Calabasas was divided by steep hills that were designated as permanent open space. There were no roads that cut straight across them. As a result, to get to the other side of the city, it was necessary to take one of three routes: the 101 freeway to the north, the most direct route, but one that was often clogged with traffic, turning a three-mile drive into a thirty-minute ordeal; or Mulholland Highway, a two-lane road that took a long, winding route up and through the hills but required you to go several miles south and then backtrack north again; or a zigzag route that paralleled the freeway and crossed over it twice, following the crazy borders of a city created by piecemeal annexations of unincorporated land rather than a rational plan.

Eve took the zigzag route back to the Lost Hills station. That meant driving west on Calabasas Road, then north over the freeway to Mureau Road, a very narrow tree-lined street of deep dips, sudden rises, and sharp blind curves that inexplicably enticed people into speeding and led to frequent, and horrific, car accidents. But today there was so much traffic on the road, with frustrated commuters using it as an alternative to the clogged freeway, that speeding wasn’t an option.

She hit the T intersection with Las Virgenes Road. Turning right would have taken her to the front door of her condo. Instead, she turned left and headed south over the freeway again, following the route she took to work most mornings on her bike.

She made a right onto Agoura Road and was passing the Good Nite Inn when guilt and responsibility tugged her into making a sharp U-turn and pulling into the hotel’s parking lot. Cleve had told her during their encounter outside the Lost Hills station that this was where he’d be staying until the case was closed.

The Good Nite Inn was a two-star, two-story hotel with a low two-figure nightly rate, which brought the kind of clientele that guaranteed that sheriff’s deputies visited often. The hotel had outdoor hallways and was buffeted by the sound of traffic rushing past from the freeway on one side and Agoura Road on the other. The exhaust fumes settled in the hotel’s inner courtyard and mixed with the scent of the heavily chlorinated pool to create a toxic fragrance that kept the mosquitos away and probably killed bedbugs, too.

Eve called Cleve on the phone from her car and asked if she could see him. He told her to come on up and stood waiting for her in the open doorway of his second-floor room as she came up the stairs.