Pike had tucked three snapshots in the yearbook. One showed Ana with Frank Meyer’s two little boys, so Cole put it aside. The second showed Ana with two girlfriends, the three of them on a soccer field, arms around each other with huge, happy smiles. In this picture, one of the girls had short black hair with purple highlights, and the other was a tall girl with long, sandy brown hair, milky skin, and freckles. The third photo showed Ana and the brown-haired girl at what appeared to be a Halloween party. They wore identical flapper costumes, and had struck a funny pose with their splayed hands framing their faces like a couple of jazz-era dancers.

The background in the soccer field picture suggested a school campus, so Cole went back to the yearbook. He started at the beginning of the 1,284 senior class pictures and scanned the rows of portraits, hoping to get lucky. He did. The brown-haired girl was named Sarah Manning.

Cole phoned Information, and asked if they had a listing for that name in Glendale. He was hoping to get lucky again, but this time he wasn’t.

“I’m sorry, sir. We have no listing by that name.”

“What about Burbank and North Hollywood?”

Burbank and North Hollywood were next to Glendale.

“Sorry, sir. I already checked.”

Cole put the yearbook aside and examined Ana’s computer. It was an inexpensive PC that took forever to boot up, but the desktop finally appeared, revealing several neatly arranged rows of icons. Cole studied the icons for an address book, and found something called Speed Dial. He typed in Sarah Manning, clicked Search, and there she was.

Cole said, “The World’s Greatest Detective strikes again.”

The entry for Sarah Manning showed an address in Glendale, an 818 phone number, and a gmail Internet address. Cole almost never called in advance. People tended to hang up on him, and never returned his calls, but driving to Glendale to find out Sarah Manning had moved didn’t appeal to him. For all he knew, she was pulling a tour in Afghanistan.

He called the number, and was surprised when she answered.

“Hello?”

“Sarah Manning?”

“Yes, who is this, please?”

She sounded breathy, as if she was in a hurry. It occurred to him she might not know that Ana Markovic had been murdered, but she did, and didn’t seem particularly upset.

Cole said, “I’d like to sit down with you for a few minutes, Sarah. I have some questions about Ana.”

“I don’t know. I’m at school.”

“East Valley High?”

“Cal State Northridge. High school was two years ago.”

“Sorry. This won’t take long, but it’s important. I understand you were close with her.”

“Did they catch the people who did it?”

“Not yet. That’s why I need your help.”

She was slow to answer, as if she had to think about it.

“Well, okay, like what?”

“In person is better.”