“Good old Sydney,” he said. “Freaking out was always her technique. In court she was real controlled, but outside, anyone tried to disagree with her she’d just blast out with this wall of Indy 500 noise. At me, the boys, her parents.” He shook his head. “Amazing what I put up with. My second wife was a different story. Mellow, couldn’t be sweeter. Dead in the sack, though. Eventually, I’ll find the right combination.”

He got up and headed back toward his store. I walked with him, pressed for more details about the movie.

“Never saw a script. Never got involved directly. Don’t forget, I was just a TV guy.”

“You were good enough to set up meetings,” I said.

“Exactly.” He scratched his chin. “I did all kinds of stupid things back then. Had a little substance-abuse problem that clouded my judgment. I’m talking to you in the first place because my sponsor says I need to be honest with the world.”

Same thing Nina Balquist had said. How much of what passed for honesty nowadays was atonement?

I said, “I appreciate that.”

“I’m doing it for myself,” said Boestling. “Should’ve been a lot more selfish when it counted.”

* * *

I drove to Beverly Hills and caught Lauritz Montez exiting the court building on Burton and Civic Center. The double-wide briefcase he toted dragged at his right shoulder as he headed for the rear parking lot.

“Mr. Montez.”

An eyebrow lifted but he never broke step. I caught up.

“What now?”

“A reliable source tells me you and Sydney had more than a business relationship.”

“And who might that be?”

“Can’t say.”

No answer.

I said, “Tell me about Sydney’s movie ambitions.”

“Why would I know anything about that?”

“Funny,” I said. “You didn’t say ‘what movie?’ ”

We entered the lot and he walked to a ten-year-old gray Corvette, put his case on the ground. “You’re getting annoying.”

“Judge Laskin’s retired but he’s got friends. I’m sure the judiciary and the bar association would be thrilled to know how you comported yourself during a major case.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Heaven forbid,” I said. “Then again, maybe you’d rather file indictment forms in Compton for the next twenty years.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” he said, keeping his voice low. “My money says LAPD has no idea what you’re doing.”

I held out my cell phone. “Speed-dial five.” Which would’ve connected him to my dentist.

He didn’t take it. A Beverly Hills cop drove past us in a brand-new Suburban. One officer, all that curb weight. Gas economy doesn’t mean much in 90210.

I pocketed the phone.

Montez said, “What do you really want?” His voice wavered on the last two words.

“What you know about the movie and anything else you can tell me about Sydney and the Daneys.”