Still looking at the kid, Vincent said, ‘I just want you to remember what I look like, so when you check this out on Google, read about the guy who killed the two intruders at the house over on Mountain Drive, you’ll know who they’re referring to. And you’ll also know that the guy’s patience is running low, because I’m the guy, and I’m telling you about it right now.’

It felt good saying that, and he had their attention, too. Sly Junior was right up close to him, maybe ten inches away, shoulders rounded a little, trying to give the impression he was this massive wall of meat you shouldn’t fuck with. He couldn’t quite seem to make something happen, though—to get past that line in his head that was holding him back.

Vincent said, ‘All right, how about this: You stand there and have a careful think about where Senior might be. And I’ll throw in some extra points if you can tell me how to find Andre Gutierrez, or the other guy—Lou. He’s easier to spot, on account of his broken nose.’

Sly Junior said, ‘That cop still out front?’

‘He was a minute ago.’

The kid clucked his tongue. ‘Yeah, well. You’re lucky then, aren’t you?’

Vincent said, ‘Sure,’ and then looked past him as a woman appeared in the doorway to the house. She was in her mid-sixties, slender verging on frail. She’d wheeled out a metal IV stand, and there was a bag of clear fluid hanging from it head-high, tethered to her hand by a thin plastic tube.

‘Sir, who are you?’

Not much of her physically—her trousers and wool sweater looked like clothes on a hanger—but her voice had strength. Clear and authoritative.

Delroy said, ‘Mrs Crow, you should stay inside, ma’am. Cooler than it seems out here. Gentleman was just on his way.’

The woman didn’t move. She was looking at Vincent.

Vincent said to her, ‘I just want to speak to Sly Senior.’

She said, ‘That’s not an answer. I asked who you are.’

‘My name’s Vincent, ma’am. I worked for Eugene Lamar. He was murdered.’

‘I’m aware of that. And you should be aware that walking uninvited onto someone’s property isn’t courteous. Especially on the day of a homicide.’

Vincent didn’t answer.

The woman said, ‘Junior, step back from him. Both of you, step back. We don’t need this stupidity. For goodness sake.’

Junior backed off maybe three inches. Delroy didn’t move.

The woman said, ‘What do you need to speak with him about?’

Vincent said, ‘The murder. He knew Eugene Lamar.’

For a second her face changed, sternness fading. Then she said, ‘He’s playing golf down at Montecito.’