I said, “Troy bragged, too, when I interviewed him in jail. Said he had plans to be rich.”

“You’re thinking he had hit-man fantasies, too?”

“I don’t see him planning for the Ivy League. Maybe he saw Kristal as career practice.”

“Goddamn little savages. What do you do with them?”

* * *

Phil Krug was a compact man in his forties with thin red hair and a copper-wire mustache so thick it extended farther than his crushed nose. He wore a gray suit with a navy shirt and a pale blue tie. The waitress knew him and said “The usual?” before he had a chance to sit down.

Krug nodded at her and unbuttoned his suit jacket. “Nice to meet you guys. Tell Elise what you’re having.”

We ordered burgers. The waitress said, “Phil orders his with blue cheese.”

Krug said, “That’s ‘the usual.’ ”

Milo said, “Sure.”

Nonconformity seemed impolitic. I said, “Ditto.”

* * *

In between bites of cheese-slathered ground chuck on an undistinguished bun, Krug discussed the little he’d learned about Nestor Almedeira’s murder. Unknown assailant, no leads, granules of heroin on the dirt near the body.

A single head-shot, close proximity, through-and-through temple wound, coroner’s guess was a .38, no bullet recovered and no casing, so the killer had picked up or used a revolver.

I side-glanced at Milo. Expressionless.

“Lafayette Park,” he said.

Krug wiped cheese from his mustache. “Let me tell you about Lafayette Park. Coupla months ago I got called for jury duty, civil case, they hear them over at the courthouse on Commonwealth, which is right near the park. I knew I’d be disqualified but I had to show up and wait and do all that good citizen stuff. Lunch break comes and the clerk reads off this prepared statement telling all the jurors where to eat. Then she goes into this speech about never going into Lafayette Park, even during the day. We’re talking a courthouse yards away swarming with law enforcement, and they’re saying don’t step foot inside.”

“That bad,” I said.

“It sure was for our boy Nestor,” said Krug. “So what’s the connection to West L.A.?”

Milo told him about Rand Duchay and Troy Turner’s murders, but left out Lara Malley’s suicide and the similarities between the shootings.

“I remember that one, snatched little baby,” said Krug. “Depressing, glad it wasn’t mine. So maybe Nestor was the hit boy on Turner, huh?”

“He claimed he was to his sister.”

“She never mentioned that to me.”

“She told C.Y.A. right after Nestor bragged about it, got no interest, phoned Ramparts, same deal.”

“She probably talked to some clerk,” said Krug. “We don’t always get the sharpest knives in the drawer . . . they do that, the idiots. Brag. How many you solve that way? Plenty, right?”

“Plenty,” said Milo.