“Mine.”

“You inferred from the body?” she said. “Some sort of ritual mutilation? I heard she was just shot.”

“Sorry, that’s all I can say, Kelly.”

“Church-girl in the clutches of Satan worshippers? Any freakos in particular?”

“Not even close,” he said. “I’ll be looking into that world, would welcome your input on the topic.”

“I don’t know squat about cults.”

“That makes two of us, Kelly.”

Her arms relaxed. Her eyes brightened. “Are we talking another Manson thing?”

“I sure hope not.”

“This town,” said LeMasters, “is Weirdo Central. Can you narrow it down at all?”

“Wish I could, Kelly, and you need to make sure no one knows we had this talk.”

“Like I said, I protect my sources.”

“I’m not talking legally, I mean total blackout.” His turn to move closer to her. Big black eyebrows dipped. He loomed. Kelly LeMasters shrank back. He filled another few inches of her personal space. She tried to stand her ground but the primal fear of something big and aggressive caused her to step back.

“Total,” he repeated. “You screw that up, I’ll never talk to you again and neither will anyone in the department.”

He’d lowered his voice. The resultant half whisper was movie-villain ominous.

LeMasters blinked. Forced herself to smile. “You’re threatening me?”

“I’m stating a contingency, Kelly. And here’s another one, just to show you what a nice guy I am: If you stick to your part of the deal, you’ll be the first one to know if I close the case.”

“If, not when?”

“Appreciate the vote of confidence, Kelly. Either way, you’ll scoop everyone. I promise.”

“How much lead time will I get?”

“Enough to close everyone out.”

“You can guarantee that?” she said. “What about your bosses?”

“Fuck ’em,” he growled.

His eyes were green slits.

Kelly LeMasters knew better than to argue.

We walked her back to Butler Avenue, watched her diminish to a beet-colored speck that turned east on Santa Monica and disappeared.

I said, “To paraphrase Persistent Kelly, what’s next?”

“I look into Mr. Wedd and you go about your normal life.”

“Whatever that means.”

“It means have a nice day. Relatively speaking.”

CHAPTER
29

Holly Ruche showed up six minutes late. Blanche and I greeted her at the door. She said, “I generally don’t like dogs. But I’ve been thinking of getting one. For the baby.”

Worst reason in the world. I said, “I’m happy to keep her out of the office.”

“She’s like a therapy dog?”

“Not officially but she’s got enough credits for her own Ph.D.”

She looked down at Blanche.

Blanche beamed up at her.

She said, “What’s her name?”

“Blanche.”

“She’s kind of cute … almost like she’s smiling. Okay, I guess she can be there.”

“Up to you, Holly.”