Hollywood placed rotating decoys at the front desk of the Sand Dune. Sometimes it was a man, sometimes a woman. Since security cameras had already been set up, Decker, Diaz, and Garrett reviewed the most recent tapes, trying to see if they could recognize Banks from the hundreds of grainy shots of furtive men. Since the quality wasn’t sharp, it was hard to make out features, and even when they did, they noticed that a lot of men purposely hid their faces or turned their backs toward the camera aimed at the desk. Several additional security cameras were installed, courtesy of the police, so that it was easier to capture faces from different angles. Old cameras were upgraded. Everything was in place.

So they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

CHAPTER 40

PATIENCE WAS NOT only a virtue, it was a necessity. As months passed and there was no sign of Rudy Banks, the Hollywood brass became disenchanted with Decker’s tip. They pulled back the decoys at the Sand Dune and allocated them to other operations. Every week, Diaz or Garrett or Decker or Marge or Oliver or some other Hollywood Homicide detective went in to check the tapes and replace them with clean cartridges. No one was surprised when the contents revealed nothing significant—just sneaky johns and call girls. But that was detective work: hours of mind-numbing tedium followed by that compensatory, glory-hallelujah, once-in-a-blue-moon, shot-in-the-veins adrenaline rush.

Marge was in her living room drinking coffee, flipping channels via remote control when she received a call from newly minted Detective Cindy Decker Kutiel.

“Do you know where Dad is?”

“Have no idea.” Marge pressed the mute button. “You can’t reach him on his cell?”

“It’s turned off.”

“Maybe he and Rina are watching a movie.”

“He usually has it on vibrate.”

“Maybe the battery is low. What’s up, Cindy?”

“I’m here at Hollywood doing Sand Dune tape duty. I’ve put in a call to Rip and Tito, but I figured that maybe someone from your neck of the woods might want to come over as well.”

Marge sat up abruptly, almost spilling coffee onto her lap. “You found him?”

“I think so. Actually, I didn’t find him. I was reviewing the tape when Petra Conner came in to help me. Do you know Petra?”

“I met her at your wedding. She’s from Homicide. You two are in a bowling league together.”

“Exactly. Petra’s also an artist. Her eye is particularly well trained to notice nuances in faces. I don’t know why we didn’t think of her before.”

“I’m calling Oliver and we’ll be right over.”

“Good…I’m getting a call. I think it’s Dad. I’ll see you later.”