“Because the kitchen and living room paint jobs are new, but the entire apartment wasn’t repainted. I’m wondering why.” Decker went into the living room, found a few faded spots that he had spied earlier, and repeated the process. Again, the Q-tip turned blue on each trial.

“More blood?” Keric asked.

“Looks that way.”

“Or potato?”

“Not so likely in a living room.” Decker took out his cell phone. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Mr. Keric, but I’m going to call down some experts from the Crime Lab. They’ll be able to tell me if it’s horseradish or human blood.”

“Why you look for human blood here? I get complaints that Rudy screams but none last weekend.”

“Mr. Keric, that’s what concerns me.” Decker went through his cell directory and punched in the number for the Crime Lab. “That Rudy moved out and no one heard a peep.”

THE TROUBLE WITH calling after hours was voice mail. Oliver resisted the urge to slam down the phone and tried to adopt a zen/yoga/pilates/tai chi kinda what-me-worry attitude as an anonymous voice said:

If you would like to be connected to Richard Poulson, press 1.

If you would like to be connected to Annette Delain, press 2.

If you would like to be connected to Cyril Bach, press 3.

If you would like to be connected to Jared Little, press 4.

Oliver pressed four.

The extension started to ring, and when a human voice answered, Oliver was momentarily thrown off.

“Mr. Little?”

“This is Jared Little. Who is this?”

“I’m Detective Scott Oliver from LAPD—”

“Yes, the detective. My brother said you’d be calling. He told me that you’ve reopened Dad’s case.”

“Actually, we’ve got several people on your father’s case. Could I meet with you to talk about it?”

“Of course. I’d do anything for Dad.”

“When would be a good time?”

“Name it.”

“How about…” Oliver looked at his watch. It was a five-thirty. “Do you still live in La Jolla?”

“Yes.”

“I could drive down tonight. I could probably be there by eight, eight-thirty.”

“Tonight is my night out with my wife. I won’t be back until about ten. It’s going to be late to drive back to L.A. for you.”

“I’m fine with driving back. Let me give you my phone number. I’ll probably be in La Jolla around dinnertime. When you get home, give me a ring and I’ll come over.”

“That’s a good idea. I wouldn’t want you showing up, flashing the badge and putting Grandma in a panic.”

“Grandma? Your mother is babysitting?”

“Hardly.” A chuckle. “My grandparents. They’re the resident babysitters. They love their great-grandson. It’s a sweet deal all around.”

“Your mother’s parents?”

“Yes. My father’s parents passed on a long time ago.”