He gulped a big chunk out of the egg bagel I’d just turned down. A bag that had once held a dozen mixed leaned against his computer. The crumbs of the jalapeño and the onion that he’d finished littered his desktop. “In terms of LeMasters, it’s all I can do not to call her and leak but when the air turns brown and the fan gets filthy, you know who the brass will be chasing down.”

“Want me to call her?”

“Oh, yeah, that would be subtle. So little Heather and her girlfriend got spooked by a dark SUV—not a Porsche—no info on the tags, no view of the driver. That narrows it to half the vehicles on the Westside.”

“Even without more info, it’s interesting, no?”

“Somebody casing the park? Hell, yeah.”

The egg bagel disappeared down his gullet. He washed it down with cold coffee from the big detective room. We were in his office, the tiny space humid from poor ventilation and discouragement. I’d arrived just before noon, honoring his early-morning request for a “sit-down.” He’d sounded anxious. I’d been there for a quarter hour, still had no idea exactly what he wanted.

He brushed crumbs into his wastebasket. “One pass by the SUV might not mean much but coming back a second time’s a bit more ominous. But ominous doesn’t mean it’s connected to my murders, there are all kinds of night-crawlers out at that hour. And showing himself that openly doesn’t fit an offender who picks up his casings, leaves nothing serious behind.”

“Or he used a revolver and got lucky.”

“Hey,” he said, “you’re supposed to see the good in everyone. Yeah, that’s possible but the overall picture’s organized, you said so yourself. Someone like that’s planning a shoot-and-dump, he’s gonna advertise his presence the night before to a coupla jumpy girls?”

“True,” I said.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Agree so readily. It scares me.”

“Keep living, you’ll have plenty of opportunity for terror.”

He grinned, stretched, pushed lank black hair off his mottled forehead, sank as low as the chair would allow. “This guy’s an exhibitionist, right? Showing off his work, look how clever I am. Having a grand old time.”

“He could be bragging,” I said. “Or his message is something not so obvious. Specific to his mode of thinking.”

“He’s crazy?”

“Not to the point where he can’t function, but his mind’s probably a scary place. Whatever his motive, it’s personal.”