"Pardy does, and he's back from the medical examiner. He says the deceased is totally covered with these insane tattoos. I know you didn't recognize him, but maybe something in the ink will ring a bell."

I felt a little dig of anger, but maybe it was shame.

"He's not my father. There's no way."

"Just come look, Cole. One of his tats might give you a name or a place. What can it hurt?"

I didn't say anything, and Diaz pushed on.

"You know where the coroner is, down by the USC Medical Center?"

"I know."

"They have a parking lot in front. I'll meet you there in half an hour."

I put down the phone, then went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. The dead man had a head like a praying mantis and I had a head like a rutabaga. I didn't look anything like him. Nothing like him. Nothing.

I went down to my car and made my way to the morgue.

Chapter 4

Invisible Men F rederick Conrad, which was the name he now used, hustled through the trailer park toward his truck when Juanita Morse lurched from her double-wide like a brown recluse spider springing a trap.

"Frederick!"

She hooked his arm with a dried-out crone's hand, trapping him even though he was frantic to leave.

"Frederick, you were so nice last week when I was down with my legs, bringing my groceries like you did. Here, this is for you, a little something."

Frederick fell into character without missing a beat, hiding his fury with the lopsided Frederick Conrad grin everyone knew so well. He pressed the dollar back into her hands.

"Please, Juanita. You know better than that."

"Now you go on, Frederick, you were so nice to see after me like that."

So Frederick took the dollar, feigning appreciation, his furious rage arcing like downed power cables while his eyes remained calm. He wanted Payne to come home. He needed to find out what happened. He was terrified that Payne had confessed.

That traitorous prick, Payne. (Payne Keller being the name he now used.)

"You really don't have to, Miz Morse, but thank you. Is your leg better?"

"It still burns, but at least I'm not down. I put the heating pad on this morning and took the Tylenol."

Frederick patted her hand as if he gave a shit about every burning pulse in her withered body.

"Well, if you need anything else, you let me know."

Pat-pat. Smile. You hideous hag.

Finally rid of her, Frederick hurried to his truck, wanting to crush her nasty throat just to grind the bones. He fired up the Dodge, then slowly drove the two-point-six miles to Keller's gas station, Payne's Gas Car Care. Frederick was well known as the slowest driver in town.

He parked behind the service bays, hung the slow-witted grin on his face again like an Open For Business sign, and sauntered into the office.