“If we ever get to meet her, we’ll see.”

“If?” he said. “Where’s the old optimism?”

I didn’t answer.

He frowned. “I thought you might say that.”

We left the station and took a walk up the block. Neither of us said a word.

Fresh air did nothing to unclog my head and Milo’s expression said it hadn’t helped him, either. As we began the return trip, he said, “This case, the damn food angle, has screwed up my digestive system. I can’t even think about lunch.”

I thought: three pastries an hour ago.

I said, “Time heals.”

CHAPTER

39

As we climbed the stairs back to Milo’s office, he said, “You’re right. As usual.”

“About what?”

He touched his belt buckle. “I can imagine feeling better in a couple hours. Say, Italian.”

He spent time making sure the BOLOs had gotten to airport cops at LAX, Burbank, and John Wayne. Moments later, Frank Gonzales phoned.

“Our CS-eyers got semen and other stuff from the futons in Williams’s unit, there’ll be plenty to DNA. No gun there or at Corey’s so whatever weapon those girls saw is gone, I’m figuring Williams took it.”

“That’s how I see it,” said Milo.

“Too bad they can’t describe it so we know what to look for.”

“Maybe eventually.”

“Not that Corey used it on anyone. Sounds like a nutcase, brandishing at his own kids.”

“He wasn’t a paragon of mental health, Frank.”

“Anything from the Valley guy on that tattoo artist?”

Milo said, “Not yet.”

“I followed up on the alerts right before I called you. Still zero.”

“I know, Frank.”

“I’m boring you,” said Gonzales. “Boring myself.”

Milo phoned Lloyd Bamburger.

The Valley D said, “Hey, just about to call you. Bullet from Mr. Brown’s head is a 9mm. That match yours?”

Milo said, “My vic Corey was a .25 but it could match my vic DiMargio.”

“The slug from Brown is at the lab, where’s DiMargio?”

“At the crypt, I’ll get it sent over.”

“Anything on your alerts? Haven’t had time to check, I’m assuming nothing.”

“You’re assuming correctly, Lloyd.”

“You find something, I know you’ll tell me.”

“You’ll be among the first to know.”

“Among?” said Bamburger.

“Figured I’d phone my family back in Indiana first, Lloyd. Prove to them I really do have a job.”

Bamburger laughed and hung up.

Cradling the phone, Milo rubbed his eyes, then his entire face, played with an unlit cigar.

I said, “Just thought of something. Williams has been cleaning his plate. We need to warn Kleffer.”

The cigar snapped between his fingers. He tossed it in the trash. “Hates the guy enough to steal then off his girlfriend … oh, man.”

No answer at Kleffer’s home. A call to Beppo Bippo produced an officious host.

“Chef is cooking.”

“Tell Chef Lieutenant Sturgis needs to talk to him.”