“I will,” said Petra. “So Lisa called you to get together.”

“She said she was lonely, down, had been sleeping all day, took some coke, now she was wired, couldn't sit still, how about a cruise.”

The car; always in the car.

“A cruise,” said Petra.

“She wanted to get together at nine, but I told her I'd be working till then, had a date at Kelly's place right afterward, but I'd see if I could slip out around ten-thirty, meet her behind the bus yard.”

“Why there?”

“We'd met there before. It's…”

“Clandestine?”

“I didn't like it, too much crime around there, but Lisa did. The risk turned her on.” He shrugged.

Petra said, “Go on.”

“I had trouble getting out. Kelly… kept me busy till after eleven. Finally, I told her I needed to get some air, was going to take a little drive. I made it by eleven-ten or so and Lisa's car was there but she wasn't. I waited around till eleven-twenty, figured she'd showed up and left.”

“The car was there, but she wasn't,” said Petra. “That didn't worry you?”

“Like I said, Lisa liked to take risks. Doing it at traffic lights, a cop car right next to us. Coldwater Canyon, that kind of thing. I figured maybe she'd met up with someone else, was having a good time. Which was okay with me. I really didn't want to see her that night. Didn't want to see her at all, but…”

“But what?”

“You know how it is. I have trouble telling women no.”

“When did you get back to Kelly's?”

“Had to be eleven twenty-five, eleven-thirty.”

“And you spent the night there.”

“That's the absolute truth.”

“The perfect alibi Kelly gave you wasn't.”

“Come on,” he said. “I was only out for half an hour max. No way could I have made it to Griffith-”

“You and Kelly are both liable for perjury and obstruction,” said Petra.

“Come on. Please! You're making a big deal out of nothing!”

Petra walked up close to him, pointed at his chest, but didn't touch it. “At the very least, you cost me a lot of hours, Mr. Breshear. If there's anything else you know, spill it now.”

“I don't, that's it.”

She stared him down.

He repeated, “I don't.”

“Listen to me,” she said, pointing again. “I'm not arresting you. Yet. But don't even come close to thinking about going anywhere. There'll be police officers watching your house and the studio. Surveillance on Kelly, too. You guys make the wrong move, it all hits the fan. Including a nice long chat with Marcia.”

Breshear blinked convulsively.

This feels good, Petra admitted to herself. Finally, someone she could intimidate on this damn case.

As she walked away, the front door opened and a woman's voice said, “Darrell honey? Who was that?”

She drove back to her apartment, head suddenly clear, the basic structure of Lisa's last night alive taking form- if Breshear was finally being straight.

A meet at 10:30, abducted between then and 11:20, taken to Griffith Park, at least a half-hour ride, probably longer. Murdered between midnight and 4.

The car. Which one? PLYR 1? PLYR 0? Some other set of wheels? Ramsey, with his multiple vehicles, multiple houses, fences, gates, Larry Schick, was a nightmare suspect. Crime paid if you started out rich.

It was nearly eleven when she walked through the door. Too late to call him? She did anyway. Four rings, then a little girl's munchkin voice said, “When you hear the beep, leave a message. Beep. And beep and beep and-”

Ron broke in. “Banks.”

“Hi, it's Petra.”

“Petra.” Saying her name with pleasure. She could use some adulation. “How's it going?”

She told him about the Porsche, Breshear's revised story, the new time frame.

“Think he's dirty?”

“Unless his girlfriend's lying big-time about his alibi, he didn't have the time, but who knows? What's up?”

“I phoned Carpinteria Sheriff's again, asked if they could keep an eye on Ramsey's house. They said they'd upped patrols already, and today at six forty-five, I got a callback, tried to reach you at your office but they said you'd already left. Turns out Ramsey hasn't been spotted there for a while, but Greg Balch showed up this morning, left his Lexus, and drove back in a Jeep that belongs to Ramsey, license plate-”

“PLYR ZERO,” said Petra.

“So you know already.”

“I knew Ramsey owned the Jeep, didn't know Balch picked it up.”

“Didn't want to step on your toes- calling Carpinteria- but I'd already made contact with them, figured it would be efficient. A deputy stopped Balch driving off the property around noon. Balch showed him ID, a business card, snapshot of him and Ramsey, keys to the house. Said he was there to pick up the car, bring it down for service. Which seems odd- there are plenty of mechanics in Santa Barbara.”

“An extra-careful cleaning?” said Petra. Or Ramsey wanted a four-wheeler because he was planning to do some heavy-terrain driving? Those hills…

“Maybe Ramsey's spooked now that you've got a potential witness.”

“Maybe.” She told him about Larry Schick's call.

“There you go,” he said. “Anyway…”

“Thanks again, Ron. Your daughter has a cute voice.”

“Wha- Oh, that's Bee, she loves to perform. They're both asleep now. Finally.”

“Have your hands full?”

“It takes a while to get them tucked in. My mom says they run rings around me. Tomorrow, though, I get to sleep in. Day off. Mom's driving them to school.”

“Good for you,” said Petra. “I may just drive up to Montecito tomorrow. Care to join me?”

“Sure,” he said quickly. “It's a pretty drive.”

Lying in bed, in darkness so total she felt suspended, she thought about Lisa being abducted and butchered, Balch's picking up the Jeep.

Ramsey edgy because of a little boy who stole books… wherever he was.

The fact that no one on the street knew him intrigued her. He hadn't taken up with other runaways, hadn't sought help from any agency. A loner. Made sense. A kid who loved to read wouldn't fit in. He'd probably been an outcast back home, too. So why hadn't he been reported missing? Where were the parents?

Had to be abuse. An eleven-year-old intellectual… running from God knew what. A kid like that witnessing a murder. No reason for him to trust anyone.

A survivor. And now the police had turned him into quarry. She had.

She'd just fallen asleep when the phone rang. It was well after midnight, and her heart pounded as for one horrible, irrational moment she panicked about her father's condition, then realized he was beyond worry. One of her brothers in trouble- Kathy?

A nervous-sounding woman said, “Detective Connor? This is Adele again, from the station. I'm really sorry to bother you this late, but a call came in for Detective Bishop, long-distance, international, and no one answers at his house. You're his partner, and seeing as it's international, I-”

“International from where?”

“Vienna. A police inspector named Tauber. I guess he didn't figure out the time difference.”

“Thanks, put him on.”

A scratchy voice said, “Detective Bishop?”

“This is his partner, Detective Connor.”

“Ah. Yes, yes, this is Inspector Ottemar Tauber from Vienna.” Clear connection; the scratchiness was the Austrian's vocal quality. He coughed, cleared his throat a couple of times.

“Hello, Inspector. Is this about Karlheinz Lauch?”

“Two days ago Detective Bishop submitted an inquiry concerning Herr Lauch,” said Tauber. “We have located Herr Lauch for you. Unfortunately, he is unavailable to you for questioning as he is deceased.”

“When did he die?”

“It appears to have occurred fifteen months ago.”

“What was the cause of death, Inspector?”

“It appears to have been cirrhosis of the liver.”