He showed me his palm. “I can’t think in those terms. And if Barnett Malley doesn’t understand that, I’m ready for him. Nice seeing you again, Doctor.”

I stood and asked if he knew where I could find Sydney Weider.

“Going to warn her, too?”

“And pump her for info.”

Montez pulled out a pair of sunglasses, held the lenses up and used them as mirrors. One end of his bow tie had drooped lower than its counterpart. He frowned and righted it.

“You can probably find her,” he said, “on the tennis court or the golf course or sipping a Cosmopolitan on the country club terrace.”

“Which country club?”

“I was speaking metaphorically. I have no idea if she belongs to any club but it wouldn’t surprise me. Sydney was rich then, so she’s probably richer now.”

“Rich girl playing at the law?” I said.

“Good insight, you must be a psychologist. The first time you met Sydney she’d be sure to let you know where she was coming from. Swinging the Gucci purse, letting drop all the relevant data in machine-gun monologue. Like you were a student and she was teaching Introductory Sydney.”

“She talked about her money?”

“About her daddy the film honcho, her husband the film honcho, all the industry parties she was ‘compelled’ to attend. The sons at Harvard-Westlake, the house in Brentwood, the weekend place in Malibu, the Beemer and the Porsche on alternate days.” He mimed a finger-down-the throat gag.

“When did she leave the P.D.’s office?” I said.

“Not long after the Malley case closed, as a matter of fact.”

“How soon after?”

“Maybe a month, I don’t know.”

“Think it had anything to do with the case?”

“Maybe indirectly. Her name got into the paper and soon after she got a fat private practice offer from Stavros Menas.”

“Mouthpiece of the high and mighty,” I said.

“You’ve got that right. What Menas does is more P.R. than criminal defense. Which makes him the perfect L.A. guy. He alternates between a Bentley and an Aston Martin.”

“Does she still work for him? She’s got no office listing.”

“That’s ’cause she never worked for him,” he said. “The way I heard it, she changed her mind and retired to a life of leisure.”

“Why?”

He glanced down at his food. “Couldn’t tell you.”

“Burnout?”

“Sydney didn’t feel deeply enough to burn out. She probably just got bored. With all her money there was no reason for her put up with all the shit. When I first heard she quit, I figured she was going to try to get a movie deal out of the case. But it didn’t happen.”

“You figured because her husband’s a film exec?”