I drifted back to the patio, saw that Marx was now in the kitchen with his wife, then returned to his office. I took out my penlight, cupped the lens with my hand, then turned it on, letting a sliver of light between my fingers. I examined the windows on both sides of his office, looking for alarm contacts. Most of the houses in the area had the ARMED RESPONSE sign like Marx, but most of them didn't have wired alarms. Neither did Marx. Like most other people in upper-middle-class neighborhoods, Marx had subscribed to the patrol, but hadn't popped for the hardware.

I shut the light, then continued around the house and made my way back to the street. When I reached the car, Starkey climbed over the console into the passenger seat.

Jesus, what took you so long?

Marx brought the files inside. I wanted to look around.

I started the engine, then one-eightied toward the freeway.

Starkey said, Damn. I'd love to see what he took.

I nodded, but didn't respond.

She said, What are we going to do?

Go home. I'm taking you back to your car.

That's it?

What do you expect me to do, kick down the door and beat him until he confesses? I need to figure out what to do next.

I made small talk as we drove back to Hollywood, and almost everything I said was a lie. I knew exactly what I was going to do, but I didn't want Starkey to know and I didn't want her to be part of it. She had already risked enough. And as with Pat Kyle, you have to protect your friends.

I dropped Starkey outside the Hollywood Station, let her believe I was heading home, then drove back to Altadena. Joe Pike had made good time. He was waiting at a mini-mart not far from Marx's home, his spotless red Jeep glittering in the fluorescent light beside the gas pumps like a jewel.

I pulled up next to him. Headlights coming down from the hills approached, flickered on our faces in a momentary illumination, then passed.

You know what I'm going to do?

Sure. You're going to break into his house. Anyone inside with him?

His wife. We'll wait until tomorrow when the house is clear, then I'll go in. You okay with it?

Pike didn't hesitate.

Sure. Does Starkey know?

No. Better if she doesn't.

Okay. Let's scout the area, then figure out how we're going to do this.

We planned our action at three that morning, huddled together over all-night mini-mart coffee and white-bread sandwiches of processed cheese. Then we crept into position and waited.

Chapter 33

MARX BACKED out of his garage at ten minutes after eight the next morning. I was across the street, sitting behind a stunted fig tree at the corner of his neighbor's house. I had moved into position when the first grey fingers of morning pushed off the night. Pike was parked two blocks away beside a house that was being remodeled. Marx would drive past him if he headed for the freeway.