“Rand knew he was behind bars because he’d been part of something terrible. Isolation and maturation got him ruminating. He began to assess his share of the guilt. To try to feel like a good person. Barnett and Cherish had no reason to worry about him because he hadn’t been in on the plot. Until he began talking to Cherish. Troy, on the other hand, was an immediate threat, and was eliminated quickly.”

“What’s the name of that seminary she went to?”

“Fulton.”

“Any idea where it is?”

I shook my head. “According to Cherish, Troy’s buried there. She convinced the dean to donate a plot.”

“Oh, I’ll bet she did.” He laughed and cracked his knuckles. “Cherish is a word I use to descri-ibe . . .”

“On the other hand,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s a great house of cards, but all we really know about Cherish is that she’s sleeping with Barnett Malley.”

His face got hard. “So we find out more. That’s what life’s all about, right? Broadening one’s horizons.”

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 28

I walked Milo to his car. “Was Kristal buried or cremated?”

“You’re thinking DNA.”

“If you ever get a sample from Barnett, it would answer the paternity question.”

“Let me tell you about DNA in the real world. We used to send stuff to the sheriff’s crime lab, but they’re backlogged till the next millennium, and they can’t get the county to pay for the latest equipment so they sometimes have to send stuff out. Department recently contracted with Orchid Cellmark in New Jersey, but it’s a priority game: sexual homicides first, then rapes, then crimes against minors. The quickest you can get something back is two to four months. And that’s after you get your requisition approved by the pencil pushers. In this case, if Kristal was buried, I’d need an exhumation order, which could take even longer than DNA analysis, especially with no consent from the surviving relative. Going that route would also mean letting Malley know he’s under suspicion.”

“Just a thought,” I said.

“On the other hand, maybe the coroner kept something from Kristal’s autopsy and I can send that to Cellmark . . . I’ll head over to the crypt, see if they can find something. Ciao.”

* * *

I returned to the house in order to educate myself about foster child reimbursement in L.A County, and to learn more about Fulton Seminary.

The first assignment was easy. I phoned Olivia Brickerman at home. She’s a professor in the Department of Social Work at the gracious old university across town, a battle-toughened veteran of the ground war that is California’s social services system, the widow of a chess grandmaster, a frizzy-haired fireplug old enough to be my mother and one of the smartest people I’ve ever encountered.

She said, “You only call when you want something.”

“I’m a bad son.”