“True. I still can't find Harvey Rosenblatt, and his wife hasn't returned my call. Maybe she's a widow who just doesn't want to deal with it. But I've got to keep trying. If Rosenblatt's alive, I need to warn him—need to warn Harrison, too. Let me call him right now and tell him about Katarina.”

I returned to the pay phone and dialed Ojai while reading the warning label on the cigarette machine. No answer, no tape. I hoped it was because Harrison's self-preservation instincts were sharp. The little man would make an easy, crimson target.

When I returned to the table, Milo still hadn't eaten.

“Gone,” I said. “Maybe hiding already. He said he had somewhere to go.”

“I'll ask an Ojai cop to stop by. What about Becky Basille? How do you fit her into this? Hewitt screaming “bad love,' the killer taping Hewitt?”

“Maybe Hewitt was a Corrective School alumnus, too. Or maybe the killer indoctrinated Hewitt about bad love. If G is our guy, Becky's notes imply a close relationship of some kind between him and Hewitt. If I'm right about the killer not being psychotic, he'd have been the more put-together partner—the dominant one. Able to push Hewitt's buttons, feed Hewitt's paranoia, get him off his medication, and turn him against his therapist. Because of his hatred of therapists. Plus, he had another reason to hate Becky: Hewitt was getting attached to her.”

Milo began cutting salmon with his fork. Stopped and ran his hand over his face. “I'm still looking for Mr. Gritz. Pulled his complete sheet and it's all minor league.”

“He told the Calcutta folks he was going to get rich. Could there be some kind of profit motive to these murders?”

“Maybe he was just bragging. Psychopaths do that.” He looked at his food and shoved his plate away. “Who'm I kidding?”

“The kid on the tape,” I said. “Any record of Gritz having children?”

He shook his head.

“The chant,” I said. “ 'Bad love, bad love, don't give me the bad love.' Sounds like something an abused kid might say. Having a child recite it could be part of the ritual. Reliving the past, using de Bosch's own terminology. God only knows what else he's done, trying to work through his pain.”

He took out his wallet, pulled out cash, and put it on the table. Tried to catch the waitress's attention, but her back was to us.

“Milo,” I said, “Becky might still be a link. She could have talked to someone about Hewitt and G.”

“Like who?”

“A relative, a friend. Did she have a boyfriend?”

“You're saying she broke confidentiality?”

“She was a beginner, and we already know she wasn't that careful.”

“Don't know about any boyfriend,” he said. “But why would she not tell Jeffers, then go and gab to a layperson?”