I said, "The cap being ordered soon after the October SAT test fits with serious premeditation. But since I'm your pal I'm going to point out a problem: If Franck's motive is to continue the scam, he'll need to be around."

"So he lays low, figures out a cover story, returns in time for the next round of SATs. Or, he got antsy because he felt we were getting too close. Given his skills, he can always find another prep school."

"Which leads me to another problem: Even if Franck's a psychopath, the smartest psychopaths avoid violence, not because they're repelled by it but because it's an inefficient strategy. Franck's skills are portable, so why murder two people in order to eliminate them as business partners when he could set up shop elsewhere?"

"What a pal. So give me an alternative."

"Two murderous preppies covering their tracks."

"Given Franck's history, why would that be anything but another diversion?"

"It fits with both murders: Elise's was calculated, mean-spirited, a Hah-hah look-at-me piece of theater. Because she was in no position to resist. Sal, on the other hand, posed a great challenge, easier for two people to overpower him and bash him with a found object."

"Why wouldn't two homicidal kids bring a weapon, Alex? And covering up for someone taking your SAT is a better motive? If Elise and Sal-and Franck-went public, they'd be putting themselves in the crosshairs."

"It could be an excellent motive if you're a couple of indulged but intensely pressured brats waiting for the Crucial Letter when Elise Freeman lets you know she wants more dough or your future's blown to smithereens."

"Same problem, Alex: The scam comes to light, she's screwing herself."

"The fact that she considered the rape scam says she was willing to trade a bit of misery and exposure for the chance of big money. In both cases, she and Sal would figure the victims would settle quietly. Like any good cons, they timed the extortion to their prey's maximum vulnerability. And one more thing: The kids Franck sat in for didn't show up on Elise's doorstep randomly. Most likely, she was already tutoring them, but their scores just weren't edging high enough and they started freaking out. At the height of their anxiety, Elise says, 'You know, I've got a solution.' And that's relevant because if they'd spent time at Elise's house they could be aware of her vulnerabilities: binge-drinking and poor judgment when it came to younger men."

"Party with Teach, spike her vodka with Oxy, then ice her. Lovely."

"For all we know, Fidella figured it out, was too greedy to refrain from putting on an additional squeeze. Unfortunately, he underestimated his victims."

"And Trey Franck misdirects us to Martin because…"

"Anything that keeps us away from the scam is in his best interest."

"Then li'l Julie blows it by being honest… I'll keep an open mind but my gut tells me Franck's an emotionally shallow little prick and he could still be the young guy seen driving away in Fidella's Vette. And need I remind you that Nosy Neighbor was pretty certain there was only one person in the car, not some deadly duo."

"Rich kids have their own cars," I said.

He rewrapped Franck's brushes. "I get a match to that palm print, it's no longer theoretical. Same for some juicy info from juicy Brianna Blevins, who I will locate even if it means an unprecedented level of sleep deprivation. Onward to North Hollywood, Jeeves."

"You're driving."

"I was speaking symbolically," he said. "Side effect of all the clever types I've had to contend with."

CHAPTER 32

The Blevins residence was a pebble-roofed ranch house on a cul-de-sac north of Chandler Boulevard. Train tracks bisected the neighborhood, foisted on unwilling residents by transportation nannies on another futile quest to clear the freeways.

The house was neatly kept, as were its neighbors, but the lack of curbside trees gave the street a tentative feel. A spotless green Buick LeSabre sat in the driveway. A couple of sago palms sprouted from a lava rock bed below the picture window.

The man who came to the door wore a white shirt and gray tie, held a Palm Pilot in one hand, a stylus in the other. The furnishings behind him ran the gamut of green. The aroma of bacon had settled comfortably.

He poked the Palm, gave a befuddled look. Fifty or so, with the kind of bluish beard that never looks completely shaved and a salt-and-pepper brush cut. He screwed up his mouth as if yet another load of confusion had just been foisted onto his weary shoulders.

Milo 's I.D. elicited a one-second examination. "Police? There was a burglary? Since the trains started running we're getting more unsavories, just like we worried about. But no serious problems. Yet."

"You're Mr. Blevins?"

" Harvey. What's up?"

"We'd like to talk to Brianna."

"Now what?"

"You've had problems with Brianna?"

"Maybe one day she'll settle down, get married, pump out a grandchild, and I'll understand why I became a parent in the first place." Blevins laughed, as if to scour bitterness from his voice. "Yes, she's given me problems. What the heck has she gone and done?"

Milo said, "We're looking at Brianna as a witness, not a suspect, Mr. Blevins, so if you could tell us where she is-"

"Don't know where she is, that's part of the problem. She's just like her mother, talk about genetics-here, come on in while I get my laptop."

We sat on a stiff green sofa as Blevins tucked his computer under his arm. "Excuse the mess."

The house was neater than a marine barracks at inspection. Despite the bacon perfume, the kitchen was spotless and a dishwasher hummed.

"Looks fine to me," said Milo.

"That's always Bri's excuse," said Blevins. "'Looks fine to me, Dad, you want better, do it yourself.'"

"You're divorced from her mom?"

"Ten years ago but Glorietta's six feet under. Eight years, driving drunk. Luckily no one else got hurt."

I said, "By 'just like her mother' did you mean Brianna has a drinking problem?"

"She doesn't have one yet," said Blevins. "No teetotaler but she seems able to hold it, like I can. Due to my ex's issues, I did a lot of reading on the subject and it's a brain chemistry thing, luck of the draw."

"So her problems are-"

"She's got slut problems," said Blevins. "I know that sounds bad, a father shouldn't talk about his kid that way, but facts are facts. Even there, I can't blame her totally, it's also in the brain, Glorietta was a total round-heels, I didn't find out the extent until all these idiots show up at the funeral and start confessing to me. Classy, huh?"

His lower jaw swung from side to side. "It didn't bother me, we'd been divorced two years, but it did make me resolve to raise Bri the right way. Church, Girl Scouts, the works. For a while, it worked, she loved Sunday school, all the stories they told her. Then when she got to high school she fell in with the wrong crowd, started getting D's and F's. I took her to a bunch of therapists, they said it was a self-esteem issue. I had her tested, no learning disability, she's just one of those the best she can do is a C. So I guess she gave up."

"Started hanging with slackers."

"Slackers, sluts, kids bused in from the barrio or wherever, you name it."

"Was Selma Arredondo part of that crowd?"

Harvey Blevins's bushy eyebrows jiggled. "You know that one, huh? She get Bri in trouble?"

Milo said, "Her name came up as a friend of Brianna's."

"Some friend," said Blevins. "She comes in here, dressed in next to nothing, everything's bouncing and jiggling. Even Bri knows better than that. But what can you expect when they dance for a living?"

"Where do they dance?"

Harvey Blevins sat lower. "I don't like talking about it but every therapist said I need to be realistic, distance myself, finally let her take responsibility."