I presented the list to Justice complete with times, dates, and alibis. He was thrilled, suggesting that we should talk about the case one more time, just to nail down all the details. There was no mention of my apartment as the meeting place. It was Bellini’s for lunch—safe, appropriate, and in the open.

Since my suspects had checked out clean, our biggest hope lay in snagging Joseph Fedek and Leonard Chatlin, both with records of misdemeanor possessions and drunk-and-disorderlies. At the time of the mug shots, Fedek had a shaved head and an eyebrow pierce. Leonard Chatlin was clean shaven and very pimply. Sarah had had pretty decent recall for something that had happened so long ago.

The problem lay in LAPD’s inability to locate Fedek and Chatlin. But because both were scumbags, and in general, scumbags didn’t learn from experience, I knew that there was a very good chance that they’d be picked up again on another offense if they still were in L.A.

I also made a call to County Jail. After being transferred from one extension to another, one department to another, I finally was able to confirm, by checking the visitors’ list, that Joseph Fedek had paid a call to his stepbrother Germando El Paso a week before my shooting. Nothing but circumstantial evidence, but it told me what I suspected. El Paso had offered me up to Fedek.

Using Justice Brill as the contact name, I put out the word with other LAPD substations and West Hollywood Sheriff. If anything comes in—even something as meager as loitering or a DUI—on Joseph “Juice” Fedek or Leonard Chatlin, please don’t let him go without contacting Detective Brill or—in an emergency—Officer Cynthia Decker. I figured I’d go round-robin, calling each division about once a week. Any more than that and I’d be considered a pest.

Now it was a waiting game.

A week passed before things finally settled down. Koby and I squeezed in an elegant dinner at one of my favorite spots. Musso & Frank was among the oldest and best restaurants in Hollywood. Built to look like a hunting lodge with high-beamed ceilings and lots of wood, it was one of those places that had a bar scene, without being tacky, and everything imaginable on the menu. The management boasted the best sand dabs in town (the truth) and famous martinis. I was on my second cocktail when Koby casually mentioned that a guy, two tables to my left, kept staring at me.

I didn’t turn around. I flicked my hair back and sipped my drink. “What does he look like?”

“Harmless. Middle-aged, graying hair. Jacket and tie. Looks like a lawyer.”

“Alone?”

“No. He’s with a woman, probably his wife. Also two other couples: They’re both white.”

“The guy’s black?” I asked him.

“Yes. I don’t mention that?”

“No.”

Koby smiled. “The men are in suits, women in nice dresses. There is nothing wrong except that he keeps looking over here.”

I put my napkin down. “I’ll make a trip to the bathroom.”