He got a beer and I examined the rest of the folder, starting with the summary of Ted Barnaby's interview. A single paragraph written by a Detective A. Holzer, who'd spoken to the boyfriend before he left for Reno. Barnaby had shown “tears and other evidence of grief. Subject professes no knowledge of any motive for the homicide. Says he knew victim did “some call-girl' work, “that's why we didn't live together. She needed her own place.' Subject also says he didn't like the fact that victim engaged in prostitution and that he and victim had argued about this in the past but he'd come to accept it. “You've got to accept people on their terms.' His alibi checks out, verified by Franklin A. Varese, casino pit supervisor, and fellow dealers Sandra Boething and Luis Maldonado.”

Next, autopsy and lab reports:

The toxicology screen showed a moderate amount of cocaine in Mandy Wright's blood the night of the murder.

Midnight murder. Hope had been stabbed just after 11:00 P.M.

I flipped a page.

The wound pattern, described almost word-for-word as in Hope's file.

The initial blow to the heart had collapsed the organ, death resulting from exsanguination and shock. Prior to that, Mandy Wright's cardiovascular system had been in excellent condition, the arteries clear and unobstructed. No venereal disease, including HIV. No evidence of any outstanding illness or infection other than minor nasal erosion probably due to cocaine abuse.

The final paragraph cited significant expansion of the anal opening and fibroid scarring of the rectum indicating a history of anal sex, but vaginal sexual intercourse had not taken place within the past twenty-four hours. Postmortem examination of the pelvic region revealed no tumors or other pathology; however, changes related to past pregnancy were noted.

That made me think. As did the last line:

“The fallopian tubes have been ligated; from the degree of atrophy, probably within a year or two.”

“Sterilized? Any record of her having a child?”

Milo shook his head.

“And she'd been pregnant before,” I said. “Meaning an abortion- unless she miscarried. Either before the ligation or at the same time. It's a long shot, but that kind of surgery is Dr. Cruvic's specialty. What if he was her L.A. connection?”

He put the beer down. “There are lots of obstetricians. That's some leap.”

“Just throwing out ideas. Should I stop?”

“No, go on.”

“Cruvic has money,” I said. “Drives a Bentley. Those clothes we saw weren't Kmart. Not inconsistent with the kind of guy who might fly down a party girl and pay for her ticket in cash.”

“First he's her doctor, now he's her party pal?”

“He could be both. Maybe that's why he performed the ligation rather than having a doctor in Vegas do it. Hell, maybe he was even the father of her child- who'd be in a better position to get himself out of a mess than an OB? We've got him in at least one fib- not knowing Hope before the fund-raiser. Why try to mislead us? Probably because your hunch was right: Their relationship had been more than friendship. And I've got additional support for that.”

I told him what Holly Bondurant had seen in the parking lot, Marge Showalsky's protest-too-much denials. “Then there's the matter of his direct billing for Hope's services. It just doesn't smell right. Plus, I learned something today that tells me he may skirt other ethical boundaries.”

I repeated my conversation with Mary Farney. “Operating on a mentally deficient minor and knowing she probably couldn't give informed consent. Maybe he used Hope for backup. Maybe they were involved in other iffy things.”

“Like what?”

“Who knows? Financial shenanigans. Or maybe they did something really ugly, like take eggs out of one fertility patient and sell them to another.”

“So where would Mandy fit in?”

“Wild guess? She could have been an egg donor- young, healthy girl. And she learned something she wasn't supposed to. Or tried to blackmail Cruvic. Or maybe Cruvic's just the kind of guy who loves 'em and kills 'em. Hell, I can go on all day but the bottom line is my gut tells me Dr. Cruvic is worth looking into, despite the sex-killer scenario.”

He got up and walked around. “We both noticed how hyper Cruvic was, bouncing all over the place. He tried to tell us it was fitness, but maybe it was coke, and there's our link with Mandy. Though Hope's autopsy showed no dope in her system and nothing indicates she ever used. Bringing me full circle: If she was cheating with Cruvic- or Locking, or anyone else- Seacrest could have found out and decided she'd rubbed his face in it long enough.”

“But what connection would Seacrest have to Mandy Wright?”

He paced some more. “It's not just flashy guys who fool with girlies. A quiet middle-aged professor might want a hot little playmate, too. And a quiet middle-aged professor would have reason to pay cash to the playmate. And if the playmate realized how vulnerable the professor was and decided to blackmail him, the professor could decide to end his problems: heart, vagina, back. And after succeeding at that, why not go after the wife who's become such a pain in the ass?”

“Creative,” I said.

“You're a good influence.”

“Okay, as long as we're screenwriting, how about this: a threesome. Cruvic, Hope, and Mandy. Or Seacrest, Hope, and Mandy. Or even an unknown guy. Flying down a call girl to spice up a tired relationship. Then, for whatever reason, the guy decides to call it quits. Permanently. Gets rid of Mandy first because murdering a call girl three hundred miles away won't attract attention in L.A. But Hope's a different story. She's prominent, local, smarter. So he waits, planning, waiting for the right time. Then Hope helps him by getting notorious with her book. Which sets up a perfect cover: some nut acting out because of the controversy she generated.”

He thought about that. “But if Mandy and Hope knew each other, wouldn't Mandy's murder have alerted Hope?”

“If they'd parted ways, how would she know Mandy'd been killed? Did Mandy's murder get any media coverage?”

He shook his head. “Just one small blurb in the Sun the same day. Still, if Hope had been engaged in a three-way with Mandy, wouldn't she be likely to find out?”

“Okay,” I said. “Let's say she knew Mandy'd been murdered but didn't connect it to herself. Like you said, prostitutes get killed all the time.”

He drank, looked out the kitchen window. The sun was small and pale, silvering the tops of the pines, turning them as shiny as Mandy Wright's dress.

“Great screenplays,” he finally said. “It would sure be nice to have some facts.”

“At least,” I said, “I can look into Cruvic's credentials, see if anything funny shows up.”

“Do that. My next stop's a chat with Kenny Storm. I want to clear the whole committee angle. I'll also check with Vegas to see if Mandy had health insurance, maybe her sterilization was documented and we can find out who did it. The boyfriend, Barnaby, might know about that, so we'll put out the word for him, too. Anything else occur while I was gone?”

“I found Reed Muscadine. Like Kenny, he dropped out of school, but for another reason. He was up for a soap-opera part, thought he had it, but it fell through. He denied raping Tessa Bowlby, repeated the same story he told at the hearing.”

“Credible?”

“No alarm bells went off, but he's an actor. Take it for what it's worth.”

“What do you think it's worth?”

“I don't know. Tessa looked extremely traumatized. I'd like to know what's eating at her. Maybe I'll give her another try.”

“What's Muscadine like physically?”

“Very big and muscular, good-looking, body-conscious. His place is basically a gym.”

“The kind of guy who could overpower a woman and hold her still in order to stab her in the heart.”