SPEAKING WITH Levy left me conflicted. Alan was trying to help, but I had given Marx my word and understood his need for secrecy, so I did not tell Levy that Wilts was a suspect. I told him about Ivy Casik instead.

I spoke with Bastilla again. She told me Ivy made up the story about the reporter.

Where did Bastilla find her?

She didn't. Ivy called her to complain about me.

I related what Bastilla told me.

Alan made grunting noises as he listened, then sounded doubtful.

She claimed you threatened her?

She was surprised when I approached her, but I didn't threaten her or do anything to scare her. She told Bastilla she made it up to get rid of me.

Does Bastilla believe her?

It sounded that way. Ivy called Bastilla, not the other way around. She wanted to file a complaint.

Did she tell them anything new about Byrd?

I don't think so. Bastilla didn't say that she did.

Alan fell silent for a moment.

We should speak with this woman. I went over there again today and she still wasn't home.

Pike and I were leaving for her apartment when you called.

Good. If you find her, let me know. I think this girl knows more than she's telling.

I do, too, Alan.

Let me give you my cell number. You won't have to go through Jacob.

He gave me the number, then Pike and I locked up the house. We took both cars in case we had to split up, driving in a loose caravan down through the canyon and east to Ivy Casik's apartment.

The modest apartment house held the same watchful silence it had on my earlier visits, as if the building and people within it were sleeping. The afternoon stillness trapped the scent of the gardenias in the courtyard, reminding me of the cloying smell of a funeral parlor.

Pike and I knocked on Ivy's door, but, like before, she did not answer.

Pike said, Creepy place.

Pod people live here.

Maybe she's at work.

She's a website designer. She works at home.

Pike reached past me and knocked again. Loud.

I pressed my ear to the door, listening for movement inside her apartment. A large window was to the left of the door, but Ivy had pulled her drapes. I cupped my face to the window, trying to see through a thin gap in the drapes, but couldn't see much. The lights were off, but my view was only a thin slice of the interior. The memory of Angel Tomaso's body was fresh, and I suddenly feared I might find Ivy the same way.

You with the noise again.

We turned, and saw the pear-shaped manager in his door. He blinked at me, then saw Pike and blinked again.

He said, Oh, my.

The little pug waddled out between his feet and stood in the courtyard, panting.

I said, Sorry. The sound really echoes in here, doesn't it?