“Because telling Jeffers would have meant getting pulled off Hewitt's case. And she could have talked without feeling she was breaching confidentiality. Leaving out names. But she might have said something to someone that can give us a lead.”

“The only member of her family I ever met was her mother, and that was just once, to listen to her cry.”

“A mother can be a confidante.”

He looked at me. “After that picnic with Paprock's husband, you'd be willing to do another exhumation?”

“What else do we have going?”

He pushed food around his plate. “She was a nice person—the mother. What approach would you take with her?”

“Straight and narrow. Hewitt had a friend who may be involved in other killings. Someone whose name starts with G. Did Becky ever talk about him?”

He caught the waitress's eye and waved her over. She smiled and held up a finger, finished reciting the specials to a couple across the room.

“She lives near Park LaBrea,” he said. “Near the art museum. Ramona or Rowena, something like that. I think she's in the book. Though she may have unlisted it after the murder. If she did, call me at Sally's and I'll get it for you.”

He looked at our untouched plates, took a toothpick from a can on the table, and poked at his incisors.

“Got your message about the sheriff,” I said. “When does he plan to get to the tape?”

“Next couple of days, unless some emergency comes up. Don't know what it'll accomplish, but at least we'll feel scientific.”

“Speaking of science,” I said, “any estimates yet about when Katarina was killed?”

“Coroner's initial guess is anywhere from eight to twenty hours before you found her.”

“Eight's more likely. The coffee dregs were still moist. If I'd gotten there a little earlier I might have—”

“Gotten hurt yourself.” He leaned forward. “Forget the rescue fantasies, Alex.”

My head hurt and so did my eyes. I rubbed them and drank water.

The waitress came over and looked at our uneaten meals.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” said Milo. “Something just came up and we've gotta run.”

“I can doggy-bag it for you.”

“No, that's okay.” He handed her the cash.

She frowned. “Oka-ay, I'll be back with your change, sir.”

“Keep it.”

Her smile was as wide as the beach. “Thank you, sir—we're offering a complimentary custard dessert, today.”

Milo patted his gut. “Maybe another time.”

“You're sure, sir? They're real good.” She touched his arm, briefly. “Really.”

“Okay,” he said, “you twisted my arm. Pack a couple to go.”

“Right away, sir.”