Giacomo’s rental Escort was parked in a loading zone ten yards from Café Moghul, the predictable ticket secured by a wiper blade. Milo and I watched him snatch the citation and rip it into confetti. Paper snow floated to the curb.

He shot Milo a defiant look. Milo pretended not to notice.

Giacomo stooped, picked up the shreds, put them in his pocket. Rolling his shoulders, he got in the Escort and drove off.

Milo said, “Every time I start off in one of those situations I tell myself to be sensitive. Somehow, it gets messed up.”

“You did fine.”

He laughed.

I said, “With all his frustration and grief it couldn’t have gone any differently.”

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to say.”

“At least something in life’s predictable.”

We walked east on Santa Monica, passed an Asian import shop where Milo stopped and pretended to be fascinated by bamboo.

When we resumed walking, I said, “Think Giacomo’s right about Tori being dead?”

“It’s a distinct possibility, but maybe her mother’s right and she’s off partying in Capri or Dubai. What do you think of the acting-school angle?”

“Lots of those in L.A.,” I said.

“Lots of young waitpersons aiming for bigger and better. Be interesting if Tori took classes at the PlayHouse but short of that you see any stunning parallels?”

“A few similarities but more differences. Michaela’s body was left out in the open. If Tori was murdered, the killer sure didn’t want her discovered.”

We turned right and walked south on Butler.

“What if we’re looking at an escalation thing, Alex? Our bad boy started off hiding his handiwork but acquired confidence and decided to advertise?”

“Someone like Peaty moving from peeping to assault,” I said. “Getting progressively more violent and brazen.”

“That does come to mind.”

“A sexual aspect to Michaela’s killing would support it. There was no positioning and she was left fully clothed. But maybe she was played with at the kill-spot, tidied up before being transported. Autopsy’s due soon, right?”

“It just got kicked up another day or two. Or four.”

“Busy time at the crypt.”

“Always.”

“Are they really moving the bodies out that fast?”

“If only the freeways worked as well.”

“Wonder how many Jane Does are in storage?” I said.

“If Tori ever was there, she’s long gone. As her daddy will learn soon enough. What are the odds he’s calling them right now?”

“If she was my daughter, that’s what I’d be doing.”

He sniffed, cleared his throat, scratched the side of his nose. Raised a pink, wormy welt that faded as quickly as it had materialized.

“Got a cold?” I said.

“Nah, air’s been itching me, probably some crap blown in by the Santa Susannas...yeah, I’d be hounding them, too.”