“You ever meet them? The women?”

“A handful.” Sebastian banged a U-turn.

“I’ve talked to the ones I found listed in his phone contacts and emails and texts. Last girl he dated, as far as I can tell, was this woman named Candice Jackson.”

“She a lawyer?”

“She is.”

Sebastian remembered her now: dark brown hair and a killer smile and an even more killer mind, the woman a contracts lawyer for some big-name downtown firm.

“You remember her, I take it,” Ron said.

“Only met her once. One of the quick conversations in the driveway—Hey, how are you? Nice to meet you.” Sebastian had figured Candice Jackson was just another one in the long line of women who preferred smiling and nodding to talking. That changed quickly, the woman not only a real conversationalist but also clearly someone of substance, and after she and Paul left, Sebastian thought Paul might have met an equal, someone to call him on his shit.

Sebastian also remembered being slightly nervous. He didn’t need a lawyer coming around the house, or Paul confiding in one.

“The two women before Candice had good things to say about Paul,” Ron said. “You know, nice guy, smart and attractive, but things didn’t work out. I met them face-to-face, so I could get a read on them, and I got the sense they were holding back something. Candice pretty much confirmed it.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. Color drained from her face and she refused to talk to me,” Ron said. “I was hoping you might tell me why Paul scared the living shit out of her.”

“I’ll talk with her.”

“You can’t. At least not now, not in person,” Ron said. “She’s out of the state, in New Hampshire. Her parents live there, city called Manchester. Have no idea when she’s coming back, but when she does, I’ll let you know.”

“You’re keeping an eye on her.”

“Oh yes. There’s definitely something there. Shortly after Paul went underground, Candice put in for a sabbatical, I guess you could call it. She went to rehab in Phoenix for pill and alcohol addiction. Place also specializes in treating addicts who were victims of sexual abuse. I can’t give you any details because by the time I located her, she was getting ready to leave, so I couldn’t put someone in there next to her to find out anything.”

“When did you talk to her?”

“Little over two weeks ago. Team I have on her, they say all she does is stay in her house. Anything she needs is delivered.”

“Anything else?”

Ron nodded. “I’m told the LAPD is working with the Feds on some sort of task force.”

“On Brentwood?”

“Unclear. But it was set up after Brentwood, and it’s definitely blood related. This is from my guy on the Blood Unit, Alves.”

“So they must have found something.”

“No. If they had, they would have come knocking by now. Task force isn’t being run out of LAPD—it’s a Fed thing—so my contacts can’t get me any specific information, because they’re not involved. I don’t want to press, either, tip our hand.”