Now, Milo copied Wasserman’s number into his pad, crumpled the card, and tossed it in my ashtray.

I said, “No interest in custom couture?”

“For that I call Omar the Tentmaker.”

“How about Stefano Ricci? Five hundred bucks for a tie’s a bargain.”

“Rick,” he said. “His cravats cost more than my suits. When I’m feeling vindictive, I use it against him.”

He played with the straw, tried to rip the plastic, failed, and jammed it back through the lid of his drink. “Just before I came to your place, I got an I.D. on the phone booth used for the whispering crap. Let’s have a look, it ain’t exactly a trek.”

* * *

Gas station at Las Posas and Ventura, a five-minute drive.

Trucks and cars lined up at the pumps, hungry motorists streamed in and out of an adjacent Stop & Shop. The booth was off to the side, near the bathrooms. No police tape or indication anyone had dusted for prints.

I remarked on that and he said, “Ventura PD came by at six a.m., lifted a whole bunch of latents. Even with AFIS it’ll be a while before that’s untangled.”

We went into the food store where he showed the photos to the clerks. Head shakes, apathy. Back outside, he said, “Any ideas?”

“Whoever stole the purse was careful enough to use the cell for the hang-ups then switch to the pay phone for the whispering. Or, we’re talking two people working as a team. Either way, the caller stuck around in Camarillo, so how about checking over there?” I pointed across Ventura to a mass of other eateries.

“Sure, why not.”

We made it through six restaurants before he said, “Enough. Maybe the absentminded Ms. Wasserman will recognize someone.”

“You didn’t show any shots of Billy Dowd.”

“Couldn’t come up with any,” he said. “Didn’t figure it mattered ’cause I don’t see Billy making his way out here by himself.”

“Even if he managed to, the Barneys staff would’ve noticed him.”

“Not cool enough. Just like junior high.”

“Why’d you bother showing Peaty’s picture? He didn’t call Vasquez and tag himself as dangerous.”

“I wanted to see if he’s ever been out here. Looks like none of our parties of interest have been.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Angeline Wasserman is here every month, ‘like clockwork.’ The staff knew her as absentminded so maybe someone else did. Someone stylish enough to blend in, like Dylan Meserve.”

“No one recognized his picture, Alex.”

“Maybe he knows something about special effects.”

“He shops in disguise?”

“A performance,” I said. “That could be the whole point.”

* * *

I took the 101 back to the city, making good time as Milo called in for messages. He had to introduce himself three times to whoever answered at the West L.A. station, hung up cursing.

“New receptionist?”