“How about two hundred, then? Less than you paid for the Rolls and Phil and Frank get to continue as best friends forever. Not to mention, you stay out of jail.”

“I’ll never see the inside of any jail, darling. It’s a story, nothing more.”

“A true story.”

“Prove it.”

“If you’re that confident, why haven’t you gone for the Glock?”

“That’s obvious,” she said. “The other thing.”

“Phil and Frank.”

“Even so, two hundred is ridiculous. Even half that’s ridiculous.”

“I disagree, Leona. Two hundred’s my best offer and if you don’t meet it, I’ll walk out of here and tell my story to Lieutenant Sturgis. Like I said, the cops aren’t geniuses but they can connect dots.”

“And what will happen to you?”

“They’ll thank me and pay a consultant’s fee.”

“Fifty thousand. That is my best offer and you’d do well to take it.”

“A hundred.”

“You are tiresome. Seventy-five.”

“Split the difference,” I said.

“Eighty-seven five. Exorbitant, but fine. I’ll have cash for you in three days. Give me that card of yours, I’ll call you and inform you where to pick it up.”

“Don’t think so, Leona. I’ll set up the date. When you orchestrate the score, the band tends to go out of tune.”

“Not to my ear,” she said, gaily. “It was beautiful music.”

“Three days,” I said. “I’ll call you.”

“All right,” she said. Far too quickly. Way too syrupy. Definitely time to leave.

Retrieving the laptop, I left the room, crossed the cavernous entry hall.

The photo of the woman in white was gone.

Leona Suss made no attempt to follow and that raised the short hairs on the back of my neck.

As I reached the door, my head whiplashed for a backward look.

She stood, hands on hips, at the foot of the stairs. Rubbed her crotch briefly. Said, “Ta-ta.” I knew she was already screenwriting.

The cat purred by her feet.

I turned the knob.

The army stormed through.

Chapter 39

nfantry charge.

Milo.

Sheriff’s Homicide Investigator Laurentzen “Larry” Palmberg.

Three uniformed sheriff’s deputies, an equal number of LAPD uniforms.

Twice that many from Beverly Hills PD, along with two B.H. detectives thrilled to be “doing something exciting.”

Seven crime scene techs. Because of all the square footage.

Dr. Clarice Jernigan, wearing a hand-tailored coroner’s windbreaker over an expensive pantsuit, even though she rarely showed up at any crime scene and there was no dead body. Because, in the event the murder weapons showed up, she wanted an unsullied chain of evidence.

Last in: Deputy D.A. John Nguyen, clutching the search warrant he knew he’d be serving and the arrest warrant he hadn’t been sure about before watching the feed from the laptop.

Because “filthy-rich folk hire media-savvy loudmouths who spin like dervishes and I need to make sure nothing stupid happens.”