She turned, about to go inside, but then paused. She turned back. Calculation and concern in her eyes as she appraised him.

She said, ‘If he’s involved, he’s not welcome here.’ A small nod. ‘You can tell him I said that.’

Maybe the kid thought that was a bit too strict. He turned and watched as she stepped inside, an awkward manoeuvre as she lifted the IV stand over the threshold. Then he looked at Vincent and said, ‘If you don’t find him, make sure you come back and talk to me again. I want to knock your teeth down your throat.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

He watched the kid walk over to the house and go inside and shut the door.

Delroy smiled. ‘Not a bad closing line, huh? Believe he might be serious, too.’

Vincent said, ‘Lucky he’s got the wheelchair van. Attitude like that, he’ll need it eventually.’

‘Vehicle’s for Mrs Crow. She has an appointment in Los Angeles tomorrow morning, so if you’re planning another visit, come back before …’ He checked his watch. ‘Call it six, to be safe. Be nice seeing him give you a dental bill before we get on the road.’

Vincent said, ‘I know the old man’s into extortion, but what’s the kid into? You happen to find an invoice for contract murder, maybe call the police.’

Delroy didn’t answer. Then he said, ‘Anything else?’

‘Yeah: How’d you get to be your age but still enjoy covering for assholes?’

It didn’t sting him. Delroy grinned and said, ‘Job’s got its perks, don’t you worry.’

He stood by the mailbox with its CROW sign and watched Vincent drive away.

He knew the Montecito Country Club. He’d taken Lamar there for golf a couple of times. It was a fifteen-minute drive down the hill. The clock on the dash showed 4.32 when he got there.

The club had a nice set-up: a series of Spanish-style buildings overlooking the golf course, twenty or thirty acres probably of prime terrain. He cruised down the driveway past the ranks of parking, Bentleys and Mustangs and a couple of Ferraris lined up under the palm trees.

He found Sly’s Tahoe straightaway, over in a slot by the clubrooms. Vincent pulled up alongside, and then waited a few seconds with the engine running. No one around and the car right there for him, like it had been staged. He got out and tried the doors. Locked. He cupped a hand to the glass but couldn’t see through the tint. He wondered what they’d done about Lou and his busted nose. Maybe he was sleeping off a migraine in the back, hidden by the smoked glass.