Richard Corey proved to be a creature of low activity and even lower sociability.

He remained inside his condo except for a noon trip to buy beer and a solitary evening walk along the waterfront.

“The kid I put on him said he acted kind of weird,” said Frank Gonzales. “Kept his eyes on the ground, didn’t pay attention to anyone, even his tenants. Younger couple, they met him walking, Corey passed right by. But the kid’s greener than lettuce, could be dramatizing. Today I’ll check on Corey’s boat.”

Milo said, “I found it. Cracked engine block, dry-docked in a boatyard near the Ventura harbor until Corey gives the okay to repair. Meanwhile he’s paying storage fees.”

“Good for you,” said Gonzales. “Does the yard happen to be Harvey’s Boat Haven?”

“As a matter of fact.”

“I know Harvey Milner. I’ll have him call me if anything changes.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

“I should be thanking you, sunny day on the water, fishing’s been not bad, mostly smelts, but one nice rock cod. You cook?”

“Not much.”

“Me neither, but my wife does. In her hands, smelts is gourmet.”

Milo phoned Deputy D.A. John Nguyen and asked if Richard Corey’s prior permission to examine his financial and phone records still applied.

Nguyen said, “Probably not.”

“It was pretty open-ended, John.”

“This ever goes to trial, you want to blow it on something stupid?”

“Damn.”

Nguyen said, “Maybe … I guess a case could be made either way. Theoretically. But you didn’t learn anything the first time, so why bother?”

“We think this guy had his wife killed and did three other women by himself. Now we’re concerned he’ll go after his daughters. He sold their horses for slaughter and emptied the ex’s house.”

“Making a big change,” said Nguyen. “A John List thing?”

“Could be.”

“Horses, huh? Sounds like parent of the year. Where are the daughters?”

“On the run. But Corey’s super-rich, can move fast, John. Anything we can do to get a handle on his behavior could be useful.”

“Bastard ends up killing his kids, wouldn’t that be a headline? Okay, have your way with his paper trail. You need backup from some white-collar droid, give ’em my number.”

“You bet, John.” Milo grinned at me. He’d already begun scouring without authorization.

Nguyen said, “Any idea where the girls are?”

“Their credit cards have them in Vegas yesterday, checking out of the Venetian and returning to California. Gas and munchies in Barstow, then Bakersfield, then to Carmel, where they rented another hotel room. If they’ve moved since, I don’t know about it yet.”

“Which hotel in Carmel?”

“Seaview Lodge.”

“You’re kidding,” said Nguyen. “Took a chick there couple of years ago, we’re talking high-end girlie-spa. These kids are scared but they’re getting hot-rock massages and salt rubs? Daddy paying those credit cards?”