“If it’s too much for you to handle, I can probably talk my mom out of it.”

“No, it’s okay.” A pause. “I’ll deal. Do I need a notebook or something?”

“I’ll get you an extra one. You’re in tenth grade, you said?”

“I was.”

“Algebra two or pre-calc?”

“Pre-calc.”

“I’ll take care of it. I also heard you play the piano.”

His eyes showed a twinkle of animation. “Do you have a piano?”

“My school does. Are you good?”

For the first time, Hannah saw a genuine smile. He said, “I can play.”

“Then maybe you can stay after school and accompany our choir. We’re terrible. We could use some sort of a lift.”

“I probably can help you out there.”

“C’mon.” She motioned him forward. “I’ll guide you through it. You may not know it, Gabe, but you’re looking at a BMOC.”

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE TIME Decker broke for lunch, he had done enough phone work and legwork to ascertain that there had been no activity on Terry McLaughlin’s cell since four o’clock yesterday afternoon. Her major credit cards hadn’t been used other than daily charges put through by the hotel, and even those had been earlier in the day. Her name hadn’t appeared on any American or United flight manifest—either domestic or international—but Decker certainly hadn’t the means and the wherewithal to check every single airline and every single local airport. If the woman had wanted to sneak out, she could have done it in a thousand ways. More to the point, her car hadn’t been spotted. All he could do was wait for news and hope it wasn’t bad news.

Donatti wasn’t picking up his cell, either. According to Gabe, his father switched cells, often using throwaways. It could be that the number that Decker was given wasn’t the cell phone he was currently using. Decker did discover that Donatti had arrived on Saturday morning in LAX via Virgin America Airlines, the day before his meeting with his estranged wife. There was no record of his picking up any rental car. As far as locating where he had stayed before he had met with Terry, Decker started calling hotels, beginning on the west with the Ritz-Carlton in the Marina and slowly working his way eastward ho. When he was about to call the Century Plaza, there was a knock on his office door. He put down the phone. “Come in.”

Dressed in a wheat-colored shirt, brown pants, and rubber-soled flats, Marge entered his office. Her brown eyes were wide and her face was ashen. Decker felt his heart sink. “What?”

“A foreman at a construction site just found a homicide victim—a young woman hanging from the rafters—”

“Good Lord!” Decker felt sick. “Hanging?”

“From cable wire…at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Any identification?”