“Cameron must have had it mailed. Earl’s dead, Dustin. I saw his skull this afternoon, complete with the mid-line lower jaw fracture.”

“Dear God!” The man’s shoulders heaved with sobs. “He was all I had. I don’t believe you. I don’t believe any of this nightmare.”

“It’s all true. Cameron killed your brother for the same reason he killed the Countess. They were trying to extort more bread from him, and Cammy Boy couldn’t afford ’em any longer. So he whacked ’em. I’ve got the ledgers, Dustin. They’ll tell me the whole story.”

Dustin shook his head like a child denying a sinful thought.

“Help me find the bastard, Dustin. Tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know,” Pode said weakly. “I don’t know.”

“We all know that Cameron wasn’t just working with your father and brother. There had to be someone bigger. Who else was involved?”

“I don’t know anything. I tried to keep out of it.”

“Maybe for names, we could strike a deal with the district attorney.”

“I don’t know anything.” Pode’s body was shaking, jerking loosely as if he were having a seizure. “I swear it!”

“Did Cameron take off?” Decker asked.

Numbly, Pode nodded.

“When?”

“Few hours ago. One of his contacts…” Pode blew his nose and started crying again. “When can I see him?”

“Who?”

“My brother. When can I pick him up?”

“I’ll see to it that the body’s immediately released, but you’ve got to help me out, Dustin.”

Pode began to weep uncontrollably. Decker shook him.

“Help me, dammit. Help yourself, for God’s sake!” he yelled. “Where is Cameron?”

“I don’t know!” Dustin screamed back. “I swear it! A contact tipped him off over the phone that the cops were closing in. He didn’t even bother to pack. Just took off.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would his father know where he is?”

“I don’t know. Harry didn’t tell me if he did.”

If Smithson Senior knew anything, Marge would find out.

“Why didn’t Cameron take off as soon as the cops started to investigate?”

“He claims he had protection.”

Arlington!

“Was Harrison Smithson involved in the film business?” Decker asked.

“Not as far as I know. He knew something wasn’t right, but never asked questions. When Cameron told him to start packing, Harrison did as told. That was part of the problem. Harrison spoiled the kid rotten. His only child. Let the son of a bitch have everything he ever wanted.”

“Why didn’t you take off after Cameron called?” Decker asked.

“Someone had to clean house,” Pode said flatly.

“Do you know who the contact was?” Decker asked.

Pode shook his head.

“C’mon, Dustin! Save your ass and tell me a name!”

“I don’t know anything, Sergeant. I swear I don’t know!”

“I hope you know something for your own sake. Something you can bargain with. Tell me anything you know that might help your case, Dustin. These ledgers are full of incriminating evidence. You admitted knowing about the snuff films-”

“They told me they were staged!”

“But you knew about them.”

Pode said nothing.

“Dammit, Dustin. Who made the fucking call to Cameron?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who were his contacts?”

“I don’t know.”

“Big shots?” Decker asked.

“He claimed they were.” Pode looked at Decker and beseeched, “What do you want from me? I don’t know anything.”

Decker sighed. He’d have to get Arlington another way.

“All right. Let’s take it slow. What time did Cameron take off?”

“The call came at about ten tonight. He left right afterwards.”

After banking hours, Decker thought. If Cameron was going to hole up somewhere, he’d have to get hold of some money.

“Did Cameron have cash on hand?”

“You kidding? The son of a bitch was always in the hole.”

“Did he have any kind of nest egg?”

Dustin looked sick.

“We had a…”

“Slush fund?” Decker tried.

“More like an emergency fund. At the Security Pacific here in Century City.”

“How much is in there?”

“About twenty thousand.”

“Can he withdraw from it without your consent?”

“He needs all three signatures, and he can only withdraw the money at this branch.”

“How is Cameron at forging signatures?”

Pode’s face turned a bilious green.

“God!” He bowed his head in utter defeat. “I know what you’re thinking. That he’ll probably come by tomorrow morning and try to pick it up.” He buried his face in his hands and began to cry again. “Oh Jesus Christ, what happened to my life?”

It was close to five by the time Decker finished all the paperwork. His back and shoulders ached and his head was exploding. Popping a couple of aspirins in his mouth, he swallowed them dry, stretched, and walked over to the coffee urn. Some kind soul had had the decency to brew up a fresh batch.

He poured himself a cup of black coffee and went back to his desk, troubled. Dustin Pode had burned his house down because he hated his mother. But he didn’t harbor overt animosity toward his father. So why would he blow up Cecil’s studio? And why the sudden switch from arson to detonators? Dustin insisted he hadn’t done it. Maybe he was telling the truth.

He walked over to Marge. She was catnapping at her desk and he shook her shoulders gently. She awoke abruptly and confused.

“What time is it?” She bolted upward.

“About five.”

“Why the hell did you wake me up?” she asked, irritatedly. “We’ve still got three hours before we have to be at the bank.”

“Take a ride with me,” Decker said.

“Where?”

“To the beach.”

“What?” she said, laughing. But she was already reaching for her coat.

“Let’s go visit another angry young man,” he said. “I’ll explain on the way over.”

Truscott opened the door, rubbed his eyes, and broke into a vacant grin.

“I was expecting you,” he giggled. “I was. I was. I was.”

The kid had changed, The depression was gone. He was dancing around in a tiny circle, clapping his hands and stomping his feet as if doing a hora.

Decker looked around. The place had changed, too. The black sheets had ben removed, and in their place were photos of Lindsey, hundreds of them, papering the walls. The floor was a garbage dump-heaps of empty styrofoam hamburger containers, empty Coke cups, cigarette butts, half-eaten doughnuts and cookies, quart containers with melted ice cream oozing out, cupcake wrappers.

Twinkie defense, thought Decker.

“You shouldn’t have blown up the studio,” Decker said gently.

“We had to,” Chris said, looking at the walls. “Didn’t we, Lindsey? I told you we’d get the sucker, and we did, Babydoll.” He burst into applause and shouted. “Yea!”

“Chris, someone could have gotten hurt,” Marge said.

“Uh uh, no way. No way, José!” Truscott shook his head vehemently. “I made sure. I saw you guys go in, I waited for you guys to go out. I waited till everyone was far away. I made sure. I don’t want to hurt anybody except the fucker who hurt us. Right, Babydoll?”

He was talking to the wall again.

Marge looked at Decker. He shrugged.

“We’re going to call Santa Monica police now, Chris,” Decker said. “You’re going to be arrested. Do you have a lawyer?”

“Nope.”

“They’ll give you one,” Decker said. “Don’t say anymore until you’ve talked with your lawyer. All right?”

Truscott smiled angelically. “May I use the bathroom?” he asked politely. “I’d like to wash up before I go.”

“No,” Marge said. “Stay right here.”

“I have to make pee-pee,” Truscott babbled out.

“Make in your pants,” she said softly.

He did and smiled as his pants leg became saturated with urine.

“Suicidal,” Marge whispered to Decker. “I don’t want him alone in there.”

They waited in silence until the police arrived. The detectives gave their statements as Chris was led out whistling “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Decker watched as they stuffed him in a blue and white cruiser. Involuntarily, he found himself planning the kid’s defense. A psych. eval.; the kid was obviously distressed-no, distraught. Much better word. Bring in a few of Lindsey’s friends as character witnesses. Mention that Lindsey’s father had been feeding Chris’s bottomless pit of guilt. The kid had no priors-Decker had checked that out when he’d suspected him in Lindsey’s death. No one had been injured in the blast. Even with a mediocre lawyer, Chris should get off with probation.