No kids here, tonight. No people at all. Off in the distance, the crumbling, flat-roofed units of 415 City were top-lit harshly, security bulbs spanking the darkness. A police siren howled, then dopplered to silence. Shouts and laughter and drumbeats filtered through the night. The air was heavy and oppressive and dangerous, like hands around a throat.

Milo pocketed the penlight. “Nice try. They could be anywhere. Maybe Cherish really did want to go to Vegas.”

I said, “Where exactly was Lara found?”

He sat down on one of the swings. The chain howled in protest. Phoning Sue Kramer, he asked her the same question, listened intently. Made some notes and hung up and handed them to me. “For what it’s worth.”

* * *

The Sepulveda Basin Wildlife Reserve is 225 acres of what passes for natural habitat in L.A. Created by a dam filled with undrinkable water and army-engineered flood-drainage channels, and planted with native vegetation, the refuge is sandwiched between two freeways yet motion-picture gorgeous. Birds love it and a couple hundred species migrate in and out. People are welcome with qualifications. No hunting, no fishing, no bikes, no feeding the ducks. No straying off the well-marked paths.

Following Sue Kramer’s directions, I entered on Balboa Boulevard, just below Birmingham High School, cruised a treeless stretch of road. A short while later, the L.A. River appeared, an empty, graffiti-marred trough in this drought-plagued winter.

Milo said, “She parked right there.” Pointing to a spot bordering the river, half-hidden by an initial planting of eucalyptus.

No sign of any vehicles.

I kept driving.

He said, “Where now?”

“Maybe nowhere.”

“Then why bother?”

“Got anything better to do?”

Continuing south to Burbank, I hooked a left and traversed the southern border of the reserve. Lots of trees here. Signs pointed toward the dam. No more birds than we’d seen in Soledad Canyon. Maybe they knew something.

We both saw it at the same time.

White Jeep, on the far end of a small parking lot on Burbank.

The only vehicle in the lot. Signs said legal parking had ended an hour ago.

Milo said, “Right out in the open. Take that and stick it in your BOLO. Where are the parking nazis when you need them?”

I pulled behind the Jeep.

He said, “Sitting right here and no one notices.”

I said, “There’s your invitation to search.”

* * *

Out came another set of plastic gloves. How many did he carry? He walked around the Jeep, checked the underbody, then the windows. The doors were locked and the interior was empty. Clear view of the rear storage area through the hatchback window. Nothing.

Milo said, “In the mood for a hike?”

* * *