Two black-and-whites were parked in front of the café when she got there. An unruly crowd had already begun to clot the sidewalk across the street. She was sure that TV cameras wouldn’t be far behind, and news helicopters, too.

“What’s the situation?” she barked at the first officer she saw, who was halfheartedly doing crowd control.

“All contained,” he said. “We did a silent approach, front and back. There’s a few of our guys up on the roof, too. You’ve got about two-dozen customers and staff inside. If she was here when we pulled up, then she’s still in there.”

That was a big if, but it was something to go on, Galletta thought to herself. Mary Smith might still be inside. This thing could end right here. Please, dear God.

“All right, two more units inside as soon as you can get them here, two more on crowd control, and keep that guard front, back, and top.”

“Ma’am, this isn’t my crew —”

“I don’t care whose crew it is. Just get it done.” She stopped and stared into the officer’s eyes. “Am I clear? Do you follow?”

“Perfectly, ma’am.”

Galletta headed inside. The café was one big rectangle, with a coffee bar in front and rows of computer carrels in the back. Each electronic terminal was its own little booth, with shoulder-high privacy walls.

Everyone in the place had been corralled at the mismatched tables, chairs, and couches. Galletta quickly surveyed their faces.

Students, Yuppies, senior citizens, and a few Venice Beach hippie-freak types. An officer reported to her that they had all been searched and no weapons were found. Not that it meant anything. For now, they were all suspects by default.

The manager was a very nervous young guy in horn-rims who didn’t look old enough to drink, and who had the worst case of acne Galletta had seen since her high school days in the Valley. A mini CD-ROM pinned to his chest said BRETT in red Magic Marker. He showed Galletta to one of the computer carrels near the back.

“This is where we found it,” he said.

“Is there an exit that way?” Galletta asked, pointing down a narrow hallway to her left.

The manager nodded. “The police are already back there. They sealed it off.”

“And do you keep some record of who uses the machines?”

He pointed to a credit-card swiping device. “They had to use that. I don’t really know how to get the info out, but I can find out for you.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Galletta told him. “Here’s what I want you to do, though. Keep everyone in here as comfortable as you can. To be honest, it’s going to be a while. And if anyone wants anything, make it a decaf.”