At exactly one o'clock by the observatory's time, I called Lou Poitras at his office. Charlie Griggs answered. Mark Thurman stood next to me, watching people come in and go out of the hall. Griggs said, " North Hollywood detectives. Griggs."

"This is Richard Kimball. I've been falsely accused. A guy with one arm did it."

Griggs said, "Let's see you smart off like that when they put you in the gas chamber." Always a riot, Griggs.

"Is Lou there, or do I have to deal with the B team?"

Griggs put me on hold and maybe six seconds later Poitras picked up. "I brought in Baishe, and we talked to a woman named Murphy at the DA." Baishe was Poitras's lieutenant. He didn't much like me. "Murphy brought in someone from the chief's office and someone else from the mayor's office, and we got together on this. Everybody's pretty anxious to see the tape."

"What about Thurman?" When I said his name, Thurman looked at me.

"They'd like to have him, but they're willing to give him up to get the other guys. They don't like it much."

"They don't have to like it, they just have to guarantee it. Does he stay on the job?"

"Yeah."

"Do I have their word?"

"Yes."

When Poitras said yes, I nodded at Thurman and he closed his eyes and sighed as if the results had just come back negative. I said, "Are they going to deal square with the Washington family?"

"Shit, this comes out, the Washingtons are going to own City Hall."

"Are they going to deal square?"

"Yes. That came from the DA's person and the mayor's person."

"Okay. What's the next step?"

"They want Thurman to come in with the tape. They've made a lot of promises with nothing to go on except my word, and they don't like that. It all hinges on the tape. As soon as they see the tape, they'll move on Dees and those other assholes, and they'll move on Akeem D'Muere and anyone wearing Eight-Deuce colors. Everybody comes in."

"Okay."

"We can do it whenever you say. Sooner is better than later."

I looked at Thurman. We would have to call Jennifer and Pike, and then we'd have to go get them and come down. It was eight minutes after one. "How about your office at six?"

"Make it Baishe's office. Let him feel like he's in charge."

"Done."

I hung up the phone and told Mark Thurman the way it was going to be. I said, "We have to call Lancaster."

Thurman said, "Let's not. I want to be the one to tell Jennifer. I want to see her face when I tell her that it's over."

"I told her we'd call."

"I don't care. I want to get flowers. Do you think we could stop for flowers? She likes daisies." He was like a cork that had been pulled down very far into deep water and suddenly released. He was racing higher and higher, and the higher he got the faster he moved. The sadness and the shame were momentarily forgotten and he was grinning like a kid who'd just won first prize in one of those contests they're always having in the backs of comic books.

I said, "Sure. We can get daisies." I guess I was grinning, too.

He said, "Oh, boy." Oh, boy.

We took the four-mile drive down out of Griffith Observatory and stopped at a flower shop in Hollywood for the daisies and then we hopped on the freeway and went north toward Lancaster and the house where Mark Thurman and Jennifer Sheridan had been hiding. It didn't take very long at all.

The neighborhood was alive with kids on skateboards and men and women working on their lawns and teenagers washing cars and the varied stuff of a Saturday afternoon. Joe Pike's Jeep was in front of the house where we had left it, and the drapes were still closed. We pulled into the drive and parked and Thurman got out first. He said, "I want to go in first." He held the flowers like a sixteen-year-old going to his first prom.

I followed him up the walk and stood beside him when he rang the bell once, then unlocked the door, and went in yelling for Jennifer Sheridan. He needn't have bothered.

Pete Garcia was sitting on the couch and Floyd Riggens was sitting in the green Ez-E-Boy. Riggens had his legs crossed and a cold Pabst in his right hand. He made a nasty grin when we walked in and said, "Jennifer's not here, asshole. We've got her, and we want the goddamned tape."

CHAPTER 32

No one said anything for maybe three seconds, and in that time you could feel the silence in the house, and the emptiness. There was me and Thurman and Riggens and Garcia, but no one else. I knew without looking. No one else. Garcia seemed nervous.

Thurman squinted, like maybe he hadn't heard right. "Jennifer?" Loud.

Riggens said, "You think I'm kidding?"

Thurman yelled toward the back of the house, then went to the foot of the stairs. "Jennifer?" Getting frantic.

Riggens grinned. "He thinks I'm kidding, Pete."

I said, "What did you do with her, Riggens?"

"Put her someplace safe until we get this straight. There's the copy of the tape, there's the copy of Jennifer. You see where we're going with this?"

"Where's Pike?"

Garcia said, "Fuck him." When Garcia moved, he seemed to jerk, and when he wasn't moving he rubbed his palms on his thighs like they were wet.

"What happened to Pike?" Maybe something in my voice.

Riggens made a little shrug, but he'd heard it, too.

"Who the fuck knows. They separated in town and we got her. He's not so much. He wasn't so goddamn much."

Thurman came back from the stairs, his eyes nervous and his face flushed. "She's gone."

Riggens said, "What did I say?"

"You bastard." Thurman threw the flowers at Riggens and started for him, but Riggens lifted his left hand and showed a 9-mil Browning. His face went cold as an ax blade. "You wanna fuck with me? You want to see how far if it'll push?"

Thurman stopped. He didn't look like a kid going to the prom anymore. He looked like an oversized street cop with a serious mad on. He looked dangerous.

I said, "Mark."

Riggens straight-armed the Browning and told Thurman to back up, but Mark Thurman didn't move.

I said, "Mark."

Garcia's eyes flicked from Thurman to me and then to Riggens. Beads of sweat had risen on Garcia's forehead and he wiped his palms again. I didn't like that.

I stepped close behind Thurman, then eased him back.

Riggens said, "You sold us out, you fuck."

Mark Thurman said, "If she's hurt, I'll kill you, Floyd." He looked at Garcia. "I'll kill every one of you."

Floyd nodded. "You shoulda thought about that before you decided to sell us out, you prick." He gestured again with the Browning. "Where's the tape?"

I said, "What tape?"

Pete Garcia said, "Oh, fuck this." He jerked up from the couch so quickly that Mark Thurman stepped back.

Garcia said, "Just shoot the sonofabitch, Floyd. Jesus Christ."

I said, "Oh, that tape."

Riggens shifted the muzzle from Thurman to me. "Come on. You guys give us the tape, and we'll give you the girl. That's the way it's going to work."

I shook my head. "Too late, Riggens. We gave it to IAD."

Garcia said, "Then the broad's dead." He shouted it, as if what little control he had over himself was going.

Mark Thurman said, "That's not true. We still have it."

I looked at him.

Thurman said, "It's in the car. Floorboard behind the driver's side." He looked at me. "I'm not going to risk Jennifer."

Riggens said, "Go see, Pete."

Garcia went outside and came back maybe two minutes later with the tape. "Got it."

Riggens cocked his head toward a large-screen Zenith in the corner. "Check it out."

Garcia took the tape to the VCR and fumbled with the controls. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him a couple of tries to get the cassette into the machine. I didn't like all the shaking. Garcia wasn't the nervous type, but he was nervous today. I thought about why he might be nervous, and I didn't like that, either.