Deputy D.A. John Nguyen confirmed what Milo already knew: insufficient grounds to arrest Rieffen and Scoppio for anything, all interviews would have to be voluntary.

“You are cordially invited to chat?”

“Unless you witness them committing some kind of naughty and bust them for that.”

“Bad lane change do the trick?”

Nguyen laughed. “I was thinking something involving blood.”

“How about smearing lynx DNA on something?”

“What the hell’s a lynx, anyway?” said Nguyen. “Something you make a coat out of, right?”

“Bite your tongue, John.”

“I’m talking theoretical, Milo. My pay grade, the wife’s lucky to get wool.”

A review of the little we knew about the suspects suggested Rieffen would be less violence-prone, more likely to turn. Maybe.

Reed and Binchy took separate cars and began subtle surveillance on the man calling himself M. Carlo Scoppio. He’d left for work at nine a.m., drove to the East L.A. law firm, was still there by eleven thirty.

“Loo, one thing occurred to me,” said Reed. “The office is awfully close to where that C.I., Escobar, got shot.”

“How close, Moses?”

“Like three blocks. It’s county land, owned by the med center but undeveloped.”

“You scoped it out?”

“It was close, I started wondering. There’s an intersection nearby. Not much traffic but a long red light. If Escobar was a law-abiding type, it would’ve been easy enough to catch him when he was stopped, commandeer the car.”

“Go back and take photos,” said Milo. “After Sean takes over the watch.”

“I’ll buy a camera,” said Reed.

“A cheap one’s good enough for making memories, Moses. One day, we’ll scrapbook.”

Lara Rieffen was on shift at the crypt, processing a shooting in Pacoima. The plan was to “find” her in the parking lot when she returned to file paper, Milo coming on friendly, pretending to be there on business. Then walking her in and finding a space in the building for a “follow-up” interview. Keeping it low-key, so she wouldn’t be threatened and the coroner’s staff wouldn’t be aware of any disruption.

But the boss had to know so Milo phoned Dave McClellan, gave him the bad news.

He said, “I’ve been grinding my teeth since we spoke. She’s really that evil, huh? That makes us look great.”

“No way you could know, Dave.”

“Whatever it takes to nail the bitch, Milo. I’ll make sure there’s an open room on the bottom floor.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep it as quiet as possible.”

“Way I’m feeling about her, you can hog-tie her in full sight,” said McClellan. “And don’t worry about quiet, we’re already crawling with cops, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Bobby Escobar. All of a sudden, Sheriff’s Homicide decided they need to inspect his office, sent their own techies over, but they won’t say why. They’ve been all over us since six a.m.”