"Bogus phone," he said. "Scam from the get-go ... Wark. Sounds like a phony moniker."

"Griffith D.W.," I said. "Ten to one it's an inversion of D.W. Griffith. I'll also bet the W in 'D.W.' was Wark. Not very subtle, but old Vito didn't catch it."

"Old Vito probably knows more about Maglites than film history." He flipped to the next page. "Here's the bank verification on the deposit check-B. of A. branch out in Panorama City. These guys were all over the place."

He studied his Timex. "Too late to call the manager. I'll drive by the Venice address, see if they really did have a place there; then I'll get the file over to the lab just in case some old latents from known bad guys show up. Tomorrow, it's on the horn to every other prop house in the county, see if Mr. Wark talked anyone else out of gear."

"You like the film thing now," I said.

"Work with what you've got," he said. "I'm an old stink-hound: when something smells bad, I go nosing."

"The casting ad could have been another scam-get wannabes to pay for auditioning."

"Wouldn't surprise me. Hollywood's one big scam, anyway-image fiber alles. Even when it's supposedly legit. One of my first cases, back when I was doing Robbery, was-" He named a well-known actor. "Got his start as a student, doing artsy stuff using gear he stole from the university's theater arts department. When I caught up with him he was a real fresh-mouth, no remorse. Finally, he agreed to return everything and the U decided not to take it any further. A few years later, I'm watching TV and this asshole's up for an Oscar, some social-issues film about prison reform, making a holier-than-thou speech. And what about-" He named a major director. "I know for a fact he got his foot in the door by selling coke to studio execs. Yeah, this Wark found the right business for a psychopath. The only question is how relevant his mischief is to my cases."

I got home just after six. Robin's truck was in the carport. The house smelled wonderful-the salty bouquet of chicken soup.

She was at the stove, stirring a pot. Her hair was loose, tumbling down her back; black sweats accentuated the auburn. Her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows and her face looked scrubbed. Steam from the soup had brought up some sweat. Down by her feet, Spike squatted, panting, ready to pounce for a scrap. The table was set for two.

When I kissed her, Spike grumbled. "Be a good sharer," I said.

He grumbled some more and waddled over to his water bowl.

"Winning through intimidation," I said.

Robin laughed. "Thought we'd eat in. Haven't seen enough of you lately."

"Sounds great to me. Want me to prepare something?"

"Not unless there's something else you want."