Milo finished his first half-pounder, unwrapped the second but didn't touch it. The ocean was calm. He wasn't.

"Kid runs away, right. Maybe Franck did me a favor."

He studied the water, got up. "I will not be influenced by the opinions of others, gonna try the damn burrito. Get it to go, Rick's on call, I can eat with my hands, no one's gonna squawk. Should reheat okay, don't you think?"

He returned with a greasy cardboard box that he placed in the trunk of the unmarked. The car's built as tight as a drunk's resolve, so the ride home would be fragrant. Just as he returned to the table, a white Hyundai drove into the lot and a smallish man got out. Round face, thinning dark hair combed straight back, pale complexion, crisp features.

"Lieutenant?"

Milo waved.

Emilio Mendoza seemed disappointed. He'd arrived ten minutes early, maybe wanting to rehearse his own script. But we'd beat him by fifteen.

He wore a white drip-dry shirt, pleated black pants, tiny black bow tie. No sign of the red waist-length jacket I remembered from my lunch.

Milo said, "Thanks for coming, sir. We'll wait while you order."

"I'm not eating," said Emilio Mendoza. "Even if I wanted to spend the money, my stomach's jumping all over the place." Patting the offending area. "I can't stay long, there's a big dinner crowd, a couple rookies need educating."

Milo said, "Speaking of education, how did Martin come to Prep?"

"You mean how could a waiter from Uruguay afford to send his kid to a place like that? I can't, they gave him a scholarship."

"Baseball."

Mendoza's eyes narrowed. "You've already talked to the school?"

"I looked up Martin's MySpace. Only thing on there was baseball."

Mendoza looked at him, doubtful.

"That's why they call us detectives, Mr. Mendoza. So how'd Martin end up at Prep, rather than at another school?"

"You're talking to students? You don't think Martin did something?"

"Are you worried Martin did something?"

"Of course not." Emilio Mendoza's eyes watered. "Maybe I'll get a coffee."

After he sat down with a cardboard cup, Milo said, "Does Martin have a special friend? Someone he'd go to when he's upset?"

"Only his sister."

"Where in Texas is she?"

"San Antonio, she's a nurse at Bexar Hospital. Martin called her the day he left--after his mother and I went to work. Just to say hi, that bothered Gisella, it wasn't like Martin."

"Your son's not talkative?"

"He's a quiet boy."

"What was his mood with Gisella?"

"She said he sounded distracted. She couldn't say by what."

"Is Gisella Martin's only sibling?"

"Yes, it's only the two of them." As if he regretted that. "Gisella's seven years older but they're close."

Milo let him sip coffee, used the time to finish his second burger. "I'd still like to hear how you connected to Prep."