He didn’t know. His frown deepened as he clicked his pen even more rapidly.

Thinking he was missing something, he flipped through the reports one more time. The neighbor to the north of the McIntyre property owned dogs that had gone nuts around ten-thirty the night before, an event consistent with the time of death. But, of course, that neighbor had seen nothing out of the ordinary. No surprise, as the hedges and fences made it impossible to peek into the abutting yard.

Another neighbor three doors down had spotted a dark pickup on the road, but that vehicle belonged to one of the lawn care companies who serviced the neighborhood. The truck had broken down and was later towed—all legit.

Hayes stretched his neck and rotated his shoulders in an attempt to dispel some of the tension mounting in his upper back. Between his caseload and his ex-wife’s most recent custody demands, he needed a break. He used to have time to run or play pickup ball, but lately he’d been too busy to squeeze in a workout.

He reviewed the information he knew about the McIntyre murder. The department had gotten the call around eight in the morning, when the maid had found a very dead Shana McIntyre face up in the pool. The maid had dialed 9-1-1; a uniformed cop had responded, then called in RHD.

Hayes and Bledsoe had caught the case and arrived about the same time as SID, the Scientific Investigation Division, rolled up. Of course a T.V. camera crew showed up shortly thereafter.

Shana McIntyre hadn’t just hit her head on the side of the pool, though there was blood on the tile near the stairs. The bruising at her throat and other evidence suggested that she’d been attacked.

Later, while searching the place, they’d found his-and-hers laptop computers in the den. The pink Mac had been logged onto Shana’s calendar, where Bentz’s name had appeared in capital letters.

“Interesting,” Bledsoe had remarked. “The guy’s in town less than a week and three people are dead. Two vics of the Twenty-one and now this woman has him on her calendar. Bentz is batting a thousand.”

Hayes hadn’t been so quick to judge. “You don’t think he had anything to do with the Springer twins’ murders.”

Bledsoe had glowered at Shana McIntyre’s monitor. “Didn’t think so. But this one…” He’d scratched at his chin and looked up over the rims of his reading glasses. “I don’t know. Look, I’ve never pegged Bentz as a killer. But something’s off, Hayes. You and I both know it, and somehow it’s connected to the fact that good ol’ Ricky Boy is back in L.A.”

On that point, Hayes didn’t disagree.