The motorcycle cops herded the funeral procession along back roads, and Keegan cut an oblique path through parallel streets, crisscrossing and shortcutting, always staying a stone’s throw from the line of cars but out of the Impala’s rearview mirror. He had to slip in a couple of thread-the-needle left turns that could have been disastrous. He ran a light on West Puente and heard some angry horns behind him. Still, he’d be off the other car’s radar.

On Verdugo Road, he screwed up and ended up directly behind the Impala. The rearview mirror framed a pair of dark glasses. Maybe the driver saw Keegan. Maybe not. The entrance to Forest Lawn was just a few blocks ahead, so Keegan pulled in at a Texaco station. He waited a minute or two, watching traffic go by, and then headed up the street after them, through the cemetery’s grand wrought-iron gates.

It didn’t take him long to find the gravesite, the white awning, the floral displays, the cluster of dark suits and dresses. He stopped a good distance away, and let the car idle with the AC blowing. He couldn’t see the Impala anywhere. Even at this distance, he could pick Eve out of the crowd by her slight figure and her lissome movements among the others.

After twenty minutes, the distant knot of people unraveled. The orderly line of parked cars began to dissolve as mourners here and there cruised back down the hill towards the gate and the busy, sun-drenched lives that awaited them. Eventually, the limo pulled away, too, and Keegan sat forward to watch. The Impala had to be somewhere, but he didn’t see it—just the long black car Eve was in, slipping along the lush green landscape.

He waited until Eve’s limo was almost at the cemetery gates before he put his car in gear and followed. He fell in behind the limo on the 2 through Eagle Rock and Hollywood. When the limo turned up into the hills, Keegan pulled over to the curb and waited to see if the Impala would pass him.

He waited half an hour, seeing nothing suspicious, and then he drove back to the Thrifty lot to pick up his MG.

AFTER NINE, SOMEONE knocked on the kitchen’s screen door at the back of the cottage. Nora leaped down from the sofa to investigate. She barked twice as she darted through the doorway and into the dark kitchen. Then she started whimpering excitedly. It wasn’t the lieutenant; Keegan hadn’t heard a car come up the hill. Who but Eve would arrive at the back door like that? What was she thinking, coming up to see him when she’d barely buried her uncle? What would Moore think if he found them together?