“I heard it’s an ATM in West Covina now,” Deputy Ross said with a grin, “but it freaks out whenever somebody tries to deposit a Social Security check.”

“PTSD is a bitch,” Clayton said.

Eve didn’t have the time or patience for banter. She tapped a spot on the map to focus their attention. “Coyle’s place is right here.”

The deputies gathered around to look. The trailer was on the northern edge of the complex, overlooking a steep slope of heavy brush below, and was sandwiched between trailers on either side.

“Four of us will take the door,” Eve said. “Four others will surround the trailer in case he tries to make a break through a window or a trapdoor.”

Eve spent the next few minutes going over the logistics and assigning deputies to keep people in their trailers and away from Coyle’s place during the raid and for as long as it took to search his home and car afterward. Duncan volunteered to stay outside and handle crowd control during the breach.

Eve wasn’t surprised but couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you sure you don’t want to go in with me?”

“Hell no. I’m retiring in a few weeks,” Duncan said. “I’m not going to press my luck.”

Eve shrugged and pointed to Ross. “Okay, you’re with me. Let’s do this.”

The line of patrol cars surged into the mobile home park, splitting off and going up the various streets, while the last two vehicles blocked the opening to Topanga Canyon Boulevard.

Deputy Ross pulled in front of Coyle’s carport, blocking the Corolla from leaving, and another patrol car rolled up from the other direction so they were nose-to-nose. Two more cars came up behind them. Eight officers emerged silently, guns drawn, Eve taking the lead.

Four deputies fanned out around the mobile home as Eve, Ross, and two others went up to the front door. One of the deputies came forward with a battering ram and, on Eve’s signal, smashed open the door, which crumpled like it was a single sheet of aluminum foil.

Another deputy tossed a flash-bang grenade into the mobile home. They ducked back as the grenade exploded, throwing out blinding light and deafening sound but not shrapnel. The grenade was designed only to cause disorientation and not to create any damage.

The first two deputies spread right and left, covering the two sides of the living room, while Eve and Ross went up the center toward the kitchen and the short hallway beyond.

Eve edged around the first door and spotted Coyle rising in bed, groggy and disoriented. She rushed up to his bed and whipped back the sheets with one hand to make sure he didn’t have a weapon within reach. He was shirtless and wearing black boxers.

“Police. Show me your hands,” Eve commanded. Ross was behind her, also targeting Coyle.