Wow. What a privilege, I thought as I took the card. “Rhoda Murray may be a dead end,” I said.

Kravitz said, “I’m aware of that. Time for me to get out of here now.”

But before he could take a step toward the front door, voices came from the kitchen. Kate. I assumed the male voice belonged to Clinton Roark-unless the girl had gone as crazy as a goat at mating time and hooked up with someone else.

Kate came into the living room, Roark behind her. “Abby, whose car is-Oh, hi.” She smiled at Kravitz. “I’m Kate Rose, and this is my friend Clint Roark.”

As the men shook hands, Roark spoke before Paul could. “Aren’t you Paul Kravitz from that program… what’s it called?”

“Crime Time.” Kravitz’s TV smile appeared.

Roark pointed at Kravitz. “Yes, that’s it. Nice to meet you. Love your show.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Kate. “It’s Dr. Rose, correct?”

Kate nodded, and I could tell her radar had gone up.

“Paul was just leaving.” I tried to clue Kate with my tone, reassure her about Kravitz, since I’d complained about all the Venture people to her more than once.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m taking a plane at six in the morning. I bid you all a pleasant evening.”

I led him out, then picked up the empty wineglasses on my way back to the kitchen, where I found Kate and Clint. She was showing him her refrigerated omega-3-6- 9 oil and the container holding the flax flakes she sprinkles on her cereal. How romantic.

“What was he doing here?” Kate asked. Webster sat at her feet holding his leash, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Making deals. That’s the Hollywood way. Anyway, I’m glad to report he gave me a piece of information I needed. Now, you guys go on exploring the amazing world of fatty acids while I take the dog out.”

Webster and I took a walk up the block and back. The night would be cold-we’d gone from eighty degrees to fifty in the last four days-and Webster seemed wound up by the sudden change. Me? I would have enjoyed the humidity-free night better if I weren’t bothered by Clinton Roark.

Kate had that glow women get when they’ve found a new guy, and for some reason I didn’t like it. I was used to seeing her with Terry, and even Roark’s dimpled, warm smile couldn’t compensate for the loss I felt-a loss I seemed to be experiencing more than Kate. I would miss Terry’s presence-he’d been a good friend-but she seemed to have erased him like a mistake she’d written on a paper. That seemed wrong.

I made sure to come in through the front door to avoid the two of them, and released Webster, who bounded toward the kitchen and the smell of what I thought was broccoli cooking. I went upstairs, did the whole triple-step face-cleansing thing and climbed into bed with the cat. Diva was surprised by this-it was early-but she settled in next to me. Then I called Jeff.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you?”

“Missing you.”

“I could be home in a week.” He sounded more tired than when he worked a case for forty-eight hours straight.

“That’s the best news I’ve had all day.” I summarized what had happened since we last spoke.

When I’d finished, Jeff said, “You think you can trust Kravitz, hon?”

“For now, I have to. Besides, what’s the alternative? Fight Kravitz and then trip over his investigators every step I take?”

“I’m betting they’ll still follow you to that motorcycle shop tomorrow. Do you remember what I told you about ditching a tail?”

“Take the side streets, double back at times, stop and let the tail pass. Did I miss anything?”

“Never stop at yellow lights. Your tail might be four cars behind, and that’s your chance to lose them. Of course, some guys know how to tail without being noticed. Hope you don’t get one of those kind.”

“You can do that, right? Tail without a suspect knowing?”

“Usually.”

“What’s your secret?” I asked.

“Anticipation of their next move, sometimes a gut feeling. Having a clue where the target is going is the best help of all.”

“Kravitz will tell them where I’m going, won’t he?”

“Probably. Maybe you can fool them. Follow some other lead or stay home.”

“Is that what you’d do? Stay home? I don’t think so, Jeff.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Now, can we talk about something else? This time I want to know what you’re not wearing.”

15

The next morning I called Murray Motorcycles and asked for Rhoda. The man who answered told me she wasn’t in, but he expected her soon. I asked for directions and hung up. The shop wasn’t far from where I’d been yesterday, and I hurried out the back door, anxious to interview Rhoda.

Unfortunately, fifteen minutes later I found myself in a giant traffic jam on Highway 59. Damn. When I have a plan, a traffic mess like this is sure to happen. I tried a Josh Groban CD to calm down, and when that didn’t work I picked up my cell. I hoped to reach DeShay rather than his voice mail, and prayed he’d forgiven me for pestering him yesterday.

“Peters,” he answered.

“It’s me. Did you hear anything on the DNA yet?”

“I’ll call you in five minutes,” he said. “White will be out of here by then.”

“Gotcha.” I closed the phone and in those seemingly endless five minutes the Camry and I moved about a hundred feet.

Finally the phone rang.

DeShay said, “Sorry, but Don’s having a bad day, and you know how he feels about your working this case. Thought I’d better not antagonize him by giving you information while he was around.”

“Sergeant Benson told me White was territorial, but his reaction to me seems way beyond that. Am I that annoying? Wait, don’t answer that. What’s this information?”

“You won’t believe this, Abby.”

“Try me,” I said.

“The dead woman’s DNA does not match the baby but does match Emma. She’s Christine O’Meara for sure.”

“Wait a minute. The baby under the house wasn’t Christine’s? And wasn’t Emma’s sister? Hell, do you even know if it was a boy or a girl?”

“Girl. They did mitochondrial testing to figure all this out,” he said.

“That’s right. Julie said you can only use female samples for that. What do we do now?” I said.

“Now we have a different unidentified victim. White’s been busy pulling files to see if anyone reported a kidnapping or a baby snatching from a hospital in 1992. Thing is, we checked the Chronicle archives first and found nothing. Something like that would have been big news.”

“White’s focus is still on identifying the baby first?” I said.

“It’s a good place to start, but-Wait. Hang on.”

I heard White in the background say, “Who you talking to?”

DeShay must have covered the phone, because I couldn’t hear his response. When he came back on the line, he said, “He came back for something. Anyway, he’s on his way to the hospital. Ed’s not doing so hot, and I think that’s part of White’s attitude problem. They’ve been partners a long time.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Sergeant Benson seems like such a nice man, from the few times I talked to him.”

“He had another small stroke.”

“I sent flowers, put you and Jeff on the card, too.”

“Thanks for thinking of Ed. Women are good at remembering shit like flowers and cards.”

“And cops are good at giving their blood and their lives for the rest of us. As for the case, while White’s doing his thing, are you following up on Christine O’Meara’s murder?”

“Don’t I wish. White jawed all morning that since Emma hired you for that job, you could take O’Meara while we focus on the bones. I sorta get that. Lots of media people have been asking questions about how a baby could die without anyone knowing. I wonder myself.”

“I’ll keep doing what I’m doing then.”

“Yup. Find out anything you can on O’Meara and pass it on to me. And by the way, that asshole Mayo has pulled strings, gotten the okay for Paul Kravitz to talk to us about the investigation into the infant’s death. Like I got time for that.”