Decker nodded and said, “In the meantime, start up a Missing Person file on Sally. I’ll go to meet my buddy—”

“The rapist.”

“Alleged rapist,” Decker said. “You punch Sally’s description and prints into the computer. Also, contact Barry Delferno.”

Marge stuck out her tongue.

Decker said, “Want me to call him?”

“No, no, no,” Marge insisted. “My past experience with the sleaze shall have no bearing on my professional duties.”

Decker held back a smile and said, “I hear he’s doing very well since he made the switch from bail jumpers to stolen children.”

“His off-duty car is a ’sixty-four metallic-blue Rolls Silver Cloud,” Marge said. “We’re in the wrong field.”

“Yeah, well, we already knew that.”

“What do you want to do with my lady on Oak?”

“You want me to talk to her?”

“Yes, I do. Maybe a big guy like you can intimidate her into baring her soul.”

Decker said, “I can do it now, or I can let her sit on it and come back tomorrow. My personal opinion is to leave her alone for the night. She may see the light in the morning.”

Marge thought, then said, “Okay, let her sit on it. But not too long.”

“You think she’s planning a one-way trip somewhere?”

Marge shook her head. “No indication.”

“Great,” Decker said. “Let’s go. You drive.”

4

Decker stood outside the Los Angeles County Jail. It was a lousy day to dig up bones—three o’clock and the sun was still blasting mercilessly. Sweat ran down his forehead, beaded above his mustache. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face, then sat down on the lone cement bench stranded on an island of scorched lawn. Although large and looming, the gray prison building in front of him cast only a couple feet worth of shadow. No relief there. He took off his suit jacket, and rechecked his watch.

C’mon, you son of a bitch. Let’s get it over with.

He stood up. The bench was hot. Besides, he was too antsy to sit. A Khaki-clad sheriff’s deputy walked past him and nodded. Decker nodded back, pulled out a cigarette from his shirt pocket, and began to peel the paper, letting the tobacco shavings fall to the ground. Thirty-seven out of forty cigarettes he handled per day ended up skinned, but better that than smoking the suckers.