“That’s the sequence, Milo. To me it says a calculated offender operating in a highly structured manner. Seeing as her murder is probably related to that infant skeleton, we’re obviously dealing with someone who operates on a different psychiatric plane. Have you spoken to Delaware recently?”

I said, “Right here, Clarice.”

“Hi, Alex. I’m thinking a sociopath with some looseness of thought around the edges, or someone downright deranged who manages to keep his craziness under wraps. Not necessarily schizophrenic but maybe an isolated paranoid delusion. Make sense?”

“It does, Clarice. I’m also wondering if we’ve got a killer who lacks physical strength.”

“He uses a downer to incapacitate her? Sure, why not? What’s your take on the baby?”

“Beyond cruel.”

“Sorry I asked.”

After she hung up, Milo said, “Lack of physical strength. As in female?”

“Ray Lhermitte pegs Qeesha as a likely murderer. What if she acquired a taste for power and became a cult queen?”

“No warlock,” he said, “a nasty little witch. That’s turning it a whole new way. You’re saying she killed Adriana? What’s the motive? And why bring Adriana back to L.A. to do it?”

“Could’ve been something religious,” I said. “Uncomfortable truths about the cult. Adriana was outraged, threatened to go to the cops. That could explain the diphenhydramine. A relatively humane way to eliminate a former friend.”

“Then why shoot her in the head? Why not just poison her straight out?”

I had no answer for that.

He said, “Qeesha as Devil Spawn. We keep jumping around like frogs on a griddle. Sit around long enough, we can probably come up with another hundred scenarios.”

He stood, hitched his trousers. “One way or the other, I need to look for Ms. D’Embo aka Chambers aka God-Knows-Who-Else.”

I said, “If she’s driving unregistered wheels she could wrongly assume that’s another layer of security.”

“So focus on the car, maybe it’s stolen.”

“Starting with people who frequent the park.”

“And there’s restricted parking at night, so check for citations. Yeah, I like it, it’s damn close to normal police work.”

Moe Reed and Sean Binchy reported nothing fruitful from the canvass of park employees, patrons, and nearby residents. Both would re-inquire about red cars and dark SUVs.

While Milo checked the grand theft auto file I stepped into the hall and phoned Holly Ruche.

She said, “I hope you’re not mad at me. For canceling.”

“I’m sure you had a good reason.”

“I—I’ll explain when I come in. If you’ll take me.”

“No problem.”

“Just like that? Do you have time tomorrow?”

I checked my book. “Eleven a.m. works.”

“Wow,” she said. “You’re not that busy, huh?”

“Looking forward to seeing you, Holly.”

“I’m so sorry. That was bratty.”

“How’s the house going?”

“The house?”

“Remodeling.”