“Psychiatrist, psychologist. Minor semantic distinction at this point. What he is, is dead. Throat slashed, a little bit of evisceration tossed in. Along with a lady friend—same treatment for her but worse—sexual mutilation, nose sliced off. The place where it happened—his place—was an abattoir.”

Abattoir. Milo’s master’s degree in American Lit asserting itself.

I put down my coffee cup.

“Okay, Milo. I’ve lost my appetite. Now tell me what all of that has to do with me.”

He went on as if he hadn’t heard me.

“I got called on it at five A.M. I’ve been knee-deep in blood and crud since then. It stunk in there—people smell bad when they die. I’m not talking decay, this is the stench that sets in before decay. I thought I was used to it. Every so often I catch another whiff and it gets me right here.” He poked himself in the belly. “Five in the morning. I left an irritated lover in bed. My head feels ready to implode. Gobs of flesh at five in the morning. Jesus.”

He stood and looked out the window, gazing out over the tops of pines and eucalyptus. From where I sat I could see smoke rising in indolent swirls from a distant fireplace.

“It’s really nice up here, Alex. Does it ever bore you, being in paradise with nothing to do?”

“Not a hint of ennui.”

“Yeah. I guess not. You don’t want to hear any more about Handler and the girl.”

“Stop playing passive-aggressive, Milo, and spit it out.”

He turned and looked down at me. The big, ugly face showed new signs of fatigue.

“I’m depressed, Alex.” He held out his empty cup like some overgrown, slack-jawed Oliver Twist. “Which is why I’ll tolerate more of this disgusting swill.”

I took the cup and got him a refill. He gulped it audibly.

“We’ve got a possible witness. A kid who lives in the same building. She’s pretty confused, not sure what she saw. I took one look at her and thought of you. You could talk to her, maybe try a little hypnosis to enhance her memory.”

“Don’t you have Behavioral Sciences for that?”

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a handful of Polaroids. “Look at these beauties.”

I gave the pictures a second’s glance. What I saw turned my stomach. I returned them quickly.

“For God’s sake, don’t show me stuff like that!”