“So we ask if he recognizes the gun and he says of course not, he never saw it in his life. So then we go back and quiz him as to his whereabouts the night of August 25. Turns out he was on location in North Carolina, where his company’s shooting a film. We show him the Ruger, which he identifies as his. Now we’re making progress. We ask how he acquired it. He says he bought it two years ago after a rash of home invasions in Los Angeles where he was living. Both he and his wife had themselves safety-certified before he made the purchase. After that they took shooting lessons. Very conscientious, and we’re quick to compliment him for being such a good citizen. We ask him when’s the last time he or his wife handled the Ruger, and he names the occasion, which was maybe five months back. They went target shooting and he cleaned the gun afterward.”

I leaned forward. “He can prove he was out of town?”

“No question. And please remember, this is coming out of left field, so he’s had no time to prepare.”

“Okay, so the gun is his, but he was gone. Now what?”

“There’s a kicker.”

“I hope it’s good.”

“I don’t know how good it is, but it’s interesting. I take that back—it’s good and it’s interesting.”

I made that rolling-hand gesture hoping to speed him along.

“Once we tell him the semiautomatic in the drawer might be the one used in a shooting death, he’s practically begging us to get the damn thing out of his house. We bag and tag and go back to the station, where we run the serial numbers. And you know what we find?”

“The gun’s not registered.”

“It is registered. You want to guess who to?”

“Cheney, would you quit this? Either tell me or don’t tell me, but don’t play games. Whose gun was it?”

“Pete Wolinsky’s.”

•   •   •