"True," she said. "One doesn't eliminate the other. You have kids?"

"No, I'm not married."

"That doesn't mean anything. You know the definition of a bachelor? No kids- to speak of."

We both chuckled.

I said, "You said you had two, right?"

"Two boys, both grown, both army master sergeants, both married with kids of their own. Their dad was an army man, too. I divorced him when they were little, but somehow it rubbed off."

"Must have been tough raising them by yourself."

"Wasn't a picnic." She freed her pack of cigarettes and lit up, then took in a mouthful of coffee. "Tell you what I do enjoy, being a grandmother. You buy them stuff, play with 'em, and then you go home."

"So I've heard."

"Yeah, it's great." She smoked and stirred some sugar into her coffee.

"I'd like to have kids of my own," I said.

"Why not, you're young."

"It's a little scary. All those things that can go wrong. I used to work in a hospital, saw plenty of misery."

"Yeah, there's plenty of that."

"I was over by your friends' surf shop the other day and saw their son. Really sad."

She appraised me, through the smoke. "What made you go there?"

"Needed some swim trunks. When I passed by I remembered your telling me about it. Nice place, but how'd they get a house on the beach with that?"

She shrugged and gave a sour look.

"Still," I said. "That kid. No money in the world can make up for that. What is it, cerebral palsy?"

"Birth accident," she said, but wariness had crept into her voice. "I think he twisted his neck coming out or something."

"How old is he?"

"Sixteen or so. Yeah, it's tough, but we've all got our crosses to bear, so why dwell on it?"

She kept smoking and pretending not to study me. I ate some more pie.

After dragging half her cigarette down, she put it in the ashtray and watched it smolder. "I do feel sorry for them. It's a good example of what you just said- money and trouble."

Looking at the film crew again, she said, "Why all the interest in Gwen and Tom, handsome?"

All friendliness gone from her voice.

"No particular interest. They just came up."

"That so?"

"Sure. Is something the matter?"

She stared at me. "You tell me."

I ate pie and smiled. "Everything's fine with me."

"You some kind of bill collector? Or a cop?"

"Neither."

"What are you then?"

"What's the matter, Doris?"

"That's not an answer."

"I'm a psychologist, just like I said. Are Gwen and Tom in some kind of trouble?"

She pocketed her smokes and her lighter and got up. Standing over me, one thigh pressing into the rim of the table, she smiled. To a casual observer she would have looked like a helpful waitress.

"You come on real friendly, and then you ease the conversation around to Tom and Gwen. That just seems a strange thing for a guy to talk to a gal about."

Turning her back on me, she walked back to the bar. The restaurant was still empty.

I ate a few more bites of pie and then I saw her leave the restaurant. Throwing bills down on the table, I went after her.

She was heading for a shopworn red Camaro parked near the movie crew trucks. Cables were strewn across the parking lot, and one caught her heel and she went down. One of the grips picked her up, and other film people gathered around her. The blond model stopped posing.

I was within twenty feet of her when she saw me. She pointed and said something that made the people look at me as if I was slime on bone china.

A human knot closed around her, protectively.

I turned around, walking, not running, but when I made it to the Seville I was breathless.

I got in the car. No one had followed me but everyone was still looking at me. They kept on looking as I peeled out.

26

I reached Milo at work and told him what had just happened. "Didn't have a chance to get to Karen. Just talking about the Sheas- how they made their money- upset her."

"Jealous?"

"There was some kind of hostility there. She wasn't sympathetic about their having a kid with CP. What if she and the Sheas all got paid off to keep quiet about Karen, but the Sheas used it to build up a personal fortune and she blew it? I know it's a big jump, but she did say she worked catering gigs for Gwen. If the Sanctum party was one of them, she could very well have been there."

"Huge jump," he said, "but I'll see what I can find out about her. Meanwhile, stay away from there."

"Something else: Lucy and I did hypnosis again, and this time there was no resistance. I age-regressed her back to four years old, and she was able to make out more details of the dream. Definitely two other men besides Lowell. One's back was to her the whole time; the other had what she called a hairy lip, which I assume is a mustache. Trafficant wore a mustache and goatee, back then. Anything come up on him yet?"

"Haven't learned a damn thing except he stopped filing tax returns the year he vanished. As far as I can tell, he hasn't shown up in any major penal institutions. No death records either, but a guy like that would know how to work the system."

"I tried to trace him through his publisher. No one seemed to remember him at all. I didn't get the feeling they were trying to stonewall, just that he'd really faded from the scene."

"Yeah. Well, for all we know he's in Algeria or Cuba or something, still getting his royalty checks. Meanwhile, I've got something more immediate to deal with. Another copycat, discovered this morning. We've kept the media at bay, but you'll see it on the eleven o'clock news. Fourteen-year-old kid named Nicolette Verdugo. Walking home from school yesterday, never showed up. Cal Trans crew found her at daybreak in a drainage ditch out in Diamond Bar, near the Orange County border."

"Fourteen," I said. "Oh, Jesus."

He coughed and cleared his throat. "So now it's a new task force, the FBI's probably going to be called in, and guess who's representing Angel City? When Shwandt's lawyers find out about this, I promise you it's war. But the whole thing stinks. Keep this confidential: Both Shannon and Nicolette were defecated on, but neither had any semen in or on or near them. Ejaculation was a major thing for Shwandt; sometimes he did it more than once on a victim. In fact, the only time he didn't ejaculate was with Barbara Pryor, because he was too stoned to get an erection. Now why would someone pull off a first-rate copycat, cover all the details, and leave that out?"

"Someone who can't ejaculate," I said. "A woman? You think the Bogettes really could be behind it?"

"Who the hell knows? It's pretty hard to imagine women butchering another woman that way, but Manson's hags were pretty good with forks and knives. Problem is, how do we get close to them? There's absolutely no grounds for warrants; all we can do is try to interview them, and if they say fuck you, as they did today, we say thank you, ladies, and go home. That leaves surveillance, and with their level of paranoia they'll probably burrow deep underground. Anyway, it means eighteen-hour days for me. So do me a favor and keep an eye on Lucy. I'm not going to be much of a guardian angel."

"Anything specific I should do?"

"Keep her away from her own apartment till I clear up that goddamn note. Given this new murder, I'd rather err by being too cautious. The turds, by the way, were of Rattus rattus origin- our little black scurrying pal. And speaking of rats, all I've been able to learn about Brother Puck was that he had some dealings a few years ago with a dope group from Montebello. Small-time buys and sells; then they handed him thirty grand to peddle to other junkies, and he got busted. After that they cut him off, and he's been going to East L.A. for bits and pieces."