We passed through an open swing gate--just a steel frame and a single diagonal cross-beam--and the Crown Vic labored up an asphalt ribbon worn to raw earth in spots, lumped unpleasantly in others. The car's overtaxed suspension whined at every concussion.

The gate wasn't much of a barrier. I said, "A lesser man might be concerned about intruders."

"Apex predators don't fret about that kind of thing."

A half-acre motor court spread tight as a fitted sheet fronted a wide, shallow-roofed, one-story house. Parking for scores of cars but no vehicles in sight. Maybe the family wheels were buttoned up in the quadruple garage.

The court was unadorned concrete. Other than a couple of huge oaks listing dangerously, no greenery graced the house. The rear was clear, flat acreage, lots of it. The trees were probably the last surviving remnants of an ancient grove decimated for Top Cop's lair. Too many wet years and they might topple vengefully.

The chief was waiting for us, rocking in a chair set at the front edge of the court, tastefully lit by a low-watt pole fixture resembling a gas lamp. The tip of his cigar created tiny orange curlicues. Wisps of smoke were ingested by the darkness.

Milo cruised to a halt, opened his window. "Sir."

"Over there." A stiff thumb jabbed to the left. Embers tumbled to the concrete, sparked, died.

We parked, got out. No other seating meant we stood like supplicants. The chief's white hair gave off metallic glints when the cigar tip favored it with transitory light. Otherwise, he was a charcoal sketch.

"Two murders, Dr. Delaware," he said, softly. "My diagnosis is 'big fucking mess.' What's yours?"

"I'll go with that."

"Inconsiderate bastard, the Italian guy. I liked him better as an offender." He clicked his tongue. "So we're looking at the Mexican kid for the Italian."

That made it sound like an international conspiracy. I suppressed the urge to say, With an American pool cue.

Milo said, "Like I said, a young man was spotted leaving the--"

"Exactly, you've said, let's move on. In terms of Freeman, we've pretty much eliminated those teachers?"

Milo said, "There's no evidence against them, but--"

"So we move on."

Long silence, then the sound of a slow, sucking inhalation. The cigar tip expanded, a miniature orange planet. Smoke-rings floated upward like tiny UFOs. "Not that you've got anywhere to move, Sturgis."

I said, "Hard to go anywhere when you're stuck in Park."

The orange disk bounced. "Meaning, Doctor?"

"Meaning this hasn't been a conventional investigation."

Throat clear. "You're a social observer, Doctor?"

"A casual observer. More isn't required."

"Maybe we'd all be better off, Doctor, if we stuck to our areas of expertise. Yours being psychopathology. In terms of that, does the Mexican kid sound potentially violent to you?"

"He sounds frustrated," I said. "His family's from Uruguay."

"Wherever he's from, he sounds like a fucking ingrate. Senor Daddy tell you which alumnus got his nino into Prep?"