“Brigid told the employment agency she’d grown up in the Pacific Northwest. Skillful liars embed truth in their stories, maybe that part was real and this is about old friends reuniting. Recalling the good old days when she and Des used to park under the stars.”

“Under the stars is one thing, Alex. Why a damn construction site?”

“Maybe the two of them were wild kids, enjoyed trespassing.”

“Nostalgia, huh?”

“Reach your thirties, nothing exciting in your life, nostalgia can take on a certain charm. Reliving the past could explain Backer going beyond the usual short-term shag.”

He phoned 206 information, probed for Backer or Ochs listings. Slammed down the receiver, shaking his head, called the Port Angeles police and talked to a friendly, basso-voiced cop named Chris Kammen. Kammen knew nothing helpful, promised to ask around.

“Booty-calls for nostalgia’s sake.”

“Strong chemistry can linger,” I said. “But if Brigid was involved with another man, chapter two could get complicated.”

“Alleged Brigid, who knows what her real name is? I’m thinking it’s time to go public. Any reason I shouldn’t?”

He was back on the phone to Parker Center before I finished saying, “Not that I can see.”

Three underlings later, he was transferred to Deputy Chief Henry Weinberg. The D.C. mainlined smug. “Sounds like you’re nowhere fast.”

“It’s a tough one.”

“Thought that was the kind you liked.”

“Up to a point.”

“The point where you’re nowhere fast, eh? I suppose I can find it within myself to put someone on it but no station’s going to flash a morgue shot on screen, too damn real for civilians. You have an artist who can make her look alive?”

“I’ll find one.”

“Do your homework, first,” said Weinberg. “Then talk to me.”

Milo’s obvious first choice was Petra Connor, because she’d worked as a commercial artist before joining the department, had serious talent. A call to her office at Hollywood Division revealed she was in Cabo for R and R with her live-in, Eric Stahl. Additional poking around produced the name of Officer Henry Gallegos from Pacific Division, whose A.A. in art from Santa Monica College made him Rembrandt. Gallegos was off for the day at Disneyland with his wife and twin toddlers, but agreed to be in by six p.m. if traffic wasn’t too crazy.

“Nothing fancy, Lieutenant, right?”

“Just make it so she doesn’t scare anyone.”

“Broke my finger last week playing ball,” said Gallegos, “but I can still do pretty good.”

That night at home, I checked the late news for the story, got a headful of politics and natural disasters, a horrific child abuse case that made me turn off the tube and hope I wouldn’t be asked to get involved.