“Let me come over and check out your pond. Notice any footprints or obvious evidence?”

“There were some prints,” I said, “though they didn't look like much to my amateur eyes. Maybe there's some other evidence that I wasn't sophisticated enough to spot. I was careful not to disturb anything—oh, hell, I buried the fish. Was that a screw-up?”

“Don't worry about it, it's not like we're gonna do an autopsy.” He sounded uneasy.

“What's the matter?” I said.

“Nothing. I'll come by and have a look as soon as I can. Probably the afternoon.”

He spoke the last words tentatively, almost turning the statement into a question.

I said, “What is it, Milo?”

“What it is, is that I can't do any full-court press for you on this. Killing a fish just isn't a major felony—at the most, we've got trespassing and malicious mischief.”

“I understand.”

“I can probably take some footprint molds myself,” he said. “For what it's worth.”

“Look,” I said, “I still don't consider it a federal case. This is cowardly bullshit. Whoever's behind it probably doesn't want a confrontation.”

“Probably not,” he said. But he still sounded troubled, and that started to rattle me.

“Something else,” I said. “Though it's also probably no big deal. I was looking at the conference brochure again and tried to contact the three local therapists who gave speeches. Two weren't listed, but the one who was had been killed this past spring. Hit by a car while attending a psychiatric symposium. I found out because his answering service just happens to be the same one I use and the operator told me.”

“Killed here in L.A.?”

“Out of town, she didn't remember where. I've got a call in to one of his associates.”

“Symposium,” he said. “Curse of the conference?”

“Like I said, it's probably nothing—the only thing that is starting to bug me is I can't reach anyone associated with the de Bosch meeting. Then again, it's been a long time, people move.”

“Yeah.”

“Milo, you're bugged about something. What is it?”

Pause. “I think, given everything that's been happening—putting it all together—you'd be justified getting a little . . . watchful. No paranoia, just be extra careful.”

“Fine,” I said. “Robin's coming home early—tonight. I'm picking her up at the airport. What do I tell her?”

“Tell her the truth—she's a tough kid.”

“Some welcome home.”

“What time are you picking her up?”

“Nine.”

“I'll get over well before then and we'll put our heads together. You want, I can stay at the house while you're gone. Just feed me and water me and tell Rover not to make demands.”

“Rover's a hero as far as I'm concerned—he's the one who heard the intruder.”

“Yeah, but there was no follow-through, Alex. Instead of eating the sucker, he just stood around and watched. What you've got is a four-legged bureaucrat.”

“That's cold,” I said. “Didn't you ever watch Lassie?”