“He was found lying on his face, maybe he got dragged a bit during the dump. No defense wounds or tissue under his nails or any other signs of struggle. No major blood at the scene, so he was shot somewhere else.”

“He’s big,” I said. “So if there was no struggle, he was probably taken by surprise.”

“I’d ask if you recognize him, but we just got word from AFIS. The prints confirm it’s Duchay.”

I reviewed the pictures, tried to look past damage and death. Rand Duchay’s boyhood facial structure had been transformed by puberty into something longer and harder. His hair was darker than I remembered but that could’ve been the lighting. In life, he’d been a slow kid, with slack features. Death hadn’t changed that, but death has a way of blunting everyone around the edges. Would I have recognized him if we’d passed on the street?

I said, “Any fix on when it happened?”

“You know how T.O.D. is, mostly guesswork. Best guess is sometime between nine p.m. and one a.m.”

Nine was well after I’d gotten home from Duchay’s no-show. Maybe he had changed his mind about the meeting. Or had his mind changed.

I said, “Did you just happen to find out, or did you go looking for him?”

Milo stretched his long legs as far as the room allowed. “After you called I decided to do a little research on Duchay, found out he’d been released three days ago. Four years early, good behavior.” Flaring nostrils said what he thought about that.

“I learned who he’d been released to, which took some doing. Called, got no answer, decided a thrill-killer ambling around the Westside didn’t appeal to my sense of order. I left Sean a message to check prowler reports and attempted burglaries for the last three days. Then I took a drive up Westwood and hit some side streets.”

He worked his tongue inside his cheek. “I was thinking I’d finish up at your place, you’d fix me a sandwich, I’d wish you bon voyage. Then Sean calls back, he’s at the coroner, a case came in last night that looked like a whodunit and the crime scene guys missed something but the crypt attendant found it when she undressed the body. Little scrap of paper in the victim’s pocket. Sean was pretty sure he recognized your number, but wanted to confirm.”

“Sean’s got a good memory,” I said.

“Sean’s coming along.”

“You’re working the case with him?”

“He’s working it with me.”

* * *