“You don’t hold on to old charts?”

“We do. It should be here.” She studied Milo’s face. “You’re not shocked.”

“Like you, I’m pretty much beyond being shockable, Ms. Baldassar. And I’m going to ask you to return the favor: Keep this visit confidential. For everyone’s sake.”

“No problem with that,” said Baldassar. She took a deep drag, blew a smoke ring. “Here I thought it was going to be a lazy day, and it turned out to be heavy-duty déjà vu. Gentlemen, you brought back memories of my days with the county.”

“How so?” I said.

“Problems that can’t be solved with phonics and a credit card.”

CHAPTER

19

“Interesting time line,” I said, as we headed for the car under the now-watchful eyes of the kids in the parking lot. “Janie Ingalls is murdered in early June. Two months later, Caroline gets checked into Achievement House and Willie shows up and works there for three weeks. Willie’s fired, then he’s busted for dope, gets Boris Nemerov to bail him out. When was Nemerov ambushed?”

“December 23,” said Milo.

“The day after Caroline leaves Achievement House—voluntarily or otherwise. Maybe Willie took his girlfriend out, then took care of her. Or, Cossack family money found both of them a nice safe place to hide out. And one more thing: Georgie could’ve gotten nervous when you brought up Burns not because his men finished off his dad’s killer but because they didn’t. Were paid off not to.”

“He accepted money to let his dad’s murderer off the hook? Uh-uh, not Georgie.”

“He and his mother were in severe financial straits. Maybe it took more than twenty-hour days and clever negotiating to keep the business going.”

“No, I can’t see it,” he said. “Georgie’s always been a straight-ahead guy.”

“You’d know.”

“Yeah, I’m a font of knowledge. C’mon, let’s go over to my place, have another look at that damn book.”

Rick and Milo lived in a small, well-kept bungalow in West Hollywood, on a quiet, elm-darkened street further shadowed by Design Center’s alarming blue bulk. Rick’s white Porsche was gone and the blinds were drawn. A few years ago, L.A. suffered through a drought and Rick had the lawn dug up and replaced with pea gravel and gray-leafed desert plants. This year, L.A. had plenty of water but the xeriscape remained in place, bursts of tiny yellow blossoms punctuating the pallid vegetation.

I said, “The cactus are thriving.”

Milo said, “Great. Especially when I come home in the dark and snag my pants.”

“Nothing like seeing the bright side.”

“That’s my core philosophy,” he said. “The glass is either half-empty or broken.”