Mendez pushed a little harder. “Why do you think someone would murder Marissa, cut off her breasts, and send them to your mother?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t that your department?”

“That’s a very personal offense,” Mendez said. “First, the murder. Stabbing is a very personal crime. Sending the breasts to your mother, also a highly personal gesture. It’s a big Fuck You, if you’ll pardon my language.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Have you been in Lompoc recently?” Hicks asked.

“No. Why would I go there?”

“You’ve got a car dealership up there.”

“Yes, but we’ve got a good manager. There’s no reason for me to go there when I can pick up the phone. I divide my time between here and Santa Barbara.”

“Where were you last Sunday night?” Mendez asked.

“The night Marissa was killed?” Bordain tried to laugh. “You want my alibi?”

No one laughed with him.

“We need to know where you were.”

He stalled, lighting another cigarette. His hands shook a little. “I was at Gina’s house.”

Mendez exchanged a long look with Hicks.

“You were with Gina Kemmer?”

“Not in the Biblical sense. She had a couple of friends over. Marissa called and said she was busy. We ate a pizza and watched a couple of movies. I was home by eleven thirty.”

“Have you heard from Gina lately?” Mendez asked.

“A couple of days ago.” He looked increasingly uncomfortable with the pace and nature of the questions. “You asked me that last night. Why?”

“Where were you this past Wednesday from, say, five o’clock on?” Hicks asked.

Bordain sighed impatiently, tapped off his cigarette, took another drag, and blew the smoke out his nostrils. “I worked until about six, had a couple of drinks at Capriano’s, ate some dinner ...” His memory seemed to start failing then. “I don’t know. I went home. I don’t account for every hour of every day of my life, do you?”

“I’m pretty much here,” Mendez said. “You didn’t see Gina Kemmer that day?”

“No. She called me that afternoon about a funeral for Marissa. I didn’t see her. Why?”

“Gina Kemmer has been missing since late Wednesday afternoon,” Hicks said.

“Missing?” Bordain said stupidly, as if he didn’t understand the meaning of the word.

“Right,” Mendez said. “She won’t be able to corroborate your alibi for the night Marissa died because no one has seen or heard from her in two days.”

Bordain looked from one detective to the other.

“I think I should go now,” he said, standing up abruptly. “I don’t like the turn this is taking.”

Mendez sat back in his chair and spread his hands. “If you haven’t done anything wrong, there’s nothing for you to be uncomfortable about.”