He chuckled. “They taught you to detect pretty good. Yeah, I was like every fool comes to L.A., thought because I was Stanley in high school and my drama teacher loved me I could live … atop Olympus.” He shook his head. “My crib’s a barf-hole in Reseda, I’m barely getting by, and now I got cops talking to me. Maybe it’s time to go back and study something real. Like real estate. Or online poker.”

He reached for my sleeve, retracted his hand before making contact. “Please don’t screw me, dude. All I did was what I was told.”

“If that’s true, I don’t see you as having any liability, Kevin.”

“I don’t mean problems with you, I mean the job. Rule One.”

“I’ll do my best to keep you out of it.”

“The way you said that scares me.”

“Why?”

“It could mean anything.”

“What it means, Kev, is that we need each other.”

“How?”

“You don’t want me talking about you and my bosses can’t afford you telling anyone about this meeting because there’s an ongoing investigation.”

“No prob, I won’t say a word.”

“Then we’re cool.”

I held out my hand. We shook. His skin was clammy.

“Thanks for talking to me, Kev.”

“Believe me, my yap is permanently shut. But can I ask one thing? Just for my own sake?”

“What?”

“Did she do something bad with that shit? I figured it was for the kids, some sort of science project, you know? She’s always getting stuff for the kids.”

I said, “Ever hear of the Lacey Act?”

“No, what’s that?”

“Protection for endangered species.”

“That’s what this is about? Those stupid bugs were illegal?”

“Protected.” I ran a finger across my lips. “Like this communication. Have a nice day, Kevin.”

“I’ll try,” he said. “Getting harder, but I’ll try.”

CHAPTER
42

The morning after meeting Kevin Dubinsky, I dressed in sweatpants, a T-shirt, running shoes, and a Dodgers cap, was ready to leave by eight. Blanche, figuring it was time for a stroll, bounced up to me and smiled.

I said, “Sorry, honey,” fetched her a consolation strip of bacon that she regarded with sad eyes before deigning to nibble, carried her to Robin’s studio, and left the house.

I drove up Beverly Glen, turned right at Mulholland, passing the fire station near Benedict Canyon, stopping once to pick up a nice-sized branch that had fallen off an ancient sycamore. Sailing through pretty, dew-livened hills I reached the Coldwater Canyon intersection, across from TreePeople headquarters.

A little more than half a mile south of the private road that led to the Premadonny compound.

I drove two miles north of the property, found a patch of turnoff not meant for long-term stay, left the car there, anyway. Stick in hand, I returned south on foot.