The patrolman lived in Reseda. His house was in the middle of a quiet block, a faded green stucco ranch home with torn white awnings and a pocked-plaster walkway. The front lawn had been burnt-wheat-colored except for a round disk of grass that had been saved by the lacy boughs of an elm. Two dirt bikes rested against the trunk of the tree. The door to the garage was open, a restored ’62 Vette was up on lifts, and two legs were sticking out from under its belly. Decker cleared his throat. A bare-chested man about thirty slid out. His face was clean-shaven and covered with grease, his eyes dirty green but sharp. They immediately sized Decker up as a cop. Hoersch stood, wiped his oily hands on his shorts, but didn’t say anything.

“Hoersch?” Decker said.

“That’s me.”

“Talk to you for a moment?”

“Who are you?” Hoersch asked.

Decker flipped open his ID billfold. He said, “I’m not here on anything official.”

“So why are you here?”

“About a week ago, you and Alfredo Torres answered a two-forty-one Hotshot over in Hollywood—a gimp involved in an ambulance cutting. Victim was a hooker, stopped the perp by hitting him over the head with a lamp.”

“Yeah,” Hoersch nodded. “I remember. What’s Foothill’s involvement?”

“Gimp’s a friend of mine,” Decker said.

Hoersch’s eyes narrowed. He rocked on his bare feet. “So…”

Decker smiled, took off his jacket and draped it over his arm. “No tricks, Hoersch. I’m not out here to bribe you, trap you, or trip you up. And I’m not from IAD.”

Hoersch scanned Decker’s limp shirt, unpressed pants. “You don’t look like someone from IAD,” he added.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Decker said. “I just want to ask you a few questions about the call.”

A young woman wearing a bikini top and cutoff shorts came out the front door. She entered the garage but stopped when she saw Decker.

“Give him a break,” she said. “He’s still got a few hours before he reports in.”

“Inside the house, Terry,” Hoersch said.

“Andy’s on the phone,” Terry said.

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” Hoersch snapped.

“Geez, okay!” Terry’s lips formed a pout. “Don’t have to yell.”

After she left, Decker said, “A few questions, then I’m out of here.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Hoersch said.

Decker said, “When you answered the call, anybody with the woman?”

“I think a neighbor,” Hoersch said.

“Know for sure she was a neighbor?”