The next afternoon the traffic was light moving out of Mission Beach and back over toward USD. I needed to talk with Professor Famazio again before I made my next move, and I didn’t want to do it over the phone. I’d called his office several times in the morning but kept getting his voice mail. I got tired of the phone calls and walked into his office as he was packing up his briefcase.
“Mr. Braddock,” he said. “You’re still alive.”
“Dumb luck.”
“The dumb part I believe.”
“Do you have a minute?” I asked. “Was hoping you could help me with something.”
He looked at his watch. “I’ve got about ten minutes before our department meeting.” He gestured at the chair across the desk. “Sit.”
I slid into the chair. “I’ll be quick. You mentioned before that you had a database of information. Names, addresses, records. I was wondering if you might be able to check for a name and address in it.”
He was leafing through a stack of papers on the desk. “I suppose. Can I ask why?”
“Part of the investigation,” I said. “I got a name and I’m trying to track him down.”
He looked at me. “Tell me first about the campground. Did you go?”
I told him what had happened. He had, after all, tipped me to the location and what was going on.
“You knew the girl?” he asked.
“Very briefly. I met her while looking for the kid.”
He shook his head. “Animals.”
“Yeah. Everything you’ve told me has been dead-on.”
“One of the few things I’d rather not be right about.” He swiveled in the chair toward a laptop on a small desk to his left. “You have a name?”
“Lonnie.”
“Last name?”
“Don’t know.”
He tapped the keys. “Any distinct body art?”
“Swastika above his eyebrow. His partner had WHITE IS RIGHT tattooed on his forehead.”
Famazio chuckled softly. “Superb.”
“His name was Mo. No last name on him, either.”
He tapped the keys a few more times, staring intently at the screen. He leaned back in the chair. “Lonnie Kerrigan. Several assault convictions. Twenty-six years old with a swastika on his head. Sound like him?”
My heart pounded a little faster. “Yeah.”
“It’s a Santee address.” He scribbled it on a piece of paper. “Other guy’s name was Mo?”
“Yes.”
Famazio looked back at the screen. “He’s also in here. Last name Barnes. Done jail time, too. Same address.”
“Not surprised. They seem tight.”
He slid the paper across the desk to me. “Should I even bother warning you about these two? What I’ve got on them indicates that they are two particularly hateful individuals.”
“I’m aware of what they are,” I said, my voice carrying more edge than I had intended.
Famazio stared at me for a moment. “Yes, I guess you are. No warning, then.”
I stood. “Thank you for your help. Again.”
His eyes were probing me, searching. Finally, he got up from behind his desk.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “And I hope it goes well for you.”
“It?” I asked, shoving the piece of paper in my pocket.
“Whatever you are planning for these folks,” Professor Gerald Famazio said. “I hope it goes well for you.”