Biro said, “Problem is we've got nothing saying Wohr was pimping back then and I'm having trouble seeing him with someone like Adella on his payroll. We're talking a big step upward for Ramone W.”

Moe said, “What about cell phone records from before she canceled the account?”

“Mundane stuff,” said Petra. “Takeout, baby shops, Southwest Airlines to buy her ticket to Phoenix. She booked both ways, clearly had no intention of sticking around. We got into her computer, and she didn't use it much. Some online ordering of clothes for her and the kid, some eBay purchases of kiddie books and toys.”

Biro said, “When we questioned Wohr, he said Adella was a casual work buddy, he walked her to her car for her safety. He volunteered knowing she lived in Hollywood, but denied he lived here. Though he did admit to coming down on the bus, hanging around the boulevard.

When we asked him why, he gave a dumb smile and said, ‘To have fun.’ All of us knew he was scoring, maybe selling, he really wasn't trying to hide what he was.”

“Too far gone?” said Moe.

“Just his general demeanor. He came across more dumb-ass loser than conniving psychopath and that was verified by our Vice guys and a couple of uniforms who knew him.”

Moe glanced at the photo.

Petra said, “Poor little thing. We found the baby's vaccination records in Adella's apartment. Western Pediatric, there was no regular pediatrician, Adella used the clinic. The nurses who remembered her said she was a happy attentive mom, showed up on time, into breastfeeding. One nurse did recall a comment Adella made about her boobs finally being put to proper use. Which led us to wonder if she was back to posing, stripping, whatever. Or had never stopped. We canvassed topless clubs, photographers who do that kind of thing, never turned up a lead.”

Moe flipped to the murder book's front-page summary. “Body in Griffith Park.”

“Back of Fern Dell, near the stream.”

Biro said, “Crawfish got interested.”

Moe said, “That's pretty close to her apartment.”

“Reasonably close,” said Petra. “But the park wasn't the kill-spot, just the dump. Her place wasn't the crime scene, either, we still don't know where it happened. Once the coroner gave us that three-day frame, we had Wohr picked up again and talked to him. Guy was un-fazed, said he'd been drinking on all three nights, produced backup from other juiceheads at the bar. Bob's, where you just saw him, he's a regular. By itself, that's no alibi, the murder could've happened during the day. But nothing indicates guilt either.”

“You felt strongly enough to question him twice.”

Biro said, “He's all we had.”

Petra said, “We figure whoever killed her picked her up somewhere, because her car was never moved from her parking slot at the apartment. The seat adjustment fit her height, there was no sign anyone but her had driven it. Maybe she was freelancing to pay the bills, ended up on a real bad date. If we could tie her to Wohr, or to any other pimp, we'd be dancing in the hallway, Moe.”

“She did drugs in high school. What about later on?”

Biro said, “Nothing in her apartment and her blood was clean.”

Moe turned back to the picture. “You're probably right about being a bad fit for Wohr. She had the looks to play in a bigger league. But that could've led to some high-rolling clients. Like a zillionaire director's kid.”

Petra said, “Sure, but from what you saw last night, Ax Dement doesn't go high-end.”

Biro said, “Maybe he's into variety. Male psychology, it's all about novelty.”

Petra laughed. “As opposed to women who crave the same darn thing over and over?” She turned to Moe. “You're looking at Dement because he hangs around with Mason Book. And you're looking at Book because he's Caitlin's boyfriend's boss?”

Moe said, “And because Book's suicide attempt came only a week after Caitlin disappeared.”

Biro said, “Crushing guilt in an addict movie star? Anything's possible, but those types self-destruct all the time. Just because they're stupid.”

Metal in his voice.

Petra grinned. “My partner loves actors.”

“What I love,” said Biro, “is when I tell people I work Hollywood and they get after me for autographs.”

“‘People,’ as in cute girls,” said Petra. “That's a problem, huh, pard?”

“The problem is, I got nothing to show 'em. Working in Hollywood doesn't mean you get Hollywood. It's Westside has all the fun.”

Moe said, “Robert Blake was the Valley.”

Biro ticked his fingers. “O.J., Hugh Grant, Heidi Fleiss, Mario Fortuno, Paris and Mischa and Lindsay and every other celebutard who DUIs for fun and profit.”

Moe said, “Hey, a lot of that was the Strip, complain to the sheriffs. Phil Spector was out in Alta-freaking-dena.”

Petra mimed a pistol aim. “Blam. Talk about wall of sound.”

All three detectives laughed. Better than thinking about whodunits with no serious leads.

Moe shut the murder book. “Thanks for your time, guys. For lack of anything else, I'm going to try to find out how a mope like Wohr connected with a trust-fund baby like Ax. Then maybe we can backtrack to Book and/or Stoltz, then to Caitlin. And Adella.”

Biro said, “Maybe Ax gambles his daddy's money away, including at the poker palace.”

Moe said, “Or he's into buying sex and loves to slum.”

“Or Ax and Wohr hooked up at a post-Oscars party.”

Weaker laughter; no one's heart was in it.

Petra said, “If you can wait around, we'll copy the whole book for you.”

“That would be great.”

Biro said, “You busy on the Westside?”

“Not too.”

“It was like that last year for us. Months without a single murder, the Times wrote about it, hexed us. We started this year with that decapitation that linked to a serial case of Sturgis's. One week after that, two gang things go down, and they're still wide open.”

Petra said, “Four kids gunned down in front of a party and no one saw a thing. We've got a pretty good idea who's behind it. Son of an allegedly reformed banger who scored a big city grant to keep guns out of the hands of people just like him and his offspring.”

Moe said, “Meaning pretend to work it hard but don't do squat without the mayor's okay.”

“Listen to him,” said Biro. “So young, yet so cynical.”

One of Sturgis's favorite lines. Moe's appreciation for the Loo's influence climbed a notch.

He said, “I'll go with you to the copy machine.”

On the way over, Petra said, “Who's your partner on this?”

“No one.”

CHAPTER 23

Aaron sat in the Opel, within eyeshot of Swallowsong Lane, listened to music on his iPod and fought the erosion of confidence.

Billing Mr. Dmitri for hours of surveillance was okay up to a point. He had to produce.

Moses being involved didn't help. Hand his brother a simple case, Aaron had no doubt Moe could close it. But a deep-freeze whodunit?

Maybe he was being too hard on bro, letting a lifetime of… relationship get in the way.

Blood ties be damned, he and Moses had turned into strangers.

Had they ever been anything else?

Complicated… well, they could always blame Mom.

One of a kind; thinking about her made him smile.

She never stopped smiling.

Except when she did.

Bagpipes and tears, so many men in blue, some of them are also crying.

Mom in black, veiled.

Big blue shapes looming over his four-year-old self, talking about Dad.

Off to one side, Jack sits there, crying harder than anyone.

All of a sudden, he's living in the house.

It had seemed like the very next damned day. Years later, when Aaron had acquired snoop skills, he went looking for the marriage certificate, found it easily enough in the County Archives.