“How? Are you psychic? Omniscient? People do crazy things when they are emotionally distressed. You can’t be expected to predict it all and you aren’t responsible for any of it. If you start blaming yourself for every stupid thing that people do during an investigation, you’ll either quit the job or become an alcoholic.”

“So you just shrug and move on?”

“Sometimes I’ll shake my head instead. Or if I’m really unhinged, I might do both. Where are you?”

“Mulholland and Mulholland. I’m chasing a new lead.”

“The Realtor gave you something?”

“You could say that,” she said. “Where can I find those two lazy assholes we met here from the LAPD?”

The Topanga Community Police Station was off Canoga Avenue, around the corner from the Xposed Gentleman’s Club, and boasted drought-resistant landscaping, green energy design, and a vaulted glass atrium lobby. If it wasn’t for all the police vehicles in the lot, Eve could have mistaken the $36 million complex for a neighborhood library.

The officer at the front desk was black and his uniform was crisply pressed, the creases so sharp that Eve thought they could be used to slice meat. She flashed her badge as she approached.

“Hello, I’m Detective Eve Ronin, Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. I need to see Frank Knobb or Arnie Prescott.”

The officer examined her ID for a moment, then picked up his phone, dialed a three-digit extension, and said: “This is Officer Lofland at the front desk. The Deathfist is here to see you.” He met her eye as he listened to the reply. “Yes, she’s actually standing right here . . . will do.”

He hung up the phone and handed Eve a clip-on visitor’s pass. “Detective Knobb says to go on back. It’s through that door, then it’s the third door on your left.”

“Thanks,” she said and clipped the badge to her belt. The officer buzzed her through a door on the far side of the lobby.

Knobb was waiting for her in the hallway, outside the door to the detective bureau. “Now this is a surprise. Shouldn’t you be in Beverly Hills today, meeting with your agents at CAA?”

“I’m working a triple homicide.”

“Yeah, I know, I saw the press conference. It was the first night in weeks there wasn’t anything on the news about the indictment of those deputies at the Men’s Central Jail.”

Eve ignored the dig and pressed on. As much as she disliked and disrespected this man, she needed his help. “I think the dead guy you found in the truck on Thursday may be connected to our case.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet.”