No saw buzz or hammer percussion as I approached. Maybe she’d dozed less soundly than I’d thought, didn’t trust herself with sharp things.

She was sitting on her couch, Blanche a little blond pillow under her arm, studying a beautiful book showcasing a collection of vintage guitars. One man’s monomania. I’d bought it for her last Christmas.

I said, “Inspiration?”

“Aesthetics. You get any decent sleep?”

“Sure,” I lied.

“Hear from Big Guy?”

“Not yet.”

I held out the mug. She said, “Let’s go outside,” and we sat near the pond, tossing pellets to the koi and drinking coffee and not saying a thing.

Eleven minutes of uneasy serenity before I heard from Big Guy.

For someone who hadn’t slept at all, Milo sounded chipper.

“The bad news: Reverend Goleman is away from the office. The good news: He’s right here in SoCal, attending a convention in Fullerton. We’re meeting at my office at noon.”

“He give you the name of Adriana’s friend?”

“Yes,” he said, “but it’s complicated. See you when the sun’s high?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

I arrived a few minutes early, encountered Milo as he was locking up his office. “According to Goleman, the friend is Qeesha D’Embo. Unfortunately, that doesn’t match anything in the databases.”

“Alias? She was hiding something?”

“Maybe—this looks like our clergy-type.”

A tall rotund man accompanied by a smallish female officer headed our way.

Milo said, “I’ll take it from here, Officer,” and shook Goleman’s hand. Goleman’s suit was plaid, deep blue with a pale pink crosshatch. His white hair was shorter than in the church photos, cropped nearly to the skin at the sides, bristly and uncooperative on top. Heavy build but hard-fat, no jiggle when he moved. One of those thick sturdy men built for hours behind the plow.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Reverend.”

“Of course,” said Goleman. His voice was deep and mellow, easy-listening at sermon time. He reached out to grip my hand. His paw was padded and callused, just firm enough to be sociable.

Milo led him to the same interview room, minus the extra table.

When Goleman sat, he overwhelmed the chair. He tugged up his trousers, revealed high-laced work boots.

“Something to drink, Reverend?”

Goleman patted his belly. “No thanks, Lieutenant, I had breakfast at the hotel including way too much coffee. Big buffet and I overdid it with the huevos rancheros. As usual.”

Milo said, “Know what you mean.”