people who'd worked at the camp at one time or another. I figured maybe one or two of them had stayed in the area after it closed.

The nearest town was about ten miles down the highway to the east. I had Sherwin pull the phone listings for it and run a cross-check against my list of camp employees. That turned up three possible matches. The first was a miss: I got Michael Jones on the phone easy enough, but he wasn't the Michael Jones who had been an administrator at the camp. The second, Laura Fuentes, wasn't answering her phone. I finally got lucky with the third one.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Sonya Price?"

"Speaking." "

Is this the Sonya Price who use to work at the Cedar Lake group home?"

"Uh... yes. May I ask what this is about?"

"Well I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but it's important. My name's Drew Parker. I'm a private detective working for someone who used to be a resident of the home. His name is Daniel Boone. I guess it would have been Daniel Lake, back when you knew him."

"I'm sorry. There were so many kids..."

"I have a current photo," I said, as I zapped her a copy. "If you could just take a look..."

"Oh yes, Daniel. I remember him now. Real outgoing boy. But what has he done to his hair?"

"Yes, well I was wondering if you..."

"Look, Mr. Parker, I know what you're after. And there's nothing I can do to help. I've had other kids track me down, trying to find their parents. But there's just no way..."