“Better. Tell everyone at the station house that Rina really appreciated the flowers. And thanks for the roses, Mike. Two dozen and long-stemmed—very nice. Must mean you’re a good friend.”

“At least a good friend of Rina’s.”

Decker laughed. “What’s up?”

“Just got off the phone with the fire department up in the National Forest Service—Angeles Crest. Had a bit of a bonfire down there. Looks like a car fell down the mountainside and exploded into flames. Potentially dangerous situation. Luckily, they got to it before the winds kicked up. They’re still doing some mop-up, but they’ve recovered the frame of the car.”

“Don’t tell me,” Decker said. “They’ve got a red Honda with Marie Bellson’s license plates.”

“Plates were removed, but yes, the frame appears to be a Honda. Fire department said color is hard to ascertain, but a few spots appeared to have some red paint chips.”

Decker felt his heartbeat quicken as he related the story to Marge. To Hollander, he said, “Maybe Marie Bellson’s hiding in the mountains with the baby.”

“Well, Rabbi, there seems to be an adult body in the driver’s seat—it’s been burned to a crisp.”

Decker felt his throat go dry. “And the baby?”

“Can’t tell yet, Pete. It’s still a mess down there.”

“Oh, shit!” Decker turned to Marge and gave her a one-sentence synopsis. “They don’t know if the baby’s in the wreck or not.”

“My God!” Cindy shrieked. Marge took her hand.

Decker felt like punching a wall. Please, let Caitlin Rodriguez be okay. “You want to give me directions, Mike?”

“Got them right here, Pete. By the way, do you remember the name of that woman dentist who identifies bodies by the teeth? We worked with her on the Lindsey Bates case.”

“Annie Hennon.”

“Dr. Hennon,” Hollander said. “That’s right. Her number should be in the department’s file under experts, right?”

“Should be.”

“She was good-looking, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, she was.”

“Then let me call her, explain the urgency of the situation.” Hollander paused. “After all, I’m the one with the directions.”

17

Standing on the edge of a thousand-foot drop, Decker studied the distant canyons of Angeles Crest. The flora that carpeted the jagged slopes of rock had turned wheat-colored from unrelenting summer sun. The turquoise sky hosted tufts of cotton clouds that partially shaded the mountains, turning them deep ambers and greens. Where the sun shone unmolested, the landscape was a glittering meld of emeralds and golds. Crows cawed and circled; ebony wings floating upon the hot breeze. Upon these hills, high drama was wind rustling leaves, the dive of a hawk, or the scurry of a lizard.

Decker mopped his brow and rolled up his shirtsleeves.