“Did the newsletter have an address or photo of the competitors?” Mahler asked.

Coyle shook his head. “By the way, when you talk to Thackrey, don’t mention Banerjee. I’m using the keystroke logger to make them think we’re following other leads. In fact, ask him if he was in Fresno in April 2017.”

Holland motioned for Rivas. “We should get on the road. We might learn something about Banerjee from this tech startup place.”

As he passed Mahler, Holland turned. “I talked to Frames. The hospital’s releasing him. He’s still in pain, but he’s able to get around. I promised to keep him up to date. He said he wants to talk to the boys who put the dogs in his car.”

Mahler nodded.

“Sorry about that thing earlier. I have to say what I think.”

Mahler waited a beat. “Everyone who comes through VCI thinks he’s right the first day. Gets harder the second day.”

(ii)

(FRIDAY, 9:35 A.M.)

Mahler and Eden found Thackrey’s address in Dry Creek Valley. A narrow, paved drive zigzagged up a grassy slope to a sprawling, one-story house. The building sat on a hillside, on the western side of the valley. In front of the house, a windbreak of Italian cypress bordered a green lawn.

A tall, dark-haired man opened the door. Mid-thirties, he wore a black shirt untucked, faded jeans, and leather clogs. He smiled at his visitors. From inside the place came the sound of Sinatra and the Sands Hotel, Vegas, 1965.

Mahler held up his badge and introduced Eden and himself. “We’re looking for Benjamin Thackrey.”

“Ben Thackrey. What’s this about?”

“We have a few questions about Elise Durand. May we come in?”

Thackrey frowned. “Ah, Elise. Poor girl. Sure, come on through.”

They followed Thackrey down a marble-tiled corridor into a large living room filled with morning sunshine. A floor-to-ceiling glass wall and French doors looked out on a lawn. Beyond that stood a meadow and then a vineyard, where straight, trellised rows stretched the width of the valley.

Thackrey waved his guests to a white leather sofa. He pointed a remote to turn off the sound system. “I was just having a coffee.” He held up his mug. “Can I make you a fresh one? Sumatran, low acid?”

Mahler and Eden declined.

Thackrey drank slowly from his mug and looked at Mahler. “I read an online account of Elise’s murder. Terrible thing. I understand this might be related to earlier killings in the park? Serial killer, is it?”

Mahler shook his head. “We’re still looking at the evidence. Tell me, Mr. Thackrey, what was your relationship with the victim?”

“Elise? Interesting. I hadn’t thought of her as a victim until now. I guess you’d say that, for a time, she and I were involved romantically.”

“For a time?”

“Yes, but for all intents and purposes, it ended.”

“How did it end?”