I arranged to meet Starkey a block from Hollywood Station when her shift ended and phoned Alan Levy while I waited. I wanted to see if he had learned anything about Marx from his inside sources, and I also wanted to know how Bastilla had handled Ivy Casik.

Levy's assistant answered.

He said, I'm sorry, Mr. Cole. Alan's out of the office today.

I know. We saw each other this morning. Do you know if he's spoken with Ivy Casik?

No, sir, I don't. Would you like to leave a message? I expect he'll call in later.

Yeah. Ask him to call me. Tell him I've learned some things about the task force.

I gave him my cell number, then put away my phone.

Starkey left Hollywood Station at ten minutes after four and walked south, looking for my car. She was wearing a navy pantsuit, tortoise-shell sunglasses, and twining ribbons of cigarette smoke. A black bag hung on her right shoulder. When she saw me, I raised a hand. She flicked her cigarette to the street, then opened the door and dropped into the car.

Is this a date?

I need to talk to you about something.

I pulled a U-turn away from the curb, driving away from the station.

I'm going to call it a date so I'll feel better about myself. Here you are, picking me up, and now we're going someplace nice. You see?

I didn't say anything. I was trying to work up how to ask what I needed to ask. It would put her in a bad place, but I didn't know what else to do.

Starkey sighed dramatically at the silence.

Not the most charming date conversation I've had, but I guess it will have to do.

Lindo told me the task force still has a locked evidence room down on Spring Street. You know that layout pretty well.

So?

You know which room he's talking about?

She looked at me with something like a scowl.

They cleared out the offices they were using. They probably already shipped their files to storage.

They haven't. Bastilla and Munson are still using the room. Lindo told me he's seen them.

She studied me some more, and now she looked uncomfortable and suspicious.

What exactly are you asking me, Cole?

I'm asking if you know where they're keeping their files.

Every task force they house down there uses the same room and it's not a room, Cole, it's a fucking closet. Of course I know where it is. I spent three years down there.

Will you tell me how to find it?

The closet?

Yeah. I want to look at their files.

Are you stupid?

I need to see what they're hiding.

She held up her hands.

You're serious? You're telling me you want to illegally enter an LAPD facility and break into official police files? You are actually asking me to help you do that?

I don't know who else to ask.