Milo said, “The good news is one way or the other, you’ll get reimbursed for the grub. The bad news is ‘the other’ might mean Uncle Milo shelling out.”

“No way, Loo. It was my decision.”

“You bet way, Moses, Uncle Milo takes care of his troops. The other good news is I won’t snitch to Dr. Wilkinson about you chomping steak with a hottie.”

“I had soda water,” said Reed. “The eighty was all her. She’ll probably get a week of calories out of that doggie bag. So what do you want me to do next?”

“Start a real estate search for any properties owned by the sultan of Sranil, we already know Teddy has nothing obvious on file.”

“Local or national?”

“Start local, work your way out. I’m sure His Imperial Poobah is layered up thicker than a Sherpa in winter, but we need to try. Start with Masterson, tell the battleax who works the phones that someone’s on the rampage against their star client, but don’t say who. Also, have Sean do a few drive-bys on Borodi and the surrounding streets, just in case La Balda returns to the scene.”

“You figure she might’ve gotten a sexual thrill from the torch?”

“This was personal, Moses, there’s all kinds of thrills.”

He got out to check on the crime scene techs. An hour or so more. As he returned to the car, Officer Chris Kammen rang in.

No planes from Southern California had flown in last night to the general aviation section of the Port Angeles airport. Kammen had taken the extra step and checked with SeaTac: Not a single flight to L.A., Burbank, or Ontario departed late enough to accommodate the luggage thief’s near-midnight departure from the storage unit, let alone the drive to Seattle.

“So you’re definitely dealing with two separate suspects, Hood-boy could’ve blown into our town at any time. We’re no L.A. but we don’t have the available manpower to search every dark corner. Specially without what the city council calls a compelling reason.”

“Fair enough,” said Milo. “Once I get a suspect, we can cross-reference.”

“Hey,” said Kammen. “Optimism. I once read about that.”

Milo’s second try at Public Affairs was met with a secretary’s curt “We’re working on your request.”

“Working, how?”

“You’ll be notified in due time, Lieutenant.”

Clicking off, he muttered, “Time to pole-vault over their little pea-heads,” and dialed Deputy Chief Weinberg to press for a news feed featuring Helga Gemein’s photo. Toning down the spiel he’d given Judge LaVigne, he made it through one sentence before Weinberg broke in.

“P.A. already called me. Don’t play games.”

“No one’s told me anything, sir.”

“Guess there’s nothing to tell,” said Weinberg.

“The answer’s no?”

“You can’t be serious, Sturgis.”

“Given what we found at the house, it seems the next logical step—”