HAJ monogram on one corner. She took in the room, dried a corner of one eye.

Milo said, “Thanks for getting here so quickly, Ms. Johanson. I’m sorry it had to be for such a terrible reason.”

Helene Johanson said, “I’m sure you hear this all the time but I can’t believe this is real.”

“I hear it often, ma’am, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Are you able to talk about Adriana?”

“I’m here,” she said, with no conviction. “I guess it’s better than watching the bulls get castrated.”

“Pardon?”

“We ranch beef cattle outside of Bliss. Red and Black Angus for the organic market. This is the week some of the boys become less-than-boys. The noise and the smell are terrible, I always leave. But I’d rather be doing that than this.” She slapped the handkerchief on the table. “Lieutenant, what happened to my sister?”

“What we know so far is she was shot in a park.”

“During the day?”

“At night, ma’am.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” said Helene Johanson. “What would Adriana be doing in a park at night? Did she make a wrong turn into a slum or something?”

“Actually, it’s a very nice neighborhood. A place called Cheviot Park. Did Adriana ever mention it?”

“No, she didn’t mention L.A., period. Why would she? She lived in San Diego.”

“Really,” said Milo. “When did she move there?”

“Around a year ago. Before that, she was a year in Portland. Why would she be in a park in L.A.?”

“Did she know anyone here?”

“Not that she ever mentioned.”

“What brought her to San Diego?”

“Same thing as Portland,” said Johanson. “A job. Babysitting. Not like a teenager doing it part-time, a real job, working for a family. She loved it. Loved children.” Her face crumpled. “Now she’ll never have any of her own—can I call my husband?”

“Sure,” said Milo.

She took a while to locate her cell in her purse, speed-dialed, spoke to “Danny” and cried.

When she hung up, Milo said, “Ms. Johanson, anything you can tell us about Adriana will be helpful. The kind of person she was, who her friends were.”

“The kind of person she was … is a good person. A wonderful person. There wasn’t a mean cell in Adriana’s body. She was kind and sincere. Very religious. We were brought up Methodist but she went for something more intense. Religion was important to her. She taught Sunday school. Preschoolers—she always loved the little ones.”

“In terms of her friends—”

“Her church group. Even before she switched. She always hung with the good kids.”

“Who’d she hang with in California?”