Dylan Meserve had never applied for a passport.

Neither Nora nor Dylan’s name appeared on any domestic flights out of LAX, Long Beach, Burbank, John Wayne, Lindbergh, or Santa Barbara.

Budowski had left a handwritten note at the bottom. If Nora had sprung for a private jet, that fact might never emerge. Some air-charter companies were less than meticulous checking I.D.s.

Milo said, “There’s everyone. Then there’s the rich.”

He made a few more calls to resorts, broke for coffee at two p.m. Instead of continuing, he leafed through his notepad, found a number, and phoned.

“Mrs. Stadlbraun? Detective Sturgis, I was by last week to talk about...he is? How so? I see. No, that’s not very polite...yes, it is. Has there been anything beyond that...no, there’s nothing new but I was figuring to stop by and talk to him. If you could call me when he gets in, I’d appreciate it. Still have my card? I’ll hold...yes, that’s perfect, ma’am, either of those numbers. Thanks...no, ma’am, there’s nothing to worry about, just routine follow-up.”

He clicked off, rotated the phone receiver, twisting the cord and letting it recoil.

“Ol’ Ertha says Peaty’s been acting ‘even weirder.’ He used to just keep his head down, pretended not to hear. Now he looks her in the eye with what she claims is ‘nastiness.’ What do you make of that?”

“Maybe he spotted Sean watching him and is getting nervous,” I said.

“I suppose, but one thing Sean’s an ace at is not getting made.” He wheeled his chair the few inches the cramped space permitted. “Would ‘nervous’ make Peaty more dangerous?”

“It could.”

“Think I should caution Stadlbraun?”

“I don’t know what you could say that wouldn’t cause panic. No doubt Brad will evict Peaty in addition to firing him.”

“So we’ve got ourselves a homeless, jobless, angry guy with illegal wheels. Time to grovel and ask the captain for help with surveillance.”

He disappeared, came back, shaking his head. “At a meeting downtown.”

I was on the line with the Wellness Inn of Big Sur, enduring a voice mail message about seaweed wrap and Ayurvedic massage and waiting for a human voice.

By three thirty, we were both finished. Nora Dowd hadn’t checked into any posh retreat we could find under her name or Dylan Meserve’s.

I tried Lauritz Montez at the Beverly Hills Public Defender’s office.

In court, expected back in half an hour.

Too much sitting around. I got up and told Milo where I was going. His reply was a finger wave. I didn’t bother to reciprocate.

I reached the Beverly Hills court building by five to four. Closing time for most sessions. The hallways were filled with attorneys, cops, defendants, and witnesses.