Faustina had spent twenty-three minutes on the phone with Golden Escorts. I remembered the little throwaway newspaper in his suitcase, the one showing the naked woman with metallic blue hair - the Hard-X Times. I hung up.

"He had more on his mind than finding me. He called an escort service."

"Golden Escorts?"

"You got them, too?"

"Twice. He called them last Wednesday, then again on Friday. Maybe he thought call girls would know how to find you."

"Humor doesn't suit you."

Pike's face was flat and expressionless. Maybe he meant it.

We checked the call dates and saw that during Faustina's nine days at Home Away Suites, he had phoned Golden Escorts three times. He called them on his second night at the motel, then again on his fifth and ninth nights. The ninth night was yesterday - the night he was murdered. I felt a little pop of adrenaline when I tied the escort service to the date of his death. It felt like a clue.

I said, "Keep dialing, and let's see what else we get."

The remaining calls included two more police stations. All together, he had phoned twelve patrol areas out of the eighteen into which LAPD divides Los Angeles. The remaining calls also included three take-out restaurants, a Pep Boys auto parts, two churches in North Hollywood, and the Crystal Cathedral. No one at any of these places recognized his name or remembered his call. Excepting the information number, Golden Escorts was the only number he phoned more than once, and the only escort service.

When we finished identifying every number Faustina called, I phoned Golden Escorts again. The same man answered in exactly the same way.

"Golden Escorts, discreet and professional."

"I saw your ad in the Hard-X Times."

"Groovy. You need a date for tonight?"

"Can I get someone to come to my motel?"

"No problem. We take cash, Visa, and MasterCard, no AmEx, and we offer both male and female escorts for nonsexual outcall companionship. Prostitution is illegal and that's not what we sell. Anything that happens between you and the escort, well, that's between you and the escort. You understand?"

He gave me the boilerplate in case I was Vice.

"I understand."

"Groovy. Tell me where you are, how much you want to spend, and what kind of companion you're looking for."

"I'm at the Home Away Suites. You know where it is."

"Like the back of my teeth."

"Groovy. I'd like the same girl I had last time."

"You've used us before?"

"Oh, sure. Three times."

"Who is this?"

"Herbert Faustina."

The line went dead. After three conversations, he knew Faustina's voice well enough to know I wasn't him.