“That’s all. That really is all. Luke said it was like it became a game—he had to think of it as a game in order not to freak out completely. He said he’d watched and tried to pretend she was one of those inflatable dolls and they were playing with her. He said it seemed to go on forever until someone—I think it was Vance, I can’t swear to it, but probably Vance—said she was dead and they needed to get her out of there. They bundled her up in something, put her in the trunk of Vance’s Jaguar, and dumped her somewhere near downtown.”

“Pretty detailed for a hallucination,” said Milo.

Hansen didn’t respond.

“Especially,” pressed Milo, “for a dull guy like Chapman. You ever know him to be that imaginative?”

Hansen remained mute.

“Where’d they take her, Nicholas?”

“I don’t know where—why the hell wasn’t it in the papers?” Hansen balled a hand into a fist and raised it chest high. Making a stab at assertiveness. Milo remained crouched but somehow increased his dominance. Hansen shook his head and looked away and cried some more.

“What’d they do afterward?”

“Had coffee,” said Hansen. “Some place in Hollywood. Coffee and pie. Luke said he tried eating but threw up in the bathroom.”

“What kind of pie?”

“I didn’t ask. Why wasn’t there anything in the paper?”

“What would your theory be about that, Nicholas?”

“What do you mean?” said Hansen.

“Given what you know about your buddies, what’s your theory.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

Milo got up, stretched, rolled his neck, walked slowly to a leaded window, turned his back on Hansen. “Think about the world you inhabit, Nicholas. You’re a successful artist. You get thirty, forty thousand dollars for a painting. Who buys your stuff?”

“Thirty thousand isn’t big-time in the art world,” said Hansen. “Not compared to—”

“It’s a lot of money for a painting,” said Milo. “Who buys your stuff?”

“Collectors, but I don’t see what that has to—”

“Yeah, yeah, people of taste and all that. But at forty grand a pop not just any collectors.”

“People of means,” said Hansen.

Milo turned suddenly, grinning. “People with money, Nicholas.” He cleared his throat.

Hansen’s muddy eyes rounded. “You’re saying someone was bribed to keep it quiet? Something that horrible could be—then for God’s sake why didn’t it stay quiet? Why is it coming to light, now?”

“Give me a theory about that, too.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Think.”

“It’s in someone’s best interests to go public?” said Hansen. He sat up. “Bigger money’s come into play? Is that what you’re getting at?”

Milo returned to the sofa, sat back comfortably, flipped his pad open.