"Isn't the Ph.D. a research degree?" I said. "Least that's what my cousin the psychologist says."

"I would research becoming a master psychotherapist. My secondary topic would be psychotherapeutic valences as they enhance affective gestalt."

Gibberish; I nodded as if it were profound.

Rico Hauer said, "Dreadful, dreadful, poor Elise." Touching his chest, he blinked. All the emotional depth of a sheet of vinyl.

Milo told him about the DVD.

Hauer didn't move a muscle. Seconds ticked. A full minute of mute immobility.

Milo said, "That's a serious charge, sir. No reaction?"

"What reaction would you like? Denial? Fine, I deny. Shock and surprise? Fine, I am appalled. If I believe you."

"You think we're lying?"

"I think," said Hauer, "that the police use deception because the courts have granted legitimacy to that tactic. In fact, I cover that issue in my urban studies class, pose it to my students as a serious moral dilemma."

"No dilemma here, Mr. Hauer. Elise really did make that claim, took the time to record it on a DVD."

"Poor Elise. To engage in such delusions. Then again, she had her own moral issues."

"Such as?"

"Lack of fidelity."

"To who?"

"Some poor devil who believed she had special feelings for him."

"A boyfriend?"

"He may have thought so." Hauer smiled. "Elise enjoyed playing with his head. Used me as a vehicle for her mean little games."

"How so, Mr. Hauer?"

"She liked to phone him while we were having sex." Hauer's eyes brightened. "There you go, perhaps he found out. Jealousy's an excellent motive."

"Does the poor devil have a name?"

"Sal. Elise enjoyed making small talk with him as she wiggled in interesting ways. Sometimes she'd cover the phone and moan. Sometimes she'd hold a photograph of herself and him while she and I tangoed. So to speak."

"What kind of photograph?"

"Nothing erotic," said Hauer. "The two of them at a casino, this Sal had won some money. A bald little man. I attribute her hostility to him as a yearning for mastery after a childhood filled with affective helplessness."

"She kept that picture in her living room," said Milo. "That mean you tangoed at her house?"

"Of course. Where else, Lieutenant?"

"Your place?"

Hauer grinned. "My wife would object."

Avoiding the bait, Milo took him over the same ground. Hauer grew bored. A guy hooked on novelty.

The request for an alibi elicited a yawn and the explanation that he'd been with his wife, a Spanish teacher at a girls' school in Hancock Park.

"Feel free to ask her, Lieutenant."

"You don't care."

"Claudia will pretend to be resentful but she has her own diversions."

"Open marriage?"

"There is no such thing," said Hauer. "Let's just say Claudia and I are more forgiving than most people. I would, of course, resent your telling her about Elise's accusation, as it is patently false and defamatory."

"Defamatory," said Milo. "That's kind of legalistic."

"I studied law in Buenos Aires, Lieutenant. Decided not to live my life as an attack dog." Smoothing his hair. "Doesn't it bother you, dealing with the worst in people?"

"I manage to cope, Mr. Hauer."

"Good for you. Now, what else can I help you with?"

Milo 's wave was dismissive.

Hauer sat there.

Milo got up and rapped the back of Hauer's chair with a knuckle.

Hauer flinched.

"Out, Rico."

We watched him speed off in a yellow Mazda Miata convertible. Ten minutes remained until Pat Skaggs's appointment. Milo lit a cigar and we idled on the sidewalk.

Three puffs and two smoke rings later, he said, "Elise was a busy girl."

I said, "Esteemed educators molding young minds."

"It's like Hauer and Winterthorn own a testosterone time share but Winterthorn never gets to use it. Wimp or stud, cast your ballot for prime suspect."

"I'll withhold judgment until Mr. Skaggs tells his story."

"Who knew the faculty lounge was such a hotbed of naughty? What do you think of Elise's accusations now?"

"Same answer."

"C'mon, stretch your theoretical wings."

"Both men 'fessed up to sex with her, but consent's a rapist's favorite excuse because it can neutralize DNA. It's possible as soon as Hauer and Winterthorn were summoned, they conspired to hedge with partial truth. But I really don't know."

He cursed. "In a normal situation, I'da popped in on them, there'd be no chance to collude. What about their personalities?"

"Winterthorn's an excitable boy. My guess is nothing much shocks Hauer."

"Unflappable sociopath?"

"He's got the pretentiousness."

"Mr. Amateur Psychologist."

"Mile wide, inch deep," I said. "One day he can get his own talk show. Or run for office."

He laughed. Smoked, pulled out his cell, and punched in Claudia Hauer's number. The resulting conversation was brief, pleasant, ambiguous.

"Mrs. Rico verifies Senor Smooth was with her all night, which is worth about as much as Mommy Winterthorn vouching for Junior trouble."

I said, "Whatever Hauer's character flaws, if what he told us about Elise's childhood is true, it is a nice fit with her binge-drinking and promiscuity. Also with choosing a guy like Sal Fidella, then degrading him. I'd be interested in talking to her relatives. Someone's going to have to deal with the body, eventually."

"In a normal situation," he said, "I'd have already put Sean or Moe on a back-trace for nearest kin." He flicked ashes. "Prank-calling the poor fool while she romped with El Gaucho was pretty damn cold."

"Interesting word choice, Big Guy."

He lowered the cigar. "Gonna show me some inkblots now?"

"Got 'em back at the office. I'm serious. You've got good instincts, maybe you just hit on something."

"Elise freezes Sal out emotionally so he gets back at her with dry ice?"

"She staged her games," I said, "he devised one of his own. He had a key to her house and his alibi's no better than Winterthorn's or Hauer's."

"And what looks like a whodunit is just another stupid domestic. Talk about multiple orgasms for His Splendiferousness. Yeah, Sal needs to be looked at harder but so do our esteemed educators. Neither of them wasted time casting suspicion on someone else. For Winterthorn it was Hauer, Hauer aimed us back at Sal."

"Get on the love train," I said. "Reminds me of something one of my professors said when I was considering a teaching career. 'Backbiting is the mother's milk of academia, son, because so little is at stake.'"

"I had a graduate advisor tell me basically the same thing," he said. "Dr. Carter, chairman of my master's committee. That was a coupla days before he put a move on me." He checked his Timex. "Be interesting to see who Mr. Skaggs dumps on."

Just as Milo stubbed out his cigar, a small white car approached from the north, belching exhaust. Slowing, it parked across the street. Nissan Sentra, dusty windows, multiple dings.

The woman who got out was young, tall, sturdily built, with long dark wavy hair, a full face, gold-rimmed specs. Her gray pantsuit fit loosely, as did the yellow blouse underneath. A big brown leather purse arced wildly as she jogged across the street.

"Police?"

"And you are…"

"Pat Skaggs. They say you want to talk to me about Elise."