“What did you say your name was?”

“Sturgis, West L.A. Division.”

“And you’re a lieutenant.”

Milo smiled. “And you’re an attorney.”

Agajanian said, “Lieutenant Sturgis,” as if caching a weapon.

Milo said, “If you’d like to enter it into your PDA, I’d be happy to wait.”

“That’s okay, I have a good memory.”

“Does that include this poor girl’s real name?”

Agajanian didn’t answer.

Milo said, “I also need the name of anyone your sisters hooked her up with—”

“My sisters don’t hook anyone up, they’ve created a social networking site.”

“Where people pay them for the privilege of hooking up.”

“It’s not a fine point, it’s the crux, Lieutenant. There’s no genuine agency here, meaning SukRose is not a party to any transaction and as such—”

“They’re aiming to be the eBay of May–December romance,” said Milo. “I hope they make billions. Meanwhile, give me names for one particular May and any Decembers in her past so we can find out who turned her into hamburger. At the least, we’ll be able to notify her family so what’s left of her—her components—are not stacked indefinitely in a refrigerated closet—”

“I get you, Lieutenant Sturgis. But no, sorry, can’t help.”

Milo loomed. “Why not?”

“Why not? Because SukRose could conceivably end up incurring legal responsibility for any ensuing personal damage brought about by your investigation. Then there’s the general matter of privacy and—”

“I get you, Mr. Agajanian.”

“Meaning?”

“You were always a good student but the sight of blood grossed you out so instead of becoming a doctor where you might actually be able to help someone, you chose a profession where you get paid to turn simple things complicated by creating a foreign language called lawyer-speak that you can then charge poor suckers to translate.”

Arcing a thumb at the Boxster’s personalized plate, Milo winked. “Life is good, huh?”

Brian Agajanian’s jaw dropped, then slammed shut, tightening to compensate. “I’m not going to stand here and justify my profession. Some things are complicated and your situation falls into that category.”

Milo dropped the death photo into his case. “Suit yourself, Brian. Have you discussed with your sisters the fact that the less you tell us, the more public exposure their company’s going to get? But not the right type of exposure? As in tomorrow’s six o’clock news letting the world know that one of their Sweeties ended up murdered and they’ve refused to help furnish evidence?”

“That,” said Agajanian, “would incur consequences of its own.”

“You bet it would, Brian. If I’m a rich geezer looking for a nubile hard-body I’m not gonna turn to a website where a hard-body got turned nasty-mushy and the police are snooping around.”

“That’s my point! Your snooping is potentially deleterious to the survival of—”