Mae seemed impressed by Decker’s solution. She pushed buttons on a switchboard, then turned her back. Neither Marge nor Decker could hear what she was saying. Then she swiveled back to face them. “May I have the nature of your business?”

Marge said, “Personal.”

Once again, Mae turned her back. Then she hung up the phone. “Ms. Milligan’s secretary is contacting her. Why don’t you have a seat for a few moments.”

The moments stretched to minutes, then to a half hour. Just as Decker was about to get up, Mae smiled at him. “That was Ms. Milligan’s secretary. He said that she’ll be down in a few moments.”

This time the moments were really moments. A woman appeared, and instantly, Decker felt his heart lurch in his chest. He cursed himself for reacting like a man first, a cop second. But he just couldn’t help himself. He stood, focusing on her face, trying to observe without staring.

Goddamn Guttenburg for not warning him.

She was beautiful—tall and lithe with skin as smooth as buffed bronze. Her bone structure was flawless, her eyes clearwater blue. Her hair was a wavy perm of copper-colored tresses. She wore a tailored ivory suit with a lace camisole peeking between the lapels. Her perfume was light with a floral hint. Decker’s eyes went from Milligan’s face to the shield in his hands.

“Ms. Milligan?” He showed her his shield. “Detective Sergeant Peter Decker from the Los Angeles Police Department. This is Detective Dunn. We’d like to have a word with you.”

Milligan stared at the badge, then at Decker. “What’s this about?”

Of course, her voice had to be husky.

“Arik Yalom,” Marge said.

“Oh, not him!” She became cross, her South African accent pronounced with her anger. “I can’t actually believe he’s sicced the police on me! I resent having to deal with such rot! While I have nothing but admiration for law and order, I am very busy. You may feel free to take any official matters up with my personal lawyers. Their offices are on the floor above. I’ll even have Ellen ring them up for you.”

“Can we just have a few minutes of your time, Ms. Milligan?” Decker said. “I promise we’ll be brief.”

Milligan’s eyes met his. They were exquisite but unreadable. “All right. Come.”

She turned on her heels, expecting to be followed. Decker looked at Marge, who rolled her eyes. They walked behind Milligan’s long legs, her heels clackety-clacking on the hallway’s floor. Up yet another two flights in an elevator. Decker never thought of himself as claustrophobic, but he felt a sweat coming on.

Maybe it was the woman.

Milligan turned into her executive secretary’s office, waltzing past the young man’s desk. She led them into a grand-sized room sporting a panoramic view of downtown LA.