“I was figuring to pour on the charm but let’s talk when I get there.”

“Hmm,” said Gonzales. “Charm, I’m trying to imagine that.”

Milo hung up. I said, “What quid pro quo did Laura Smith ask for?”

“If she gets busted again, I get her out of it. Totally.”

“Such faith. Touching.”

“No sense disillusioning her,” he said. “Being young’s hard enough.”

CHAPTER

35

Gonzales’s extended-cab GMC pickup truck was parked half a block from Richard Corey’s condo, taking up a whole bunch of red-zone. Gonzales wore sweats and a zip-up jacket, held out a sheet of aluminum foil.

“Tamales, she let me bring some of the sweet ones, here.”

We ate. I said, “Delicious.”

Milo said, “You’re married to the perfect woman, Frank.”

“So she tells me. Nice old Caddy. Impound?”

Milo said, “His.”

“Really. Original engine, Doc?”

I said, “Third rebuild.”

“Nothing like loyalty—okay, Sheila’s waiting up there.” Pointing to a side street running perpendicular to the harbor. “Corey hasn’t left, his lights are still on, you can see the TV blinking behind those drapes. We got a lucky break, the next-door neighbor left a couple hours ago, so if it does get weird, less risk of innocent bystanders.”

Milo said, “No reason for it to go weird, Frank.”

“I know,” said Gonzales, “but you know.”

The building slipped into view under a nearly starless sky, dark bulk checked by amber rectangles of curtained windows. Gonzales whistled softly and a woman in her early twenties stepped out of the shadows. A blond ponytail poked from the back of her baseball cap. Her face was finely boned. She wore a leather motorcycle jacket, jeans, and running shoes. The jacket looked too large for her; ample room for a shoulder-holstered 9mm.

“Officer Entell,” said Gonzales. “She’s been doing a great job.”

“Thanks, sir,” said Entell, looking past us at the condo. “But nothing really to do.”

Milo said, “We call that a good situation, Officer.” He told her who I was. She said, “The subject’s a nutter?”

Gonzales said, “Nutter with a gun, like I told you. They don’t think there’s going to be any problems, this is just a social call.”

“All right,” said Sheila Entell. “Social call this late?”

Milo said, “It’ll throw him off but I’ll take the soft approach. Starting by phoning him right now to avoid too much surprise.”

He called. No answer. Rechecking the number, he tried again.

“Maybe he’s in the bathroom,” said Gonzales.

The four of us headed toward the condo. Neighboring houses were unlit in both directions. Weekenders. Up close one of Corey’s front windows was flicked with strobe-like flashes of light and color. TV on in the living room, like Gonzales had said.

Milo tried calling again. Same result.

Gonzales turned to Entell. “You’re sure he’s in there.”