“If Korvutz was being righteous with me, he met Bright twice and Bright freelanced a double murder without being asked to. This is a prince who loves snipping off loose human ends.”

“Tony’s weak. Gotta start thinking about how to break him open. How do I get him to the office?”

“Ella collected service people’s business cards. Tell him you’ve linked her murder to a gang of home-improvement scammers who prey on the elderly, have some mug shots for him to look at. At some point you could even show him Bright’s DMV shot, let the name slip, see how he reacts.”

“Creative… okay, let’s aim for a planning session at nine — make it nine thirty. Once we finalize the script, I phone Tony, ask him to drop by the station. Guy never leaves before three p.m, we’re ready by noon, we’ll have him.”

By nine fifteen the next morning I was drinking strong coffee in Milo’s office as he shuffled a new pile of message slips.

The parole office hadn’t been able to locate Bradley Maisonette and was “activating an investigation.”

Wilson Good was still nowhere to be found and St. Xavier High was “extremely concerned.” Good’s assistant coach, a man named Pat Crohan, had tried to contact Andrea Good through her work number at a graphic design firm. Mrs. Good had abruptly resigned four days ago.

Milo said, “Hubby and wifey on a major rabbit.”

“They have a dog,” I said. “If they’re gone for the long haul, they took it with them. If they’re just in temporary seclusion, weighing options, they may have boarded it. Want me to try to find out?”

“Sure… damn case, sixteen years — two from Gordon Beverly, just checking in… chief’s office wants a meet in three days on all pending matters.”

He pulled out a panatela. “Let’s talk about Tony.”

The phone rang. “What? I’m busy — who? Do they have an appointment… okay, okay, no matter, bring ’em up — what? Fine. I’ll come down.”

He shot out of his seat, strode to the door, flung it open. “Stay right there.”

Five minutes later, he was still gone. I used the time to look up canine-boarding facilities in the Hollywood area, found eight. Pretending to be a veterinarian named “Dr. Dichter,” I began working my way through the list, inquiring about the health of my patient, “Indy Good,” the acrobatic dachshund.

A pleasant woman at my fourth try, Critterland Pet Hotel said, “Oh, he’s fine. Is Andy concerned about something?”

“She called my office to verify his shots.” Whatever that meant.

“Oh. Well, Indy’s feisty as ever and not playing well with others. Did Andy say when she planned to pick him up?”

“Not to me. She left it open-ended?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Doctor, he’ll be fine. Any idea how her husband’s doing?”

“Something wrong with him?”