“I was a fucking moron. I’ll reimburse whatever I took in cash. I’ll write apology letters. I’ll do community service. But badgering me won’t help because I have no idea who killed either of them.” His eyes moistened. I repeat, “What do I do now?”

“A few more questions, Lance,” Decker said. “Do you know a man named Alex Beckwith?”

Terry shook his head. “Who is he?”

Oliver said, “How about Martin Kosovsky?” When he didn’t get a response, he said. “Lars Dotter Hemellvich?”

“Never heard of them. They sound Russian.”

“What about Victor Gerrard?” Decker said.

Terry thought long and hard. “Is he kinda like in his early thirties?”

“He kinda is and he’s kinda missing.”

“Oh God—”

“What do you know about him?”

“The name sounds vaguely familiar.”

McAdams did an image search and showed the pad to Terry. “Any of these faces ring a bell?”

Lance studied the pictures. “I think I might have met this one at a college party. He might have been a friend of Angeline’s. Beyond that . . .” He shrugged.

Decker said to McAdams. “Show him a picture of Jason Merritt.”

“Sure.” McAdams punched in search letters. “Here you go.”

Terry shook his head with conviction. “Don’t know him.”

“Take another look,” Decker said.

“I don’t have to. I don’t know him.”

Decker pointed to his suitcases. “Where were you planning to go?”

“I have an aunt who lives near Los Angeles. Actually, she lives in a small little town about seventy miles north of L.A. She has this converted garage that she rents out to surfers because she lives close to the shore. It’s currently empty and she said I could use it. I thought I’d spend some time up there until this all blows over.”

“I’ll need the name of your aunt, the address, and her phone number,” Decker said.

“No problem.” A pause. “So I can go visit her?”

“You can go, but don’t leave Ventura without telling me where you’re going.”

The kid’s mouth dropped open. “How’d you . . . ?”

“The end part of Malibu is around forty miles from L.A. Sixty miles is Oxnard, seventy miles plus is Ventura. Ninety miles plus is Santa Barbara. I know that because I spent thirty years of my life with the Los Angeles Police Department.”

“Oh . . . so you were, like, in L.A.?”

“Yes, Lance, LAPD is indeed in L.A.,” Decker said. “You know what that means? It means don’t piss me off because over there, I have all sorts of friends in very high places.”

Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

OLIVER WENT TO fetch the car while McAdams, Rina, and Decker shivered in the cold. McAdams was upright, resting on his cane as Rina and Decker tried to figure out how to fold up the wheelchair.

The kid said, “The Boston contact is Goddard.”

“Could be,” Decker said.

“But we have no proof.”