“None of this is coming from the mayor’s office, if that’s what you’re asking. But the Japanese community has been unhappy with Graham before. They think he’s a racist. It looks like he played right into their hands.”

“I was there. Graham acted correctly.”

“Yeah, I know you were there, Pete. Frankly, it’s unfortunate. I don’t want to see you tarred by the same brush.”

I said, “Graham acted correctly.”

“Are you listening, Pete?”

“What about this suspension and disciplinary review?”

“That’s the first I heard of it,” Ellen said. “But that would be internally generated. It’s coming from your own department. By the way, is it true? Did you and Connor see Sakamura last night?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t arrest him?”

“No. We didn’t have probable cause to arrest him when we talked to him. Later on, we did.”

Ellen said, “Do you really think he could have done this murder?”

“I know he did. We have it on tape.”

“On tape? Are you serious?”

“Yeah. We have the murder on videotape from one of the Nakamoto security cameras.”

She was silent for a while. I said, “Ellen?”

“Look,” Ellen said. “Off the record, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here, Pete. There’s more than I understand.”

“Why didn’t you tell me who the girl was, last night?”

“I’m sorry about that. I had a lot to take care of.”

“Ellen.”

A silence. Then: “Pete, this girl got around. She knew a lot of people.”

“Did she know the mayor?”

Silence.

“How well did she know him?”

“Listen,” Ellen said, “Let’s just say she was a pretty girl and she knew a lot of people in this town. Personally, I thought she was unbalanced, but she was good-looking and she had a hell of an effect on men. You had to see it to believe it. Now there’s a lot of irons in the fire. You saw the Times today?”

“No.”

“Take a look. If you ask me, you want to be very correct, the next couple of days. Dot your i’s and cross your t’s. Do everything by the book. And watch your back, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Ellen.”

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t call.” Then her voice got softer. “Take care of yourself, Peter.”

I heard a dial tone.

“Daddy?”

“Just a minute, Shel.”

“Can I watch cartoons?”

“Sure, honey.”

I found her a station with some cartoons and walked into the living room. I opened the front door and picked up the Times from the mat. It took me a while to find the story on the last page of the Metro section.

I skimmed the first paragraph. Japanese officials of the Nakamoto corporation complained about “callous and insensitive” police behavior, which they said detracted from a star-studded opening night at their new skyscraper on Figueroa. At least one Nakamoto official expressed the view that the police actions were “racially motivated.” A spokesperson said: “We do not believe the Los Angeles Police Department would behave in this fashion if a Japanese corporation were not involved. We feel strongly that the actions of the police reflect a double standard for treatment of Japanese at the hands of American officials.” Mr. Hiroshi Ogura, chairman of the board of Nakamoto, was present at the party, which drew such celebrities as Madonna and Tom Cruise, but he could not be reached for comment on the incident. A spokesman said, “Mr. Ogura is deeply disturbed that official hostility should mar this gathering. He very much regrets the unpleasantness that occurred.”

According to observers, Mayor Thomas sent a staff member to deal with the police, but with little result. The police did not modify their behavior, despite the presence of the special Japanese liaison officer, Lieutenant Peter Smith, whose job is to defuse racially sensitive situations… .

And so on.

You had to read four paragraphs before you discovered that a murder had occurred. That particular detail seemed to be almost irrelevant.

I looked back at the lead. The story was from the City News Service, which meant there was no byline.

I felt angry enough to call my old contact at the Times, Kenny Shubik. Ken was the leading Metro reporter. He had been at the paper forever, and he knew everything that was going on. Since it was still eight in the morning, I called him at home.

“Ken. Pete Smith.”

“Oh, hi,” he said. “Glad you got my message.”

In the background, I heard what sounded like a teenage girl: “Oh, come on, Dad. Why can’t I go?”

Ken said, “Jennifer, let me talk here for a minute.”

“What message?” I said.

Ken said, “I called you last night, because I thought you ought to know right away. He’s obviously working off a tip. But do you have any idea what’s behind it?”

“Behind what?” I said. I didn’t know what he was talking about. “I’m sorry, Ken, I didn’t get your message.”

“Really?” he said. “I called you about eleven-thirty last night. The DHD dispatcher said you had rolled out on a case but you had a car phone. I told her it was important, and for you to call me at home if necessary. Because I felt sure you’d want to know.”

In the background, the girl said, “Dad, come on, I have to decide what to wear.”

“Jennifer, damn it,” he said. “Chill out.” To me he said, “You have a daughter, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But she’s only two.”

“Just wait,” Ken said. “Look, Pete. You really didn’t get my message?”

“No,” I said. “I’m calling about something else: the story in this morning’s paper.”

“What story?”

“The Nakamoto coverage on page eight. The one about ‘callous and racist police’ at the opening.”

“Jeez, I didn’t think we had a Nakamoto story yesterday. I know Jodie was doing the party, but that won’t run until tomorrow. You know, Japan draws the glitterati. Jeff didn’t have anything on the scheds in Metro yesterday.”

Jeff was the Metro editor. I said, “There’s a story in the paper this morning about the murder.”

“What murder?” he said. His voice sounded odd.

“There was a murder at Nakamoto last night. About eight-thirty. One of the guests was killed.”

Ken was silent at the other end of the line. Putting things together. Finally he said, “Were you involved?”

“Homicide called me in as Japanese liaison.”

“Hmmm,” Ken said. “Listen. Let me get to my desk and see what I can find out. Let’s talk in an hour. And give me your numbers so I can call you direct.”

“Okay.”

He cleared his throat. “Listen, Pete,” he said. “Just between us. Do you have any problems?”

“Like what?”

“Like a morals problem, or a problem with your bank account. Discrepancy about reported income… anything I should know about? As your friend?”

“No,” I said.

“I don’t need the details. But if there’s something that isn’t quite right… . “

“Nothing, Ken.”

“ ‘Cause if I have to go to bat for you, I don’t want to discover I have stepped in shit.”

“Ken. What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to go into detail right now. But offhand I would say somebody is trying to fuck you in the ass,” Ken said.

The girl said, “Daddy, that’s disgusting.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to be listening. Pete?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m here.”

“Call me in an hour,” Ken said.

“You’re a pal,” I said. “I owe you.”

“Fucking right you do,” Ken said.

He hung up.

I looked around the apartment. Everything still looked the same. Morning sunlight was still streaming into the room. Michelle was sitting in her favorite chair, watching cartoons and sucking her thumb. But somehow everything felt different. It was creepy. It was like the world had tilted.