Bayless said, “No one goes in or out of the delivery door unless they’re accepting deliveries.”

Silence.

“Comprende?”

“A’vent give,” said the man. He looked at the woman. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the bottle of glass spray.

Bayless said, “Go pick that up before someone trips.”

The woman scurried to comply.

Bayless said, “Give me your company’s name.”

The man fished out a business card.

Bayless said, “Advent owns its own cleaning business?”

“Yeah.”

“You wait here while I check.” To Milo: “Keep an eye on these two.”

The woman began to cry. The man said, “S’okay s’okay.”

Milo’s smile did little to calm her. The rest of us hung back.

Bayless returned a few minutes later. “Okay, apparently there’s an arrangement no one told me about. Good night, you two.”

The couple stood there.

“Go,” said Bayless. “But you’re not going to be able to use the delivery door anymore, I don’t care what someone told you. Comprende?”

“Sí.”

“At least someone gets something.”

The couple hustled toward the freight elevator at the rear of the lobby.

Milo said, “Who’s Advent?”

“Subsidiary of the company that owns this place. They take up floors three and four.” He pointed to the directory. “Bastards, you’d think they’d tell me. You probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I think you work for idiots.”

“Ain’t that the truth—damn, this is worse than the damn department.”

Milo clapped his back. “Don’t be hasty in your judgment.”

Bayless looked ready to spit. “Spare me optimists and people with tiny dogs.”

“What’s wrong with tiny dogs?”

“They’re fine, it’s the people. My second wife owned a hairless mutt could fit in her purse. Liked me better than her. Ugly thing but it had good taste.”

CHAPTER

24

Helping install the cameras got me home just before five a.m. I was sleeping six hours later when the phone rang.

Milo said, “Late enough? I waited.”

“You pulled an all-nighter?”

“I crashed at home until nine, then a call came in from Earl Cohen, Corey’s lawyer. He wants to meet, wouldn’t say why.”

“Where and when?”

“An hour, mini-park at Doheny and Santa Monica.”

“See you there.”

“Hoped you’d say that.”

The park was little more than a circle of grass centered by an old limestone fountain. A couple of homeless guys lolled, soaking up sun. A woman who looked like a personal trainer put her Labrador retriever through a workout.

No seating; Beverly Hills’s idea of hospitality?

I settled on the rim of the fountain and Milo joined me moments later. Soon after that, like a character in a stage play, Earl Cohen appeared, walking eastward from the residential streets of the Beverly Hills Flats, with a slow, unsteady trudge.