The Red 65. Grant Peake

real, fake or uplifted! Miguel and Gloria enjoyed the company of Marty Hislop and sensed his loneliness and need for an adopted family. They were happy to provide this.

      Marty had taken Miguel and the 14 year old Jonas, on a fishing trip last autumn, up to a favourite fishing haunt of Hislop’s in Washington State. They had stayed in a log cabin overlooking a crystal clear lake, with a roaring log fire. The lake had been a good source of excellent fishing and much fun and laughter amongst the three men. The bond between Marty Hislop and Miguel La Paz had grown deeper and Jonas thought that his “Uncle Marty” was the best yet at fly fishing! The trio had come home with a large esky full of fish and tales to tell the waiting Gloria and the girls.

      La Paz began to read the scant case notes and Hislop stressed the need for complete secrecy, while they were tackling this case. La Paz nodded in comprehension and made some notes himself in his notepad.

      “Boss”, said La Paz with a question mark in his deep voice, “Why was the boy walking alone to the drug store and not with an adult? I know it was 1965, but even then kidnapping was prevalent. You would have thought that someone would have driven Billy to the store. It seemed a bit risky for a young kid, 7 years old, to be out alone.”

      “Yeah, I know”, Marty was looking out the window again and turned around to face La Paz. The expression in Marty’s face had altered to one of concern. He said in a lowered voice, “Would you allow your youngest, Maria, aged 7, to walk alone to the drug store to buy a cool pop La Paz? I think not!”

      Marty’s voice was raised now, “Yes, regardless of the difference in crime rates then to now, it does appear to be bloody thoughtless and irresponsible. See there in the notes that it wasn’t the first time that the kid had walked alone to the drug store. Whoever was looking after the poor little guy needed their head knocked against a brick wall, common sense didn’t exist! I think it’s stated in the notes, the names of the couple who were looking after him; if you can call it that! Come on, let’s get together now, band together and decide our course of action.” Marty Hislop’s reaction to this case that had been conveniently forgotten.

      Yes, he pondered, that was it. The case that was a bit too hard, so they shoved it under the carpet!. A kid from another country – not important enough. Well not to Marty Hislop, no way. He was going to solve this one, for sure.

      The pair sat for some time and decided who was going to research the file, that would be La Paz. A super sleuth on background information, he could filter facts from fiction and had some good contacts to boot. An expert with the computer, not one of Marty’s strong points..

      Marty’s claim to success was in questioning people, asking the right questions and grasping a lead with a vice like grip. He followed up any clue and covered every angle. He did not give up without a fight.

      The two men fell silent as they perused the notes, one sheet each at a time. La Paz was constantly making notes with his large handwriting. Hislop kept looking at the child’s photo and wondered who had written the words on the reverse of the publicity shot.

      Finally, after some time La Paz said he would check on the internet for any information that may exist on Billy’s walk to nowhere. People put anything on the Internet these days. He wanted to also check background details on the witnesses, see if any were still alive and contact Universal Studios to arrange a meeting with their Media people and ask about Billy’s contract. Someone from the period may still work there and remember the poor little kid.

      La Paz shook his head, and looking over to Marty, said, “Gee Boss, hardly any witness statements, and what there is, gives us little to go on.”

      Marty agreed and replied, “Yeah, I know. See what you can do. We may be able to speak to at least one of these people.”

      Hislop was keen to interview the main witness, Mrs Marjorie Femmer. She was the one who had seen Billy walking along North Beaumont on that fateful day. However, he knew they would need to check if Mrs Femmer was still alive and kicking, and where did she live now?

      After a little assistance from faithful La Paz, they found out that she still resided at the same address in the Hollywood Hills. Hislop was out of the office before La Paz could turn his head to see his boss leave.

      CHAPTER two

      It was a cooler day as Hislop drove along the winding road leading up to the spacious, palatial mansions in the Hollywood Hills. He thought again of Billy Parsons. According to the case notes, there was nothing there to tell Hislop if Billy was unhappy or was he really enjoying himself, all that way from his family.

      Eventually Marty located the home of Mrs Marjorie Femmer. Number 1768 North Beaumont was located in an older, yet quieter part of the district. Hislop had to slow down as the driveway sloped down from the main road. Hislop was hoping that she would be home. He had not phoned to warn Mrs Femmer of his visit. Hislop liked to catch people unawares, they often slipped up and gave themselves away. Spontaneity was Hislop’s tool to break open hidden knowledge that otherwise lay nestled away with care or just completely dormant.

      So, let’s see what this dame has to say after all this time, thought Hislop, as he parked the unmarked car in the wide semi circular driveway.

      The house was from the ’50s, definitely. Stone feature front porch, fashionable from that era. The cement between the stones was crumbling in places. Wide windows, however the wooden frames were in need of a paint job to freshen the place up. The roof tiles looked tired, but for its age, the house was in average condition, on the outside anyway.

      Someone is tending to the house, long time to be still living at the same address. This Mrs Femmer is probably getting on in years now. I wonder if there is a Mr Femmer? Marty thought.

      The bungalow spread across the wide block and he noticed a below ground garage, probably under the lounge room, Marty assumed. That was typical for these homes too. The garden was mostly cacti, planted amongst small stone pebbles – another characteristic of homes from that period. Some of the cacti plants had seen better days. Would be better if they were dug out, thought Marty. There were light coloured pavers surrounding the cacti beds. Some of the cacti were in flower and had attracted the bees; who were busy humming away and collecting nectar.

      Marty skipped up the two stairs on to the porch and pressed the doorbell. He was quite agile for his age, hair thinning a bit and going grey at the temples, but to look at, he was still a pleasant looking chap. Straightening his tie and wiping his shoes on each trouser leg, he waited for a response to the bell.

      Shortly, the door was carefully opened by an elderly woman with dyed brunette hair. There was a tortoise shell hair comb pushing the hair up in the centre, something reminiscent of the ’60s period. She wasn’t young, could be late seventies or eighties even. Hard to tell with all this makeup they wear these days, Hislop thought. This woman’s makeup was quite thick. She must scrape it off with a knife, it was certainly well applied. She was dressed in a brown slack suit that was well worn and definitely not from the chic boutiques of today’s fashion houses. From the ’70s, Marty reckoned. An orange and white scarf adorned her neck. The woman’s lips were painted a vivid red and she wore gold bangles on her thin left arm. The face was pale, but the skin had been tended to. Not unattractive, even for advanced years, Marty mused. Her eyes were sunken and puffy bags were thinly disguised by makeup. The hands were shaking a little, Marty observed. An odour of perfume lingered about her, along with the smell of liquor.

      Before the woman could speak, Marty got in first and introduced himself and asked if she was Mrs Marjorie Femmer.

      “Yes, I am Mrs Marjorie Femmer.” came the croaky and suspicious reply. The voice was quivering a little and she seemed on edge, almost frightened.

      Strange, thought Marty. Perhaps she did live on her own.

      Showing no sign of observing anything amiss, Marty explained the reason for his visit and requested if he might come in to go over the events of that day she saw Billy Parsons.

      Mrs Femmer was now unwilling to open the door, and with almost hysteria in her voice