Pike let go because he saw her look past him. Pike drifted to the side, and saw a large, burly man approaching. He was jumbo large, with sloping shoulders, a big gut, and a dark, unshaven face. His beard was thick enough to grind marble.

He stopped when Pike turned, still two rows away, and said something Pike did not understand. Rina answered in the same language.

“My friend, Yanni. He see you grab me. I tell him we’re fine.”

Yanni was probably six five and weighed three hundred pounds. He was scowling at Pike like a Balkan grizzly, but Pike wasn’t impressed. Size meant little.

Pike turned back to the woman.

“If you know who did this, tell me. I can protect you better than him.” Rina stepped back.

“I don’t know what you mean, Serbian gangster.”

“How did Frank and Cindy meet your sister? How did she get the job with them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did someone you know recommend her to them?”

She moved farther away.

“If you think you know something, you should tell the police.”

“Who are you afraid of?”

She studied him a long time, then shook her head.

“Ana is dead now. I have much to do.”

She turned and walked past Yanni, the two of them exchanging words Pike could not understand. She walked quickly, as if she still had all the ground to cover but was falling behind. Yanni continued scowling, but now his scowl seemed sad.

Pike returned to his Jeep. He watched them cross the parking lot to a small white Toyota. The woman got in behind the wheel.

Pike let them gain ground before he followed them, creeping along several cars back through the ugly Westwood Village traffic, then onto the freeway. He kept the Toyota in sight, rolling north into the San Fernando Valley, then east to Studio City. Pike worked closer when they left the freeway, following them into a residential area between the L.A. River channel and Ventura Boulevard, and then into the parking lot of a large apartment complex. It was one of those complexes with gated entries and visitor parking, and lots of used brick and trees.

Pike parked at the curb and followed her on foot, staying along the edge of the building. He stopped when her brake lights flared. Yanni got out, spoke with her for a moment through the open window, then climbed into a metallic tan F-150 pickup truck. The Toyota continued into the residents’ parking lot.

Pike noted the F-150’s license plate, but stayed back until Yanni drove away, then jumped the gate into the parking structure. He continued along the line of parked vehicles until he found Rina’s Toyota parked in a space marked 2205. Pike thought it likely that 2205 would also be Rina’s apartment number.

Pike returned to his Jeep, wrote down the various license plates and numbers before he forgot them, then phoned a friend.