Cole worked his way up Coldwater Canyon to Studio City, and returned to Yanni’s apartment. Rina had said he was at work, but Cole didn’t know if he was working, or care. The F-150 was missing. Cole parked in the visitors’ parking lot and made his way back to Yanni’s apartment.

He knocked first, then rang the bell. When no one answered, he slipped the dead bolt and let himself inside.

He said, “Hey, Yanni, Rina’s out in the car.”

Just in case.

No one answered and no one was home.

Cole locked the door behind himself, then made a quick search of Yanni’s bedroom. The apartment was small, with only one bedroom, but it looked lived-in, and real. Cole searched through the bathroom, the dresser drawers, the bedroom closet, and under the bed. He found nothing unusual or incriminating, and nothing to suggest Yanni had lied. He also found nothing of a particularly personal nature, which he found odd—no pictures of family or friends, no souvenirs, and nothing to anchor a personal history. Ana Markovic had a yearbook and snapshots of her friends, but Yanni had nothing.

Cole returned to the living room, then went into the kitchen. The counter and sink were cluttered with unwashed dishes. Cole found a box of plastic baggies under the sink, then selected a glass tumbler, placed it in the bag, and let himself out. Yanni Pevich had no record, but maybe Yanni Pevich was someone else.

Cole phoned John Chen from his car, and explained the situation.

Chen said, “How am I going to sneak it in with everyone here?”

“You’ll think of something. I’m already on my way.”

“ You’re coming here?! Don’t come here!”

“Meet me outside.”

The trip down to SID took only fifteen minutes, and John Chen had probably been waiting out front for the entire time. When Cole pulled up, Chen was hopping from foot to foot like a kid who had to pee. He relaxed when he saw the glass.

“Hey, that’s a pretty good sample.”

The fingerprints were clearly defined on the glass.

“Yeah. You won’t have to glue it or do anything fancy. Just tape off the prints and see what you get.”

“You want an Interpol check, too?”

“Yeah, Interpol. I’ll be in my car.”

“You’re going to wait?”

“I’m going to wait. How long could it take, John? Just see what you get.”

Chen scurried away. All he would have to do is dust the glass with latent powder, lift the prints with tape, then scan them into the Live Scan system. He would have a hit, or not, in minutes.

When Cole reached his car, he phoned Sarah Manning. He had not heard from the girl with the purple hair, and wished now he’d gotten her phone number. He was disappointed when Sarah’s voice mail picked up.