“I wouldn’t swear in court based on what you’ve given me, but let me show you something. I’ve superimposed Jean’s craniofacial skeleton onto the picture you gave me. Look how everything lines up. The eye sockets, the antrum or maxillary air sinus, the nasal sinus, and of course, the upper teeth. A case could be made for positive identification just based on photography, but I’m conservative. Go ahead and find out the identity of this girl. Then we’ll get the dental records, if she has them, and confirm what we already think.”

“Super. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

They stared at each other. For some reason, he couldn’t avert his eyes. She licked her lips. He felt a wave of heat and knew he’d had enough.

“Whew,” he said, wiping his forehead with a napkin. “Is it hot in here or is it my imagination?”

“I feel fine,” she said with an impish grin.

“I’d better leave.” Decker picked up the empty sack with the Bert-and-Ernie thermos inside.

He headed for the door.

“Pete,” said Hennon, “do you want your pictures back?”

He laughed.

“Yes, I do, thank you.”

“Anytime, Sergeant.”

After checking out Truscott again, Decker headed for the Teriyaki Dog. It was a ramshackle fast-food stand on Sunset across the street from Children’s Hospital. This part of Hollywood wasn’t hooker turf and Decker suspected that was why Kiki had picked out the spot; she didn’t want to be seen with a cop in front of her peers. But if that was her rationale, the girl wasn’t too bright. The stand was open and visible from the boulevard.

She was wolfing down a conconction of hot dog, chili and Chinese vegetables, and the mixture of smells was potent. He sat down beside her at a splintered picnic table. Placing his elbows on the table top, he noticed it was sticky with crusted food. He raised his coat sleeve and grimaced.

“Wanna bite?” she offered.

“No thanks.” He frowned. “One arm is enough.”

She looked puzzled, then broke into a laugh and punched him on the shoulder—his good one.

“You’re a kidder, huh?”

“What do you have for me?” he asked.

“Slow down,” she said, talking with her mouth full. “What’s the hurry?”

“I’m busy, Kiki. Put up—”

“Or shut up, I know.” She stopped eating, wiped her hands on a napkin, and took out a small scrap of paper. “These two guys specialize in younger meat and they’re both bad dudes.”

Decker looked at the names: Wilmington Johnson. Clementine.

“Clementine have a last name?” he asked.

“Just Clementine,” she answered licking her fingers.

As in “Oh my darlin.”

“Black? White?” he asked.

“Both are niggers. Clementine is pretty light from what I hear. I’ve never seen him.”

She picked up her food and took another bite. “Can you get me a Coke?”