“How’d she find that?”

“She didn’t say.”

Emily said, “Maybe one of those perverts went crazy.”

“We’ll definitely check it out, ma’am,” said Milo. “She did tell you about her job with the Vander boy.”

“She said she had a full-time job teaching a musical genius. She e-mailed me and I answered right away. I asked her to call and she did. But only once. We had one conversation. She sounded happy.” Sniffling. “I thought she’d call again. I told her I was proud of her, asked her to come home, at least for a visit. She said she’d think about it, but she never followed through.”

Milo said, “She saved a hard copy of your e-mail, ma’am. It obviously meant a lot to her.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to the brothers. “You guys have no idea how she met the Vanders?”

Chris shook his head.

Marc said, “In music, generally it’s word of mouth-oh. You’re thinking they were freaks, heard her play at one of those screwathons and hired her? Makes sense.”

“Why’s that?”

“The filthy rich do what they want.”

Emily said, “Oh, my God.”

Milo said, “Jumping to conclusions is a real bad idea. All we know about the Vanders is that they hired Selena to teach piano. But this is exactly what we need-any possible links to people in Selena’s life. So if anyone has any other ideas, please express them.”

Marc said, “The whole rich-asshole thing makes total sense. Selena meets them at a freak show and they decide to co-opt her for-”

“Didn’t you hear him?” said his brother. “It’s way premature to-”

Marc wheeled on him. “Like you’ve had something to offer? Fuck off.”

Chris’s complexion deepened to sugar-beet. “Fuck you.”

“Stop it!” said Emily Green-Bass. “I can’t stand this, it’s like everything’s rotting.”

CHAPTER 10

We watched mother and sons drive away in three separate rental cars.

Milo said, “Nothing like togetherness. Sounds like Selena was alienated from all of ’em.”

I said, “People come to L.A. to lose themselves.”

“You referring to me or you or everyone?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Back in his office, I said, “Private gigs at swinger parties could explain the sex toys. Selena started off supplying the soundtrack, evolved into a different type of entertainment.”

“Nice-looking girl, the whole Little Miss Chaste thing could appeal to a libertine.” Smiling. “Last time I heard that word was from Sister Mary Patrick the Cruel.” He fished a panatela from a desk drawer, unwrapped it, twirled. “What do you think of Angry Brother?”

“He’s the only one who had any kind of relationship with Selena, but a hot temper can lead all sorts of places.”

He ran a records check on Marc. “Clean. So maybe we should trust his instincts and the Vanders were shelling fifty grand a year for more than piano lessons.”

“With a kid who’s a prodigy, you’d think the family would hire a famous teacher, not a starving musician who’d dropped out of formal training. On the other hand, what better cover for Selena being on call?”

“Tickle the ivories, tickle Daddy and Mommy.”

“That would account for Travis Huck’s overactive sweat glands. Same for the stone wall Reed bumped up against when he tried to talk to the Vanders’ accountants. And the Vanders just happen to be traveling when Selena shows up dead.”

“Lifestyles of the rich and lustful,” he said. “Marc Green might be one of those peevish class-warfare guys, but that doesn’t make him wrong.”

He rubbed his face. “That house, end of the road, gated, no neighbors in sight. Ideal setup for interesting soirees. Selena told Marc she dug the money. What if she got bonuses for nonmusical gigs, then she saw something that made her want out.”

“Or she threatened someone literally.”

“Blackmail?”

“Big secrets, big money.”

“Yeah, that’s the recipe.”

“On the other hand,” I said, “the truth could turn out to be much more of a downer.”

“What?”

“She reached her expiration date and got discarded. Which could be the link to Sheralyn Dawkins. Maybe the other Jane Does, if they also sold sex for a living.”

“Used and tossed.”

“The swinger scene thrives on novelty,” I said. “The big downer is getting jaded. Hiring pros worked for a while. Then Selena came along, outwardly innocent. That would kick things up a notch.”

“Maybe inwardly and outwardly chaste,” he said. “Twenty-six and never been nothinged until she ran into the wrong crowd. Those years of playing clubs, think it’s possible?”

“Anything’s possible,” I said. “Makes both our jobs interesting.”

A call to the crypt revealed that Selena Bass’s autopsy was scheduled in three days. Milo ’s wheedling to jump the queue produced vague maybes. Just as he hung up, Deputy Chief Henry Weinberg rang in, wanting to know when he was planning to go public on the marsh murders.

Milo said, “Soon,” sat for a long time, listened impassively.

When he hung up, I said, “Wild guess: Immediately’s a whole lot better than soon.”

“Brass has the script written and proofread, ready to be recited with wooden earnestness. Goddamn pencil-pushers love press conferences because it lets them pretend they’re doing a real job.”

I said, “At the risk of being contentious, two victims with no I.D.’s, the media could be helpful.”

“The media’s like a penicillin shot, Alex. Pain in the ass, sometimes helpful in small doses. It’s always a double-edged sword: too much exposure, people rabbit. Lemme see if the bone ladies have pulled up anything.”

Eleanor Hargrove was at the marsh. All the bones had been extracted and tagged, were being prepped for transport to her lab. Her guess was very little additional data would be forthcoming, though Jane Doe Three did have “some interesting dentition.”

Milo said, “Interesting how?”

“Two baby canines still in place and she was born without wisdom teeth. If you ever get dental records, matching would be a snap.”

He thanked her, called Moe Reed, confirmed the young detective’s trip to San Diego tomorrow, set up a second lunch meet at Café Moghul in an hour.

I said, “He likes Indian food?”

“Like that matters.”

Reed was drinking tea when we got there. Same blazer and khakis, similar shirt and tie. Hours in the sun had grilled him medium-rare. He looked worn.

The woman in the sari brought us everything she was serving that day.

Milo snarfed. Reed didn’t touch a thing.

Milo said, “Don’t like Indian?”

“Had a late breakfast.”

“Where?”

“IHOP.”

“German pancakes, the applesauce?”

“Just eggs.”

“Kid, you gotta carbo-load for the long trek ahead.” Patting the swell of his gut. “Got anything for show-and-tell?”

“Talked to Alma Reynolds, Duboff’s girlfriend. She sounds as whack as him, kept going on and on about the marsh being sacred even though she’s an atheist. That made me wonder about the missing hands being some kind of religious ritual, but I looked up all the major religions and not one’s got anything like that, even Wiccans and Voodoos. Reynolds confirmed she was out of town when Duboff said she was and I still can’t find anything psycho in his past. His old boss at that left-wing bookstore says he was nonviolent, carried spiders and bugs outside and let them go.”

Milo said, “Hitler was a vegetarian.”

The young detective’s blue eyes studied him. “That so?”

“Der Führer und der Tofu.”

Reed smiled. “In terms of Travis Huck, I also got a bunch of nothing. But something about him still bugs me, Loo. Nervous and evasive.”

“Maybe because he’s protecting the Vanders.” Milo summarized what we’d learned from Marc Green.