Mendez walked away a few feet to pace restlessly in front of the refrigerator. He grumbled nasty menacing threats in Spanish. Sells didn’t have to understand Spanish to know none of it was good.

Hicks took a seat at the table and spoke in a confidential tone. “I apologize for my partner, Mr. Sells, but the woman who was murdered was his cousin, so . . .”

Sells narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “He’s a spic. I seen that woman on TV—”

“His cousin by marriage,” Hicks specified without missing a beat.

“If I find out you laid a hand on her—,” Mendez started, pointing a finger at Sells.

Hicks held his hand up. “Tony, please.”

He sighed as he turned back to Sells. “You know, Mr. Sells, if you bought those cars off somebody, you’re not in any trouble,” he lied. “Our only interest is in finding a killer, and finding that other girl before something bad happens to her.”

Sells looked from one to the other of them. Mendez had a feeling he’d seen Good Cop/Bad Cop before. He probably had a record for something.

Sells looked right at Hicks and said, “I don’t know nothing about them cars.”

Mendez nodded at the deputy, who rose from his seat and turned to the nephew. Mendez went to Sells, opening one of the handcuffs.

“You can stand up, Mr. Sells,” he said. “Or I can drag you out of that chair. I don’t care which.”

“For what?” Sells demanded, but started to get up just the same.

“You’re under arrest for possession of stolen property.”

They ran Sells and his nephew to the sheriff’s office in separate cars. Sells behind a cage in a radio car, the nephew in the backseat of Mendez’s sedan. The hope was that separated from his uncle, the kid might have something to say. He didn’t.

Hicks put Sells in one interview room and left him there. Mendez stuck the nephew in the room next door. The two of them walked down the hall to get coffee. It was going to be a long night.

“What do you think?” Hicks said.

“The guy gives me the creeps,” Mendez said. “You running his record? He’s got to have a sheet.”

“Not back yet, but I agree.”

“Did he ask for a lawyer?”

“Not yet.”

“If we can book him for the car theft, we get his prints. I called the ADA for search warrants.”

Hicks made a face. “I can’t wait to look under the furniture in that place.”

“I’ll flip you for the bathroom.”

“Oh, man . . .”

They doctored their coffees and went to their desks. Sells and his nephew could sit and reflect.

Hicks checked the message slips that had been left on his desk and held one up. “Greg Usher—Karly Vickers’s ex—is doing a nickel in LA County for growing pot in his apartment.”

“Cross him off the list.”