“Obviously you people don’t grasp my situation with her. Put yourself in my shoes: A total stranger with a disturbed mind takes an inexplicable, pathological dislike to you. Every time she sees you she comes over, stands over you when you’re simply trying to eat your lunch. She rants and raves and shakes her fists and behaves in an overall threatening manner. All because one time she panhandled you and you had the temerity to refuse her. It got to the point where I was looking over my shoulder every time I went over to the mall for coffee or lunch or whatever. I had no choice but to try to have her put away.”

“You were aiming for involuntary commitment,” I said.

“Good luck with that, the system stinks. So I figured a civil suit might help lay some groundwork. Or maybe she’d get nervous and leave me alone.”

I said, “To sue her, you had to serve her with papers. How’d you pull that off?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d think someone like that might be hard to get hold of.”

Fellinger’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, God! Now I see where this is going. Shit.”

Milo said, “Sir?”

“Where was she killed, Lieutenant?”

“A park in Santa Monica.”

“No, no, no. I can’t believe this!” Fellinger poured a double, tossed it back, placed his hand over his chest. His color had gone bad, pallor and flush combining in a sickly mottle.

Milo said, “You all right, sir?”

“No, I’m not all right. This is too damn much.” Pressing his hands to his temples, he breathed heavily. “It’s nuts, no way.”

“What is, sir?”

Fellinger looked at me. “You’re right, serving her proved to be a giant hassle. I went out-of-pocket for several professional processors, including county marshals. No one succeeded in finding her. I brought up my frustration with Jens. He said, ‘No problem, Mr. F., I’ll take care of it.’ A few days later, he reported that he’d served her. I asked him how he’d pulled it off and he said he’d observed the mall until he spotted her but instead of confronting her, he kept an eye on her. Eventually, she left and boarded a bus that he got on, as well. She exited at a park in Santa Monica.”

Fellinger wiped sweat from his brow. “He was quite proud of himself—said he went to a nearby liquor store, bought a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor, and taped the papers to it. The minute she took the bait, she was served.”

Shaking his head. “I thanked him. And now she’s been murdered. Jesus. When was she killed?”

I said, “Couple of months ago.”

“Oh, God, please don’t tell me that woman died because some psycho misinterpreted my intentions.”

Milo said, “No reason to blame yourself unless you got specific about hurting Deirdre Brand.”