Milo said, "What the hell, Brentwood's close. What's your gas situation?"

"Half a tank," I said. "No problem if we don't cogitate too much."

The building was a space-clogging twenty-unit heap two blocks south of Wilshire, faced with poorly tended balconies and satellite dishes perched on railings.

Security door. No answer to the bell-push for Franck, J.

We were about to leave when a woman with short gray hair and sturdy limbs stepped out with a black brindle French bulldog.

Dead ringer for Blanche's feisty predecessor, Spike, and a smile hijacked my mouth. The woman noticed, smiled back. Serenely, as if used to the attention. So was the dog. He planted his legs, faced forward, stacked like a champ.

Milo said, "Brings back memories, huh?"

The woman said, "Pardon?"

"My friend here had one of those, same color."

"They're the best, aren't they?"

"Quasi-human," I said. "How long have you had him?"

"Three years, he just finished filling out."

"I'm guessing twenty-six pounds?"

"On the nose. May I ask how long yours lived?"

"He was a rescue, so I don't know for sure. Best guess is twelve, thirteen years."

"Thirteen would be great. I hear some are making it longer."

"What's his name?"

"Herbie."

"Hey, Herbie." I bent, rubbed the broad, knobby head. Herbie panted, gathered his dignity, and continued to pose.

Milo said, "Do you happen to know a young man who lives in this building? Trey Franck?"

The woman's eyes grew wary. Milo showed her his I.D.

"Police? Trey's such a nice boy."

"He hasn't done anything wrong, ma'am. We're looking for information."

"Trey was a witness to something?"

"It's possible."

"Wow," she said. "Well, he doesn't live here anymore. Has been at Harvard for years, may still be, for all I know."

"Who lives here?"

"His parents. June's a nurse and Joseph's some kind of scientist. A little distant, but overall nice. They both work long hours."

Herbie blew out air. His flews vibrated. He tugged on the leash.

The woman said, "The boss needs his walk, bye."

Herbie led her toward Wilshire, jaunty walk suggesting life really was wonderful.

Milo said, "Rush-hour drive to Pasadena, there's a concept. Let's hedge with a stopoff at the office, then another in the Valley. No sense pursuing a nice boy unless he's the one Doris saw."

He inserted Trey Franck's face into a six-pack photo lineup composed of similar young white men, then I hazarded Beverly Glen toward Van Nuys.

Brutal congestion at Sunset continued as far as I could see. As I neared the road leading up to my house, Milo said, "Go home, I'll pick up my wheels, continue solo."

"Not necessary."

"Feeling benevolent?"

"Feeling curious." I called Robin, told her not to keep dinner waiting, I might be at Caltech for a while.

"You've already got a bunch of degrees," she said.

"I was thinking chemical engineering."

"And here I thought our chemistry was great."

"Wait up and I'll engineer something."