“Hell, yeah, I got great visual perception and memory. White, straight, not bad looking. Quiet. She never argued with him and she actually got in the chair but then, just as I was about to start, she just up and split.”

I said, “Stay put,” left his shop, hurried to the Seville, and found Katherine Hennepin’s photo in the pile of case material I kept in the trunk.

Tigretto said, “Yeah, that’s her. No reason for her to wimp, I use topical numbing cream. Except for people who come in not only for the art but also for the pain.”

“Was Frankie like that?”

“You know,” he said, “she was. She said the pain made her feel real.”

“Tell me about the guy with her.”

“Knew what he wanted.”

“How so?”

“She’s the one getting inked but he’s directing. What to draw, where to put it, what color. And unless he’s MBA’d under his clothes, he’s got no ink of his own. I asked him if he wanted something for himself, doing a couples thing, some people find it romantic, you know? He shakes his head and points to Frankie and tells me she’s the canvas.”

“That’s the word he used? ‘Canvas.’ ”

Nod. “Like he thinks he’s the artist when I am. But he had the money so I got going. It took time, that Nile asp was big and complicated, Cleopatra would be proud.”

He beamed.

I said, “Frankie tolerated it well.”

“She just sat there, no topical, not moving a muscle. Like a dog on tranqs. I’ve seen it before. I see all kinds of things. Psychology, you know?”

“Describe the guy with her.”

He did.

Everything changed.

CHAPTER

30

Another shift of a mad prism, a new paradigm.

I dialed Milo’s mobile frantically. Voice mail; same for his desk phone. I tried the landline at his house, got Rick’s grave rendition: If this is an emergency for Dr. Silverman … if you’re trying to reach Detective Sturgis …

“It’s me, call me back, A-sap.” Swinging away from the curb, I sped back to Laurel Canyon. Two blocks in, my cell chirped.

Milo said, “Glad I reached you.”

“You got my message?”

“What message? No, I’ve got one for you, guess who just called? Grant Fellinger. Sounding scared as hell and asking to meet sooner, not later. I’m on my way over right now. Feel free to join the party, maybe he’ll validate parking for both of us.”

Click.

I caught up with him in the reception area of Grant Fellinger’s law firm. Pocketing his badge as the receptionist said, “This way,” and rose to escort him.