No, not quite the worst. Hatch doesn’t know about Eileen’s video.

Nicholas gripped my arm. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I wasn’t going to.” My voice sounded hollow in my ears, as though it was coming from a far-off place.

Weaver’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the faceplate and scowled. “It’s Hatch.” He answered with a brusque, “Yeah?” and listened briefly. “I’m getting coffee, that’s where the f*** I am… In Westwood… No, of course I didn’t call her-the Carmichael dame means nothin’ to me… ’Kay. I’ll meet’cha at her place in ten.” Weaver snapped the phone shut. “He has the search warrant an’ he’s madder than a tiger who missed a meal. You got ten minutes to think of a story, or do what you gotta do. And don’t thank me. I’m not doing this for you, it’s for John. In fact, I was never here.”

Weaver double-timed it back to his Chevy and tore off.

Nicholas looked at me with concern. “Is there anything you want to get rid of before Hatch arrives?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I said.

“I want to ask if you broke into Ingram’s house, and why you’re not worried about Hatch finding whatever he’s looking for.”

“It’s better if you don’t.”

“O… kay.”

From the way he stretched the word, it was clear he knew my reply had been a silent admission of guilt.

“Do you have a criminal lawyer?” he asked.

“No.”

“I know a good one. I’ll call her for you.”

Her… He knows a lot of women. “Thank you, but I hope I’ll never have to meet her,” I said.

“I think you’d like Olivia. Maybe someday I’ll get the three of us together. You two have something in common.”

From the smile on his face, I was sure now that I didn’t want to meet “Olivia” and find out what the two of us had in common.

“Before Hatch gets here, I want to walk Tuffy,” I said.

I took my Tuffy-walking jacket-the one with the pockets full of plastic bags for picking up after him-from the hall closet.

“I don’t think I want to know what your lawyer friend and I have in common.”

Nicholas chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

I shoved my house keys into a pocket of my slacks and hooked the leash onto my excited poodle’s collar. Tuffy fairly bounced beside us as Nicholas and I headed for the street, where Nicholas’s prized silver Maserati Quattroporte was parked. He’d bought it several years earlier in a police department confiscation auction and was so careful with it he’d never turn it over to parking attendants.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I said. “Why don’t you go home, or go to the paper?”

“I’m not going to leave you alone with Hatch. He can be one nasty SOB.”

“All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred…” I quoted that grim passage from “The Charge of the Light Brigade” as we started down the street.

“I know a poem that’s a lot more cheerful,” he said. “ ‘There once was a soldier from Lutz, who was a-’ ”

“Stop.” I poked him on the shoulder. “I’ve heard that one.” Remembering the naughty rest of it made me laugh.

We were going south toward Montana Avenue. It was the route I usually took with Tuffy in the morning, and it was the direction from which I was sure Hatch would be coming.

“Speed it up, Tuff. We don’t have time to linger this morning.”

As though he understood the situation, or at least understood my need for him to hustle, Tuffy picked out a spot on the grass between the sidewalk and the curb and made a firm and generous deposit. Quickly scooping it up with the plastic baggie, I put that into a larger, Ziploc bag.

Nicholas watched me and chuckled. “Don’t be half safe. That’s like using a condom when you’re on the pill.”

“That’s not a very good analogy. I double bag it so there won’t be any odor in the trashcan. Garbage pickup isn’t until Thursday.”

As we resumed our walk, I said, “If something bad happens this morning-I mean if Hatch arrests me-would you call Liddy Marshall, tell her about it, and take Tuffy over to stay with Liddy and Bill until…”

“Until we can spring you.” Nicholas gently squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry.”

“And please call Eileen. She’s at John and Shannon’s house. You have that number. Tell her where I am and ask her to take care of Emma.”

“I like that cat of yours,” Nicholas said. “Maybe it’s because she’s the only cat that has ever seemed to like me.”

I was about to remark that he does well charming females, but the words died unspoken in my throat because I saw a four-car convoy turn off Montana and head up in our direction.

In the lead was Detective Manfred Hatch’s brown Crown Victoria. Following Hatch was a police black-and-white with two uniformed officers in it. Behind them was Weaver’s Chevy.

The fourth car in the line was the one that I hadn’t expected.

It was John O’Hara’s black Lincoln.

24

When Hatch saw me, he stopped beside us so abruptly that the three sets of brakes behind him screeched. I thought I caught a faint whiff of tire material left on the pavement.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hatch demanded.

I held up the plastic bag containing Tuffy’s deposit. “Being a good citizen.” Pretending I didn’t know, I gestured to the line of vehicles behind him. “What’s this parade about?”

“Go back up the street to your house.”

By the time Nicholas, Tuffy, and I returned a few minutes later, Detective Hatch and the two uniformed officers were standing on my doorstep. Weaver and John were just getting out of their cars. Weaver hiked across my lawn to join Hatch. Knowing that I care about the condition of my lawn, John took the brick path that led up to the front door.

I smiled at John, and said, “Hi.”

Nicholas nodded at him. “Morning.”

John glared at Nicholas with his usual expression of disapproval, but his responding “Hello” was polite.

Hatch had parked in front of the Maserati. Behind Nicholas’s “silver bullet,” as I referred to it, was the squad car. Weaver’s vehicle and John’s were strung out behind the black-and-white in a line that took up a good portion of the block.

With the arrival of four more adults-Nicholas, Weaver, John, and me-and a standard poodle, there was so little room at my front door that the uniformed officers and Weaver took positions on the lawn. John positioned himself on the walk behind me. Hatch blocked my front door with his body, reached into his jacket, and withdrew a folded sheet of paper.

“Search warrant,” he said, waving it in front of me. “These officers and I have permission to search your premises and your vehicle.”

I held out my hand. “I don’t have X-ray vision, Detective. Let me read it.”

He handed the paper to me, and I gave Tuffy’s leash to Nicholas.

“All the Is are dotted and the Ts are crossed,” Hatch said. “Signed by Judge Newton Carter.”

Nicholas peered over my shoulder, reading the warrant as I did. Deliberately, I took my time, while in my peripheral vision I saw Hatch fidgeting.

When I thought I’d let him wait long enough, I said, “The scope of your search is pretty narrow. You only have permission to look for DVDs or videotapes.”

Those restrictions told me he’d had trouble getting this warrant. It wasn’t an open invitation for a fishing expedition. It also told me that the police had found Ingram’s personal pornography collection, had viewed at least some of them, and thought that I might have taken one or more. Given I’d left a fingerprint, it was a pretty easy deduction.

“Why videos?” Nicholas asked.

“Evidence of an extremely personal relationship with Keith Ingram.” The innuendo in Hatch’s voice made the nature of that video unmistakable to anyone, but to embarrass me further he added, “Think about that Paris Hilton tape on the Internet.”