Old friends? I read on. M.D., UC San Francisco- once again, studying in the same city as Hope.

Then, she'd come down to L.A. for her clinical training and he'd moved to Seattle for a surgery internship at the University of Washington.

By the book, so far.

But then it got interesting.

He completed only one year of his surgery residency at U of W before taking a leave of absence and spending a year at the Brooke-Hastings Institute in Corte Madera, California.

Then, instead of returning to Washington, he'd transferred specialties from surgery to obstetrics-gynecology, signing on as a first-year resident at Fidelity Medical Center in Carson, California, where he'd finished, passed his boards, and gotten his specialty certification in OB-GYN.

No listing of any postgraduate work in fertility.

That wasn't illegal- an M.D. and a state license allowed any physician to do just about anything medical- but it was surprising, even reckless, because fertility techniques were highly specialized.

Where had Cruvic learned his craft?

The year at the Brooke-Hastings Institute? No, because he'd been just a first-year resident at the time and no reputable institution would take someone for advanced training at that point.

Self-taught?

Cutting corners in a daring and dangerous way?

Was that the real reason he practiced away from the other Beverly Hills doctors?

If so, who sent him referrals?

People who also wanted to skirt the rules?

But maybe there was a simple solution: He'd undergone bona fide training but the fact had been accidentally left off his bio.

Still, you'd think that was the kind of thing he'd be careful to correct. And the directory was updated each year.

Freelance fertility cowboy?

Cutting corners?

Taking on cases no one else would go near?

Something on the fringe…

Perhaps a daring nature was what had attracted Hope to Cruvic.

So different from the stodgy, routine-bound Seacrest.

Old Volvo versus shiny Bentley.

Something on the fringe…

Something gone bad?

Now Hope was dead and Cruvic, as he himself had pointed out, was alive, busy, bouncy, doing God knew what.

But what of Mandy Wright?

What did a scholar and a call girl have in common but gruesome death?

Nothing fit.

I stayed with it, plugging Cruvic's name into every scientific and medical data bank the library offered. No publications, so his year at Brooke-Hastings probably hadn't been for research.

The institute wasn't listed anywhere, either.

By the time I finished, my gut was tight with suspicion, but there was nothing more to do and it was time to find Deborah Brittain.

I spotted her leaving Monroe Hall and heading toward a bike rack.

The photo ID had given no indication of her size.

Six feet tall, lean and big-boned with long, dirty-blond hair and sharp cheekbones. She wore a white polo shirt bearing the University seal, navy shorts, white socks and sneakers, a red mountaineer's backpack.

Her racing bicycle was one of a dozen two-wheelers hitched to a rack in back of the ruby-brick structure. I watched her slip an elastic sweatband over her forehead then remove the chain lock. As she rolled the bike out, I stepped up and introduced myself.

“Yes?” Her blue eyes switched channels, from preoccupied to alarmed. I showed her my ID.

“Professor Devane?” she said in a husky voice. “It sure took a long time.” Her hands tightened around the handlebars. “I've got volleyball practice in half an hour but I want to talk to you- let's walk.”

She guided the bicycle up the walkway, fast enough to make me lengthen my stride.

“I want to tell you,” she said, “that Professor Devane was a truly great woman. A wonderful person. The sicko who killed her should get the death penalty but of course he won't.”

“Why's that?”

“Even if you catch him and he gets convicted they never enforce the law fully.”

She glanced at me without breaking step. “Want to know about Huang?”

“I want to know anything you can tell me.”

“Are you thinking Huang did it?”

“No. We're just talking to everyone associated with the conduct committee.”

“So you think the committee had something to do with it?”

“We don't know much, period, Ms. Brittain.”

“Well, I'm sure people have been bad-mouthing the committee but I think it was a great idea. It saved my life- not literally, but Huang was making my life miserable until Professor Devane put an end to all that.”

She stopped suddenly. Her eyes were wet and the sweatband had slipped down. She shoved it higher and we started moving again. “He used to come up behind me in the library. I'd turn to get a book and he'd be there. Staring, smiling. Suggestive smiles- do you understand?”

I nodded. “Was this after he asked you out or before?”

“After. The creep. It was obviously his way of getting back at me. Three separate times he asked me, three times I told him no. Three strikes and you're out, right? But he wouldn't accept it. Everywhere I'd go I'd turn around and he'd be looking at me. A creepy look. It was really starting to get to me.”

“Was this all over campus?”

“No, only the library,” she said. “As if the library was his little den. He probably stayed down there looking for women to spook, because there was no other reason for him to be there. He's an engineering major and engineering has its own library.”

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I'm not paranoid, I've always been able to take care of myself. But this was horrible. I couldn't concentrate. School's tough enough without getting so distracted. Why should I have to deal with that, too? But I wouldn't have had the courage to do anything about it without Professor Devane.”

She bit back tears. “It's such an incredible loss! So unfair!”

She rolled the bike faster.

“Has Huang stopped bothering you?”

“Yes. So God bless Professor Devane and to hell with the administration for caving in.”

“Who'd they cave in to?”

“What I heard was there was a rich alumnus who ordered them to shut it down.” She thrust her jaw out. “Is Huang dangerous?”

“Not that we've learned so far.”

Her laugh was unsteady. “Well, that's really comforting.”

“So you're still worried about him.”

“I really wasn't- we pass each other on campus sometimes and I feel empowered. But then I start thinking about Professor Devane's murder. Could it have been something to do with the committee? And I just get sick.”

We walked a bit before she said, “When I start to get anxious, I think back to something Professor Devane told me: Harassers are underassertive cowards, that's why they sneak around. The key is to face up to them, show your inner strength. Which is what I do when I see Huang. But look what happened to her.”

The bike came to a skidding halt so sudden she had to pull back to maintain balance. “The fact that she could become victimized enrages me! I've got to find a way to make something good out of it- is there any chance it could be Huang?”

“He seems to have an excellent alibi.”

“So at least you took him seriously enough to investigate him. Good. Let him know what it feels like to be under scrutiny. But if you don't suspect him, why are you talking to me?”

“I'm after any information I can get about Professor Devane. People she was close to, her activities, anyone she might have angered.”

“Well, we weren't close. We only spoke a couple of times- before the hearing and after, when she coached me on how to handle myself. She was incredibly kind. So understanding. As if she really knew.”

“About harassment?”