“Painkillers, man. Gotta love ’em.”

I told him my own version of the events of the last few days, filling in a few gaps that had been overlooked by the cops.

Angie appeared in the kitchen doorway for a moment, and she’d been cornered by Trevor. Cameron, I gathered, had already left, along with most of our guests. I was trying to hear what they were saying at the same time as I was listening to Lawrence. Trevor was, I think, asking her again for a moment alone to speak to her.

“Fine, okay,” Angie said.

“Hang on,” I said to Lawrence, and then to Trevor, “You off, man?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

“We’re just gonna walk down the street a bit,” Angie told me. “I’ll be back soon to help you and Mom clean up. And,” she said, looking scornful, “to discuss what happened the other night at McDonald’s.”

“Sure, hon,” I said.

Back to Lawrence. He said, “I guess this is the last time you take advice from me on where to get a good deal on a car. Next time, try a dealer.”

“Barbie Bullock said the same thing. Might be the only advice he ever gave that was worth paying attention to.”

“Yeah, well, shit, sorry. I feel terrible about all this, like it was my fault.”

“It’s okay. I’ve still got the car. Got the door panels back, just need a little body work on the back to patch some bullet holes.” I paused. “There any satisfaction in knowing that the guy who did this to you is no longer with us?”

“I’ll tell you this much,” Lawrence said. “If Bullock had lived, I don’t know that they’d ever have convicted him for what he did to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d have made a pretty bad witness. I never really got a look at him. He got me as I was coming down the hall, going into my study, the lights were off, all of a sudden there’s this searing pain in my gut as he drives in the knife, and then he’s gone. I managed to drag myself into the bedroom, and the next thing I know I’m waking up in a hospital.”

“Yeah, well, maybe things have a way of working out, you know.”

“I wanted to call you to say thanks, for being there, calling 911 and getting me to a hospital, but also, I never had a chance to get back to you about that Trevor Wylie kid.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, only now remembering that Lawrence had promised to give me some information about the teenager when we met that night on our Brentwood’s stakeout. Only problem was, Lawrence and I never had that meeting.

“It hardly matters now,” I said.

“Why?”

“Well, he’s a bit strange, no question, but I might not be talking to you now if it weren’t for him being in the right place at the right time. He’s kind of latching himself onto Angie, and she’s going to have to hurt his feelings, I suspect, but I imagine she’ll be as nice about it as she can.”

“Well,” Lawrence said, “you know, just ’cause a kid does something right doesn’t mean he’s still not screwed up. Stalking someone, that’s not normal behavior.”

Lawrence couldn’t see my shrug at the other end of the phone. I mean, he was right, but it all seemed a bit moot now.

“The thing is,” Lawrence said, “I’d done some checking on him that day, after our run-in with him at your place, when we found him back of the garage, and I got in touch with a few people I know who’ll tell me things that they’re not supposed to, mental health types, and they faxed me some stuff, told me some other things, and I’d made some notes.”

“Yeah?” I said, slightly curious, my eyes still drifting back to the cake.

“This Wylie kid’s got a long psychiatric history. Violent outbursts, obsessive-compulsive behavior. Slightly delusional behavior. And there’s something about a sister.”

“Yeah?”

“The reason he’s here, living without his parents, is, he attacked this sister, maybe even tried to kill her. No charges were ever laid, the family had enough money to make sure that didn’t happen, they kept the authorities out of it, but they ended up kicking the kid out, he was scaring the shit out of them.”

I felt very cold. “You’re not making this up, are you, Lawrence?”

“There’s more, Zack. I was checking out his car, that Chevy of his. This was shortly after I left your place. It was unlocked, and down there between the seats, I find all these snapshots of Angie. He’d been taking pictures of her, making a collection. And I grabbed those, nearly lost my hand to the fucking dog when I did it, too. He was dozing in the backseat, woke up quick.”

“Jesus,” I said. That cold feeling had turned into a shiver. And I thought back to a few nights earlier, when I’d been riding behind Trevor’s Chevy, on the way out to Oakwood, and he’d become distracted by something between the seats. That must have been when he’d discovered the pictures were missing.

“But here’s the really creepy thing. I put those photos in a folder, with the other stuff I’d found, in my study, and I sent Kent-you met Kent, right?”

“Sure. That night, at the hospital. Nice guy.”

“Yeah, he’s really been there for me these last few days. Him, and my sister Letitia, who’s heading back to Denver tomorrow. Anyway, I sent Kent back to my place to get this stuff, so I could give you more details over the phone, but he couldn’t find the folder anyplace.”

“Go on,” I said slowly.

“The place had been totally torn apart, and the folder was gone, and the pics along with it.”

“But that was Bullock and his crew,” I said. “I saw your office that night. It was a complete mess. They were tearing apart your place, trying to find anything that would tell them what happened to the Virtue. They found the check I wrote you, for the same amount you’d paid the people at the auction, and that’s what led them to me.”

“They didn’t have to tear apart my place to find that check,” Lawrence said. “It was sitting right on the counter, in the kitchen, on top of some mail. I’d left it there so I’d remember to deposit it. They couldn’t miss it. It would have been the first thing they found.”

“Then why would they tear apart your office?” I asked. “And why would they want your folder on Trevor Wylie?”

But even as I said it, I knew Bullock and his crew would have had no use for the folder on Trevor Wylie.

But Trevor might have been interested in it.

And if Trevor knew that Lawrence Jones was investigating him, and had gone to get any incriminating evidence himself… After he’d turned back early on that drive out to Oakwood, he’d have had time to go to Lawrence’s before the detective and I were supposed to meet at Brentwood’s…

I looked at the cake and noticed that the carving knife I’d been using to cut slices was not there.

“Lawrence,” I said, “could Trevor have known that you were asking around about him?”

“I might have fucked up,” he said. “As I was walking away from the car, he was coming the other way, saw me. And then, if he noticed at some point the pictures were missing, well, he might have put it together.”

“And he knew where you lived,” I said. “Remember you gave him your card, told him to shove it up his ass when we found him in my backyard.”

“Yeah, that was mature.”

“Jesus, Lawrence, do you think it’s possible it wasn’t Bullock who tried to kill you that night in your apartment? I mean, Bullock said he didn’t do it, but at the time I didn’t think a denial from him meant much, but he wasn’t afraid to admit killing Stan, or…”

“Or what?” Lawrence said.

And I thought: Angie’s with him. She’s with him right now. She’s with the guy who attacked Lawrence and left him for dead.

“He tells me, if he’s not with me, he won’t ever be with anyone. It was like he wanted to add I wouldn’t ever be with anyone else either.”