Pike sat on the Venice Boulevard bridge, looking down Grand Canal at the house. He sat on the concrete base of a light pole with his legs dangling down, which you weren’t supposed to do, but Officer Hydeck was leaning on the rail next to him.

She said, “You spend a lot of time here.”

Pike nodded.

“I see you here a lot, man. You doing okay?”

“I’m good.”

Hydeck adjusted her pistol.

“What do you think happened to the money?”

“Rainey said they spent it.”

“Who knows? Remember the North Hollywood bank robbery, those idiots with the machine guns? There’s three-quarters of a million dollars those guys stole, nobody knows where it is. It happens. This criminal money? It disappears.”

Pike didn’t respond. Hydeck was okay, but he wanted her to leave him alone.

“Hey, you know what? I don’t know if you’ve heard yet. Those assholes who killed Button and Futardo? You hear about them?”

Pike knew Futardo had killed one of the men, but the other was missing.

“What about them?”

“They used to be DEA agents. The one who called himself Straw, his name was Norm Lister. That other cat was named Carbone. They worked the Rainey case way back in day one. Lister, he was fired, and the other resigned. I guess they decided to go for the gold, huh?”

Pike recalled the files he had taken from the Malibu. Most of the reports had been written by Lister.

Pike said, “Too bad about Jerry. Futardo, too.”

“She was a nice gal. Posthumous Medal of Valor.”

Hydeck finally pushed away from the rail. She settled her gun.

“Okay, bud, I’m history. I’ll see you around.”

Pike looked at her.

“Thanks for helping out like you did.”

“You’re not supposed to sit there with your feet hanging over.”

Hydeck smiled, and ambled back to her car.

Pike went back to staring at the house.

The federal and state investigators from Louisiana had come and gone. They had interviewed Pike, and shared their information. They denied Rainey’s assertion he had stolen only eight-point-two million, and related multiple accounts from arrested participants that Rainey had stolen a minimum of twelve million and as much as eighteen million dollars from the Bolivians. Pike believed them. Rainey’s nature was to lie, so Pike had no doubt he continued lying until the end.

Rose Platt convinced him.

Pike swung his legs around, pushed off the wall, and walked to the Sidewalk Cafe. He sat in the outdoor area, two tables away from the one he had shared with Rose Platt.

The young waitress there, the one with the dimples, smiled when she saw him. He was a regular now.

“Green tea?”

Pike nodded.