Carol Hillegas said, "How are you going to convince them?"

I ignored her. "Can you do that, Jillian?"

"Yes."

"Will you?"

"Yes."

I stood up. "Then let's do it."

Chapter 28

I went to my office and Jillian went to hers, and fifty minutes later she called and told me to be at the Warrens' home at three that afternoon.

When I got there, Jillian's white BMW was parked behind Bradley's chocolate-brown Rolls convertible. The Rolls's top was down and it looked very sporty. Sort of like a tank with the turret blown off. A sky-blue Mercedes 560SL was parked in one of the garages just past the motor court. That would be Sheila.

At three in the afternoon, it was clear and bright and warm in Holmby Hills. Quiet. Mockingbirds chirped and bees floated around the snapdragons and poppies that lined the drive, and high overhead a single light plane buzzed east. Out on the street, somebody's Salvadoran housekeeper walked toward Sunset Boulevard and her bus stop. She didn't look at me and she didn't look up at the plane.

I went to the front door, knocked, and Sheila Warren let me in. She was wearing a white and pink Love tennis outfit and had a short glass containing ice and a dark liquid in her hand. Always after five somewhere in the world. She looked defiant and sullen, a woman who'd had to make too many sacrifices to get where she was. "I certainly hope I was called off the court for a good reason."

Sacrifices.

She closed the door and we went into the den. Bradley Warren was half sitting on one of the bar stools, thumbs hooked in his vest's watch pockets, looking sour. The stern affluent businessman as pictured by GQ. Jillian Becker was standing by the other end of the bar, not looking at him and not looking at Sheila. Bradley said, "Let's get something straight, Cole, and get it straight now. You are not in my employ, nor have you been since you were terminated, so I don't intend to pay you a dime. If this is just a ploy to maneuver yourself back onto my payroll, you can forget it."

Sheila said, "I didn't leave the court to listen to you. If he knows something about Mimi, for God's sake, let's hear him."

Jillian said, "I'll wait outside."

Bradley said, "You stay here. I want a witness in case this fraud claims I agreed to pay him for additional services."

Jillian's face was pale. She looked like she had been hoping no one would notice her. "I can't do that, Bradley." She started for the door.

Bradley said, "What do you mean, you can't do that? I want you to stay."

She kept going. "Not this time."

Bradley said, "What do you mean, not this time?

You made me come here. You'd better remember who you work for."

Jillian stopped at the door. She looked at me, then Bradley. She looked at him for a very long time. "Bradley," she said. "Go fuck yourself." Then she left.

Sheila Warren laughed. Bradley said, "Jillian," but he said it to a closed door. He looked back at me. "Jesus Christ. I don't have time for this. Tell me about Mimi. Is Mimi all right?"

"No," I said. "Mimi is not all right."

Sheila stopped smiling and put her drink on the bar.

"Mimi has not been in an accident and has not suffered a physical injury and isn't in a hospital somewhere, but she is not all right."

Bradley said, "What the hell does that mean?"

Looking at them, I could feel the muscles in my neck and shoulders tighten the way they had tightened when I was with Mimi. I said, "Mimi wasn't kidnapped. She ran away. I found her and talked with her."

Sheila said, "Good Lord, why didn't you bring her home?"

"She didn't want to come home."

Sheila opened her mouth, then closed it. "Well, what kind of answer is that? Where is she?"

"I won't tell you that."

The famous Bradley Warren frown. "What do you mean? You have to."

"No. I don't."

Bradley looked at me the way you look at someone when you're thinking maybe they're up to something. Then he started around the bar for the phone. "I'm going to call the police."

I said, "We're going to talk about some very personal things now. You're not going to want the cops here."

Bradley stopped, his hand on the phone. Sheila's eyes wobbled from me to Bradley and back to me. She said, "What's going on here? What's this about?"

I was looking at Bradley. "Mimi has the Hagakure, Bradley. She stole it to hurt you and she pretended to be kidnapped for the same reason."

Bradley moved slightly as if a strong wind had pushed him. "Mimi has the Hagakure."

"Yes."

"And you didn't bring it back."

"No."

"She stole it to hurt me, and now she is pretending to be kidnapped."

Sheila said, "That's silly." She made a little gesture of dismissal with her left hand, picked up the drink with her right, and had some.

"Your daughter is in trouble. She's got serious problems and she's had them for years and she will probably need professional help for a long time if she's ever going to have a chance to be right. You're going to have to be a part of that."

Sheila said, "I don't know what all this is about. Teenage girls get confused. It's hormonal."

"It has to start now, Bradley. The problems have to come out in the open now and the healing process has to begin." It was just me and Bradley. Sheila might just as well have been on Mars. "Mimi will have to go into a halfway house for a while or you will have to leave home."

Bradley's left eye started to spasm and veins bulged in his forehead and on the sides of his neck. He said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Tell Sheila, Bradley."

The spasm got worse. He shook his finger at me. Angry. "You'd better tell me where the Hagakure is, goddamnit. That book is priceless. It's irreplaceable."

"Tell Sheila about Mimi."

Sheila put the glass down again. The defiance and the sullenness were gone. Bad dreams coming true. "Tell me what?"

"I don't know what he's talking about. What did Mimi say? What's this all about?" You could see his hands tremble.

I said, "Bradley, your daughter is never going to have a chance to heal until you admit that you've been molesting her."

Sheila's face faded and went pale and became something ghostlike. She didn't move and Bradley didn't move and then Bradley shook his head and smiled. It was the sort of smile you give to someone you don't know well when you're correcting them. He said, "That's not true."

Sheila made a small sound, very much like her daughter's giggle.

Bradley said, "Mimi made it up. You said she wanted to hurt me."

Sheila threw what was left of her drink in his face. Her eyes filled and her nose grew red and she said, "You bastard. You no good shit bastard." She hit him. She flailed wildly, slapping and punching and calling him a bastard, her face blotchy, spit flying. He didn't move.

The hitting went on until I went over and caught her wrists and pulled her in close to my chest. She said, "You bastard," over and over.

Bradley spread his hands the way they do in a comic strip. His you-must-be-mistaken smile didn't waver. "Why would Mimi say such a thing? It's not true. It's outrageous." The eye fluttered madly.

I brought Sheila over to one of the couches and sat her down. "Sheila. There's a woman named Carol Hillegas who is a counselor who's worked with people who've had to go through this. You can talk to Carol, and she will talk to Mimi, and then she will talk to all of you together. Will you do that? Will you talk to Carol?"

Sheila held herself as if there were something hard and painful in her chest. She nodded.

Bradley said, "I'm going to sue you if you spread rumors about this. There's no proof."

I left Sheila and went around behind the bar to where Bradley was standing and took out the Dan Wesson.