Milo said, “Years to unravel unless Helga can be tied in to a criminal case.”

Holman said, “She is a criminal, catch the bitch before she braids her hair and puts on lederhosen and disappears into the land of cuckoos and chocolate.”

Milo stood.

Marjorie Holman said, “Exactly. Time to get a move on.”

Judah Cohen said, “Good luck.”

CHAPTER

26

Emanuel Forbush, Esq.’s, baritone boomed through the car speakers.

“I’ve been expecting your call. Guess you want the computers.”

“That would be helpful, sir.”

“No problem, Lieutenant, pick them up at your convenience. Of course, we will be keeping copies of every single word of data. Don’t imagine you’ll mind, without our coming forward you’d be in the dark.”

“Sitting on evidence in a criminal case could have caused problems, Mr. Forbush.”

“If you ever found out.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mr. Forbush.”

“No, no, I’m not—I just want to make sure our civil case is preserved.”

“You really think a civil suit’s worth the effort, sir?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It just doesn’t sound as if the stakes are that high for all the trouble.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to be the judge of that.”

“I suppose you will, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” said Forbush, “I don’t want to get off on a bad foot with you. Sorry if I came on too strong.”

“No problem, Mr. Forbush. I’ll send a detective for those computers today.”

“Great. So how’s Marjie doing?”

“I just watched her down two stiff drinks and my guess is they weren’t her first this morning.”

Forbush tsk-tsked. “That’s always been an issue for Marjie, poor kid.”

“You’re friends?”

“Ned and I go way back, we used to play squash. Hell of an athlete, damn tragedy. Marjie’s had a lot to deal with, a victory would be good for her. That’s why I took on the case.”

“Friend in need,” said Milo.

“The only kind that counts,” said Forbush.

Milo hung up. Laughed. “One of Ned’s old squash buddies. Should’ve asked him about the current décor of Washington Boulevard no-tells. He took on the case to keep the sheets hot, Cohen’s along for the ride, they squeeze out a settlement, it’s found money for him. So now I’ve got dead ends in Sranil and in Zurich.”

I said, “Maybe you’re in luck and Helga’s still in L.A. Or was, this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a good-looking, well-built woman in her thirties with Nordic features. Cover that bald dome with a platinum wig—something that flaps in the breeze—and all a witness would focus on would be blond, blond, blond.”

“Amy Thal’s jogger,” he said. “Yeah, she does have that Valkyrie thing going on.”

“Not Swedish,” I said. “Swiss. What if Reed’s source was almost there?”