“Didn’t you say Wenderhole was a rapper?”

“Yes, I did. However, I haven’t found any actual CD.”

“So where’d you hear that from?”

“From one of the old buddies who is now in prison. Maybe Banks was his producer. Wouldn’t that be convenient?”

“Banks’s whereabouts would be convenient.”

“He didn’t leave any forwarding address?”

“No, but he did leave human blood behind in his apartment. We’ve got a positive on that.”

“Oh my…” Marge sat down. “A lot of it?”

Decker said, “I found blood behind the shoe molding that dripped down to the baseboard and floor.”

“Do we have any way to match it to Rudy Banks?”

“We’re working on it, but I don’t see how it could belong to Rudy. The paint job is new, but not that new. I talked to Rudy on Friday.”

“It could be someone claiming to be Rudy,” Marge said.

“I thought about that,” Decker said. “Rudy mentioned to me over the phone that he’d been on jury duty. I checked it out and it was true. Banks had been impaneled at the L.A. courthouse as recently as Friday.”

“So the question is, whose blood?” Marge said. “Primo Ekerling?”

“It’s a thought.”

Oliver popped his face through the open door. “I’m off to La Jolla.” He looked at Marge. “You’re here. Wanna come?”

“What’s in La Jolla?”

“Jared Little and, as an added bonus, I’m interviewing Melinda Little’s parents—Delia and Mark Defoe, who by the way are estranged from their daughter.”

“That should be interesting.” Marge stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. “A lot more interesting than what I had planned. Sure I’ll come.”

“What did you have planned, Margie?” Decker asked.

“Absolutely nothing. Will’s on night shift, Vega’s doing community service, tutoring inner-city kids on computers, and I’m a blank slate. Do you need me to follow up on the forensics at Banks’s apartment?”

“No, I’ll do it,” Decker told her. “But thanks.”

“What forensics?” Oliver asked.

“I’ll fill you in while we’re driving. I’m starving. Let’s grab some sushi to go. We’ll eat in the car.”

Oliver shot her an incredulous look. “How am I going to eat sushi if I’m behind the wheel?”

“I’ll feed you, Scotty.” Marge shook her head. “I’ll even wipe the soy sauce off your chin.”

“You make me sound like a drooling, senile old fart.”

She pinched his cheek. “Not at all. I’m just trying to help you…do you a service. Think of me as a geisha with a gun.”

CHAPTER 24