Pete Bishop said, 'It's gonna be a headliner. We'd better call the boss.'

Gibbs said, 'Use your cell phone. You put it on the radio, we'll have media all over us. Tommy, see if there's anything on the wire.'

Angela Rossi walked with Tomsic and Bishop back to their units. Fine soil and foxtails had worked down into her running shoes and between her toes, so she sat in the backseat of her radio car and cleaned her feet with a Handiwipe before changing back into her Max Avantes. While she sat in the car, Tomsic and Bishop stood apart from each other in the overlook's parking lot, each talking into their respective cell phones.

By the time Rossi finished cleaning her feet and had rejoined Gibbs at the top of the slope, both Tomsic and Bishop were off their phones. Tomsic said, 'Nothing on the board about a Susan Martin.'

Bishop said, 'I called the boss and notified the coroner. Criminalists are on the way, and the boss is coming out.'

The boss was the detective captain who oversaw the Westside detectives. When he reached the scene, everyone knew he'd decide whether Gibbs would keep the case or it would be reassigned to someone else. Gibbs knew that because of Mr Martin's stature, the case would almost certainly be assigned to one of the elite robbery-homicide units downtown. He had no problem with that. Gibbs said, 'Okay, we'd better notify Mr Martin and see what he says.' He looked at the Westec guy. 'You know where they live?'

'Sure. I'll take you over, you want.' Gibbs started for his car. 'Okay. Let's go.' Bishop was shaking his head. 'We'd better stick around for the boss, Linc.' Tomsic said, 'Angie and I'll go.'

Angela Rossi later said that if she'd known where it was going to lead, she would have shot Tomsic right there.

Dan Tomsic and Angela Rossi followed the Westec guy east along Mulholland to Benedict, then south down through the canyon into a lush winding world of million-dollar homes and Mercedes convertibles. Most of the homes were new and modern, but the Westec guy pulled off the road in front of a Mediterranean mansion that could have been a hundred years old. A big mortar wall with an ornate iron gate protected the mansion from the street, the wall laced by delicate ivy with tiny, blood-red leaves. The wall was cracked and crumbling beneath the ivy, but you could see the cracks only if you took your time and looked between the vines. A gate phone stood to the left of the drive so you could identify yourself before being buzzed in. Tomsic figured the grounds for four or five acres, and the house beyond for maybe twenty thousand square feet. Tomsic and his wife and four children were squeezed into a twenty-two-hundred-square-foot cracker box in Simi Valley, but those were the breaks. Anyone could be a cop, but it took real talent to serve bad food in an overpriced restaurant.

They were getting out of the car when Angie said, 'The gate's open.'

The big wrought-iron gate was open maybe nine or ten inches. You didn't live behind walls and gates and security cops, then leave the front gate open so that any stray goofball or passing psycho could come inside and make himself at home. Tomsic remembers that his first thought on seeing the open gate was that they would find a body inside.

They went to the gate and pressed the button on the call box twice, but they got no answers. Angie said, 'We don't need to wait for a warrant, do we?'

Tomsic said, 'Shit.' He pushed at the gate and went through.

The Westec guy said, 'We can't just walk in, can we?' He looked nervous. 'I'll call the office and they can ring the house.'

Tomsic ignored him, and Rossi followed Tomsic toward the house.

The drive was hand-laid Mexican pavers and had probably cost more than Tomsic's house, his two cars, and the quarter interest he owned in a Big Bear Lake cabin combined. The mansion itself was built of mortar and rough-hewn wooden beams and was finished with an ancient Spanish tile roof. A healthy growth of ivy covered the ground along the east side of the drive, nestling up to a couple of monstrous podocarpus trees before continuing around a four-car-garage. Each car had its own door, and the whole effect was more that of a stable than a garage. A large fountain sat just off the front entry, trickling water.

Tomsic thought that it looked like the kind of house that Errol Flynn might've owned. His wife would love the place, but Tomsic knew that most of the old stars, just like most of the new stars, were perverts and scumbags, and if you knew the things that went on in places like this you wouldn't be so thrilled with being here. Normal people didn't go into the movie business. Movie people were shitbirds with serious emotional problems who kept their secret lives hidden. Just like most lawyers and all politicians. Tomsic completely believed this, probably because everything he'd seen in almost thirty years on the job confirmed it. Of course, Tomsic had never in his thirty years shared what he knew with his wife because he didn't want to rain on her parade. It was easier to let her think he was a grump.

Nothing seemed amiss. No bodies were floating in the fountain and no cars were parked crazily on the front lawn. The massive front door was closed and appeared undamaged. A large ornate knocker hung in the center of the door, but there was also a bell. Tomsic pressed the button, then used the knocker. Loud. The Westec guy came running up behind them. 'Hey, take it easy. You're gonna break it.' His face was white.

Angie said, 'Stay back, okay? We don't know what we have here.'

Tomsic glanced at Angie and shook his head. Fuckin' Westec geek, worried about losin' the account. Angie rolled her eyes.

Tomsic slammed at the door two more times without getting an answer and was starting back to the car when the door opened and Theodore 'Teddy' Martin blinked out. Martin was a medium-sized man, a little shorter than average, with pale, delicate skin. He was unshaven and drawn with hollow, red-rimmed eyes. Tomsic says that he would've bet that the guy had spent most of the night blasted on coke or crystal meth. 'Mr Martin?'

Martin nodded, his head snapping up and down. He was wearing baggy gray sweatpants and no shirt. His torso was soft and undeveloped and covered with a thick growth of fine hair. He squinted against the bright morning sun. 'Yeah, sure. What do you want?'

Both Tomsic and Angela Rossi later testified that Tomsic badged him and identified himself as a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. Angela Rossi noted that Teddy Martin never looked at the badge. He kept his eyes on Tomsic and blinked harder as if something were in his eyes. Angela Rossi thought at the time that he might have allergies. Tomsic said, 'Mr Martin, does a woman named Susan Martin live here with you?'

When Tomsic asked the question, Angela Rossi says that Teddy Martin took a single sharp breath and said, 'Oh, my Christ, they killed her, didn't they?'

People say the damnedest things.

Tomsic took Rossi aside, gave her his cell phone, and told her to call Gibbs and tell him to get over here. Rossi walked out to the drive and made the call. When she returned to the house, Tomsic and Teddy Martin and the Westec geek were inside, Tomsic and Martin sitting on an antique bench in the entry. Teddy Martin was blubbering like a baby. 'I did everything they said. I did everything, and they said they'd let her go. Jesus Christ. Oh, Jesus, tell me this isn't happening.'

Tomsic was sitting very close to Martin and his voice was soft. He could make it soft whenever he wanted to calm people. 'You're saying she was kidnapped?'

Martin sucked great gulps of air as if he couldn't breathe. 'Christ, yes, of course she was kidnapped.' He put his face in his hands and wailed. 'I did everything they said. I gave them every nickel. They said they'd let her go.'