“You don’t look hungover; you look sick. As in the flu. Why don’t you go home?”

She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “The aspirins’ll kick in. I’ll be all right.”

“What are you working on now?” Decker asked.

“I just got another weenie wagger. Third one in a week. Seems this particular dude just loves to excite himself in the movie theater, preferably kiddy films. They caught him at the climax—his—buttering some little girl’s popcorn at the Brave Li’l Mouse Movie.”

Decker groaned.

“Mama went bonkers,” Marge continued. “Started screaming in front of a full house. ‘Did you see what that man just did! He ejaculated in my daughter’s popcorn!’ Meanwhile, the perv’s just sittin’ there with this smug grin plastered across his mug. No resistance to the arrest. Too damn wasted.”

“I hope they got their money back,” Decker said.

“Yeah, they did—and a free popcorn to boot—but Mama was none too pleased.”

“Do you have any other cases—besides the wagger—that are pressing?”

“My load’s pretty light. What’s up?”

“We got a name to match a set of bones that we dug up.”

Marge nodded approval. “Not too shabby, Pete.”

“Sometimes you get lucky. A sixteen-year-old white female named Lindsey Bates. Disappeared around four months ago.”

“Want me to talk to her mother?”

“If you can. I need someone with a soft touch.”

“When?”

“Right now, if you feel up to it. I figured I’d take a peek at the kid’s room while you interviewed Mrs. Bates.”

Marge stood up. In heels, she was nearly eye level with him. Her shoulders, housed in a padded jacket, appeared immense.

She picked up her bag and said, “Let’s go.”

The Bateses lived in La Canada. The house was on a tree-lined street at the end of a cul-de-sac—a split level with a wood and stone facade. The lawn had been newly planted and was bisected by a stone walkway lined by manicured rose bushes bursting with Day-Glo colors—hot pinks, scarlet reds, and sunshine yellows—a wreath for the house of mourning. Marge gave the door a hard rap, and a moment later a wisp of a blonde appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Bates?” Decker asked, showing his shield.

“Come in, Sergeant…I’m sorry I forgot your name.”

“Decker, ma’am.” He handed her his card. “This is Detective Dunn.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Bates,” Marge said, gently.