Milo said, "We need to talk to one of your students. The intention was to find him before he entered the school grounds. To minimize disruption."

"A student? Who?"

"Martin Mendoza."

Silence.

"He is a student here, Doctor?"

"Why do you want to talk to him?"

"We didn't see him enter. Did he arrive extra-early?"

Rollins's eyes moved past us. Engine noise huffed from the mouth of the drive. Seconds later, a gray Crown Victoria rolled into view, picked up speed, came to an abrupt, tire-squeaking stop. Captain Stanley Creighton got out. Brown suit in place of the cream getup he'd worn at the crime scene.

"Morning, Dr. Rollins, I'll take it from here."

"Thank you, Captain."

She turned to leave. Walkowicz remained in place. Staring at Creighton, a bushy gray eyebrow arced.

Rollins said, "Return to your post, Herb."

"Yes, ma'am." To Creighton: "Captain, ay? Congrats."

Creighton squinted. Nodded. "Herb."

Rollins said, "You know each other?"

Walkowicz said, "Sure, we go back. Right, Stan?"

Before Creighton could answer, Rollins got between them. "How wonderful for you, Officer Walkowicz. Now let's put aside auld lang syne and get back to our respective jobs."

"Yes, ma'am." Saluting conspicuously, Walkowicz followed Rollins as she race-walked up the drive, veered to his booth, and closed the door hard. Putting a little hip-roll into his stride, the cop-waddle that came from a Sam Browne laden with gear.

Milo said, "Old officers don't die, they just sit on their asses and pretend to be useful."

Stan Creighton said, "He was one of my training officers at Central. Then he transferred to Glendale PD and we lost--" His eyes hardened. "What the hell were you thinking, coming up here with no authorization?"

"Working on my improv skills, Stan."

"Cut the shit, man, this is a major problem. What possessed you?"

"A problem for who?"

"Don't play with me," said Creighton. "What was going through your head?"

"I need to talk to a student, I figure school's the logical place to find a student."

"What student?"

"Kid named Martin Mendoza." Milo offered a sketchy summary.

Creighton said, "Kid's got a temper so he's a suspect?"

"I'm open to suggestions, Stan."

"Whatever. The point is even with a student the school's not the logical place because the rules were made clear to you. Kids have homes, start there. Now get the hell out of here."

"And here I was thinking a stroll on campus would be educational for all concerned."

"You really have a death wish, don't you?"

Milo smiled. "I'm assuming you're talking metaphor, Stan."

Creighton's pupils were pinpoints. His right eye ticced. "Go. Now."

The elms rustled. From the distance, a girl's laughter sweetened the air.

"You're defying a direct order?"

"Just looking for a shovel so I can dig that grave."

Creighton's nostrils flared.

Milo's jaw worked.

I thought of a trip Robin and I had taken to Wyoming. Herds of bison, face-offs between pairs of massive bulls until someone limped away.