“It will take long?”

“Not too long.” He checked out the bathrooms: the counters and cabinets were empty. The bedrooms had been painted beige and brown, respectively. Tidy except for nail holes in the walls. “Are you going to repaint these rooms?”

“They look nice and clean to me. If no one complains, I just leave it as it is.” Keric jingled the keys. “We go now?”

Decker eyed the wood in the bedrooms. Whereas the planks in the living room floor had been done in a central diamond pattern, these strips of oak had been arranged running board style. More important, the flooring was obviously original to the building and hadn’t been touched in a number of years: dull finish and dirt in the open cracks. Not that it looked bad. It acquired a patina of its own, but if Rudy was going to do the floors in one room, why not just do the entire apartment?

“You are done, no?” Keric asked again.

“In a minute.” Decker walked back into the living room, his eyes immediately focusing in on the baseboard and shoe molding. It was also semigloss and white in color. The electricity had been turned off. Although the room had some natural light, it wasn’t enough illumination for details.

Decker took out a penlight. He squatted down at a corner and shined it in the area between the shoe molding and the floor. Carefully he went around the room, inspecting each millimeter of the crack. When he was finished scrutinizing the room, he stood up and repeated the process in the kitchen. It took up more time than Keric would have liked.

“Now we are done?”

There was a faint thread of hope in Keric’s voice. Decker hated to dash it asunder, but it was what it was. “Not quite yet. If you can bear with me a little longer, I think we can wrap this up one way or the other.”

“Wrap up…what is to wrap up?”

“I can tell you that just as soon as I do a small test with my kit.”

“What is kit? You make powder on the walls.”

“No, no.” Decker had left the apartment and was bounding down the stairs. “I’m just going to swab a few areas with a Q-tip.”

“What swab?” Keric was having trouble keeping up with him, so Decker slowed. “What do you mean, swab?”

Decker reached the lobby and went out to his car. From the glove compartment he retrieved a small cellophane package. “I found a few small stains between the shoe moldings and the floor in the living room and kitchen. This little packet is a presumptive blood test kit. It’ll tell me whether the stains are blood or not.”

Keric’s ashen face turned grayer. “Why would there be blood?”

“I’m not saying there is.” Keric was panting, and since Decker’s CPR skills hadn’t been tested for a long time, he walked at a more leisurely pace. The two men made it back up the stairs. By that time, Baker Culbertson had emerged from his warren and was lurking in the hallway.

“Is everything all right?”

Decker smiled and nodded. “I’m just about done.”

“He tests for blood,” Keric told the artist.

“Blood?” Culbertson was aghast. “Why would there be blood?”

“I’m not saying there is. Let’s not draw any conclusions.” Decker paused. “You didn’t hear anything funny coming from Banks’s apartment Friday night, did you?”

“No, everything was quiet,” Culbertson insisted. “Not that I was home all of Friday evening. I have a life.”

Decker gave him a hard smile. “It’s probably best if you keep quiet about this. I wouldn’t want to start a panic in the building.” He turned to Keric. “That wouldn’t be good for you.”

“You here isn’t good for me.”

Decker kept his face flat. “Excuse me…” He went into Banks’s place, squatted and swabbed a small blotch on the baseboard of the kitchen. The Q-tip turned blue.

“What is that?” Keric asked.

“It means that it’s likely that the sample I took is blood.” He stood up. “It could be human blood, but it also could be from raw chicken or a piece of meat. Or it could be horseradish or potatoes. They’ll change the color as well.”

“So why you do it?”

“Because the kitchen and living room paint jobs are new, but the entire apartment wasn’t repainted. I’m wondering why.” Decker went into the living room, found a few faded spots that he had spied earlier, and repeated the process. Again, the Q-tip turned blue on each trial.

“More blood?” Keric asked.

“Looks that way.”

“Or potato?”

“Not so likely in a living room.” Decker took out his cell phone. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Mr. Keric, but I’m going to call down some experts from the Crime Lab. They’ll be able to tell me if it’s horseradish or human blood.”

“Why you look for human blood here? I get complaints that Rudy screams but none last weekend.”

“Mr. Keric, that’s what concerns me.” Decker went through his cell directory and punched in the number for the Crime Lab. “That Rudy moved out and no one heard a peep.”

THE TROUBLE WITH calling after hours was voice mail. Oliver resisted the urge to slam down the phone and tried to adopt a zen/yoga/pilates/tai chi kinda what-me-worry attitude as an anonymous voice said:

If you would like to be connected to Richard Poulson, press 1.

If you would like to be connected to Annette Delain, press 2.

If you would like to be connected to Cyril Bach, press 3.

If you would like to be connected to Jared Little, press 4.

Oliver pressed four.

The extension started to ring, and when a human voice answered, Oliver was momentarily thrown off.

“Mr. Little?”

“This is Jared Little. Who is this?”

“I’m Detective Scott Oliver from LAPD-”

“Yes, the detective. My brother said you’d be calling. He told me that you’ve reopened Dad’s case.”

“Actually, we’ve got several people on your father’s case. Could I meet with you to talk about it?”

“Of course. I’d do anything for Dad.”

“When would be a good time?”

“Name it.”

“How about…” Oliver looked at his watch. It was a five-thirty. “Do you still live in La Jolla?”

“Yes.”

“I could drive down tonight. I could probably be there by eight, eight-thirty.”

“Tonight is my night out with my wife. I won’t be back until about ten. It’s going to be late to drive back to L.A. for you.”

“I’m fine with driving back. Let me give you my phone number. I’ll probably be in La Jolla around dinnertime. When you get home, give me a ring and I’ll come over.”

“That’s a good idea. I wouldn’t want you showing up, flashing the badge and putting Grandma in a panic.”

“Grandma? Your mother is babysitting?”

“Hardly.” A chuckle. “My grandparents. They’re the resident babysitters. They love their great-grandson. It’s a sweet deal all around.”

“Your mother’s parents?”

“Yes. My father’s parents passed on a long time ago.”

“You know, I’d love to talk to your grandparents. Would that be possible?”

The line fell silent. “I can call them and ask.”

“It would be very helpful. I know that you remember a lot about that period, but you were only thirteen. Adults would have a different perspective.” A long pause. “Your brother mentioned a falling-out between your mother and them.”

“He oversimplified the situation,” Jared told him. “It’s more like: we all love Mom but she’s difficult. Are you going to ask me prying questions about Mom?”

“I think prying is too strong a word.” Even though it wasn’t. “It’s hard to talk about your dad without talking about your mom. I know she had problems with gambling in the past. I’ve heard she conquered her demons.”

Another protracted silence. “More like a cold war. Anyway, I’ll ask my grandparents and give you a call back.”

“Thanks for being so helpful, Jared. It’ll really help move the investigation along.”

“No problem.” A sigh. “I know you tend to idolize the dead, but my father was really a good guy. Nelson, my son, looks a lot like him. He’s got the same winning personality, the same sparkle in his eyes, the same ability to command respect. I know that seems weird for me to be saying, but it’s not just a proud parent talking. We just put him in pre-school and the teacher said he’s a natural-born leader.”