"Who paid for his defense?"

"Haven't found that out yet. If he comes back to town, I'll have a little talk with him. Meanwhile, give Lucy my best."

"One more thing," I said. "I showed Karen's picture to Lucy, and she's sure Karen was the girl in the dream. It's possible she's confabulating- wishful thinking because she hates her father and is on a mission to learn the truth- but her reaction was pretty extreme: She went white, started shaking."

"Your intuition tells you it's genuine?"

"My intuition's been rather quiet recently."

"Mine, too, when it comes to her."

"Maybe we can get corroboration of Karen's presence at the party from someone who worked that night."

"Someone who wasn't paid off? You know, Alex, the more I think about it, the whole idea of payoffs doesn't really cut it, logically. All you've got on the Sheas is that Best doesn't like the look in their eyes and they were lucky enough to make some money over a twenty-year period. All you've got on Doris is she doesn't like the Sheas. No indication of any collusion. If something happened that the three of them and Felix Barnard found out about, what's the theory? The whole bunch of them put the arm on Lowell or Trafficant or whoever had something to hide? And if Barnard's death was tied in with blackmail, why would the others be allowed to live?"

"They didn't break the rules; Barnard did."

"Still, to leave all those loose ends for so long? People living down the road from you knowing you were involved in killing a girl?"

"Maybe they didn't know the gory details. Just that Karen was last seen at the party. Lowell could have told them she had a bad drug trip and left early, something like that."

"So why pay them off?"

"To avoid bad publicity for Sanctum. Trafficant's presence had already created controversy. Trafficant killing Karen would have finished Lowell off."

"So who's our corroborator, some other server? What do we have here, a whole platoon of people who knew Karen had worked the party? With Best looking for her obsessively, all those fliers he put up, cornering people at the shopping center, you mean to tell me no one came forward?"

"They might not have if they really didn't believe she'd been harmed. What if the other servers were told she'd run off with a boyfriend and didn't want to be found? Or that Best was an abusive father and Karen was scared to death of him? Maybe spinning that yarn was what the Sheas got paid for. Which would make them collaborators and help ensure their silence."

"A yarn," he said.

"Convincing young people it was true wouldn't have been too hard. Remember the times: Don't trust anyone over thirty."

"Maybe," he said doubtfully.

"Locating the other servers would help," I said. "Especially those other women from the Dollar- Andreas and Billings."

"Nothing on them yet, and I can't promise you I'll have time to do a comprehensive in the near future. So do me a favor and don't launch Lucy on any trajectory you can't control. Keep yourself safe, too. I've got enough to worry about."

27

A warm quiet morning, lit by a primrose-yellow sun. Hypnosis session number three. Induction was effortless. Within minutes Lucy was four years old and watching herself wander through the forest.

Once again, Hairy Lip's and Lowell's faces were visible, but the third man kept his back to her and she could produce nothing more about him.

I questioned her more about the mustache.

"Is the hair on his lip dark or blond?"

She looked confused.

"Is Hairy Lip's hair brown, Lucy?"

"Don't… know."

"Is it blond- yellow?"

Consternation.

"The hairy lip, is it just a mustache- is the hair only on the top lip? Or does he have a beard, hair all over his face?"

"Um…" Shrug. "Hairy lip."

"Just a hairy lip?"

Shrug.

When she came out, I reviewed what she'd told me.

"Didn't do very well this time, did I?"

"You did fine. It's not a performance."

She knuckled her forehead. "I know it's all in here. Why can't I bring it out?"

"Maybe there's nothing else to remember. You're seeing things the way you saw them then. Through a four-year-old's eyes. Certain concepts wouldn't have been available to you."

"I was so excited about today, I thought we'd make real progress."

"Give it time, maybe more will come out."

I let her sit quietly for a while.

"Actually," she said, "there was something. The trees where they buried her. I noticed something about them but you didn't ask me so I couldn't tell you- didn't have the words." Her eyes closed. "The image keeps coming back to me. Lacy."

"Lacy trees?"

Nod.

"What kind?"

She frowned. "I don't know."

"Just that they were lacy."

"And pretty. It's like"- her eyes opened-"I guess what you said was true. I didn't have the word "lacy' when I was four, so I couldn't put it into words. But now that I'm an adult again, it came back to me. Pretty, lacy trees. Does that make sense?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Lacy trees. That's all I can say. Do you have time for me tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow morning?"

"Any time. I've got nothing to do but read old magazines and watch TV. Being alone in a big house is a lot more solitude than I'm used to."

"Ken's not around much?"

"Hardly at all. We're planning to spend some time together over the weekend, maybe take a drive somewhere."

Her hands were busy, fingers rubbing against one another.

"The third man," she said. "He keeps his back to me the whole time. It's frustrating. And all I can really see of the other one is the mustache."

I went and got the copy of Terry Trafficant's book, opened it to the rear flap, and showed her the author photo.

"No, definitely not. Sorry. His mustache is wimpy. Hairy Lip's was big and dark and thick."

She put the book down.

I said, "Could you describe him so someone could draw him?"

Her eyes closed again. Her squint looked painful. "I can see him but I can't really describe his features- it's as if I'm… handicapped. As if part of my brain is working, but I can't translate what I see into words."

She opened her eyes.

"I think I'd know him if I saw him, but I just can't tell you anything more about him other than the mustache. I'm sorry- it's not like actually seeing. More like images making their way into my mind. That sounds flaky, doesn't it? Maybe I'm totally off base on all of it."

"We'll just take it as far as it goes, Lucy."

"But I want to find out- for Karen's sake."

"It's possible Karen has nothing to do with the dream."

"She does," she said quickly. "I feel it. I know that sounds as if I'm letting my imagination get out of control. But I'm not. I didn't wish this upon myself. Why would I want to be dreaming about him?"

I didn't answer.

"Okay," she said. "We'll just take it as it comes. Is today the day you go up to see him?"

"Today at one."

She scratched her knee.

"Has that been on your mind?" I said.

"A bit."

"Any change of heart about my meeting him?"

"No… I guess I'm a little nervous- though why should I be? You'll be dealing with it, not me."

I left the house at twelve-thirty, turned off PCH at the red clapboard buildings of the Malibu Feed Bin, and headed up Topanga Canyon Road, cutting through the palisades.

The drought had stripped the mountains down to the chapparal, but last month's freak rains had brought back some tender buds and the granite was freckled with weeds and wildflowers. Randomly planted eucalyptus appeared on the west side of the road. To the east was a gorge that deepened and darkened as I gained altitude.