Mad Irish seemed lost in thought. Decker took the moment as an exit cue. He found a vegan storefront about two blocks down. It was relatively clean and had received an A rating. He took a chance, filling his stomach with a burrito of beans, rice, and tofu cheese. As promised he was back at the apartment in twenty minutes.

Still no Mudd.

O’Dell was still playing the Martin.

Decker said, “How long are you going to wait?”

“I’ve got a TV and a guitar. I’m a happy man.”

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“Am I alive in the twenty-first century?” O’Dell gave Decker his number. “You go and I’ll wait. It’s fine.”

“Call me when he comes back.”

O’Dell nodded and stopped playing. His face was etched with worry. “What if he doesn’t?”

“Then especially call me.”

THE HOLLYWOOD SUBSTATION of the LAPD was a cinder-block bunker about two blocks from Ryan Goldberg’s freestanding prison cell. Luck was in the air, and Cindy was back from the field at her desk, filling out paperwork, when Decker called and set up the desired meeting. He waited for her at the same A-rated, storefront vegan restaurant where he had eaten a burrito that had gone down fairly well. He marked time by sipping a soy chai tea and listening to the black-haired Goth waitress with multiple pierces argue over the cell phone. The heated conversation was still going when Cindy came in twenty minutes later wearing dark slacks, a green short-sleeved blouse, and rubber-soled flat shoes. Her hair was tied in a ponytail.

Without a word, Decker handed her a padded envelope that contained the two CDs extracted from Primo Ekerling’s shelves, the jewel boxes secured in plastic evidence bags and still black with dust powder. The note to Ekerling was in a separate evidence sack, as was the fingerprint analysis report. As Cindy gingerly lifted one of the bagged Lucite cases, Decker told her about his meeting with Marilyn Eustis.

“The download was a good tip,” he said. “Whatever the B and E meant, it got us thinking in the right direction. You’re going to make Tito and Rip very happy. It provides a link between Travis Martel and the murder victim.”

“Especially the note,” Cindy said. “Did you have it matched to Martel’s handwriting?”

“No, I’ll leave that up to Rip and Tito. I’m sure Hollywood has its own experts.”

“But you dusted the boxes for Martel’s prints.”

“Yep. We got lucky and found Martel’s right thumb and right index finger.”

“You can bring in the envelope yourself, Daddy.” She pulled out the scrunchie from her hair, gathered up her locks and remade her ponytail. “Fortuitously, I think Rip is at his desk.”

“Nah, you do it.”

“You’re being silly. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“But it was your tip.”

“But you did the work.”

Decker finished off his chai tea and held up the teacup. “I’m having another. Do you want something to drink, princess?”

“I’ll take what you have.”

Decker signaled Ms. Goth for two more chai teas. “I think there’s a Jewish saying that taking credit for someone else’s accomplishments is akin to stealing. I won’t take credit for your detection, but I would like a favor from you.”

“Name it.”

“I’d like to meet with Rip and Tito before they question Martel. Could you ask one of them to call me right away? It’s important. I think this case might be related to Bennett Little’s murder.”

“Dad, why don’t you just come into the station house and talk to Rip yourself? After what you found, they’ll be in a very good mood.”

“Cin, I don’t think it’ll do much for your reputation if we walk in together like some kind of wayward crime-fighting team showing up the primary investigators.”

“You’re absolutely right. I will talk to Rip and pass along your request.”

“Be sure to say that I found the CDs based on your download of Martel’s lyrics.”

“Dad, I know how to sell myself.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, Dad. I appreciate it. Thank you. Anything else?”

“No.” Decker stood up and so did Cindy. “I should be back in my office at around four. If they have a moment, give me a call.”

“I’ll pass it along. That’s the best I can do. By the way, I hear that Alaska is a go.”

“Not up to me. Rina’s in charge.”

“I know she’s in charge. That’s why it’s going to happen.”

Decker acted offended. “I make things happen.”

“When you want to.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that…how should I say this? You get distracted.” She kissed his cheek. “But never with work. That’s why you’re the man.”

O’Dell called as Decker was pulling into the station house parking lot. His voice was agitated. “He’s not back. I don’t like this at all. I called up his brother.”

“The lung doctor,” Decker said.

“Yeah, Barry. He’s coming down to drive around and look for Ryan. I’m gonna wait at the apartment and hope that Mudd just got adventurous.”

“Does Barry the lung doctor know anything about Ryan’s habits?”

“I asked him about Mudd taking off like he did. Barry said that if Ryan goes out at all, it’s in the morning for a few groceries. It’s almost four, mate.”

“Maybe he took a small vacation.”

“He wouldn’t just pack out and go. And he wouldn’t leave behind his guitar.”

“He might if he figured he’d just be gone for a few days.”

“Where would he go, mate? I’m telling you, this ain’t right or good.”

“I just pulled into the station house’s parking lot. I have to check my messages and make a couple of calls. Then I’ll come back and help Barry look for Ryan. It’ll take me about an hour and a half. If Ryan does return, call me right away.”

“I’m a little queasy about this. Rudy’s missing…Ryan’s missing.” Anger in Liam’s voice. “Why’d you mess things up, mate? Why didn’t you just let well enough alone?”

“Wasn’t my doing, O’Dell. It’s the ghosts of murder past who stirred things up. I’m just the translator for the dead.”

HE WAS JUST about to lock up when Marge and Oliver came through the door of the squad room. Decker flagged them down and beckoned them into his office, plunking himself back down on his desk chair and rubbing his eyes. “Sit.”

The detectives sat.

He turned to Marge. “I got an allowance for the trip to Ohio.”

“Great.”

Decker’s tired eyes drifted to Oliver’s. “If the trip’s necessary, I’ll send both of you. Don’t call up Arlington yet. We have other business first. Ryan Goldberg’s missing.”

“Who’s he?” Oliver asked.

“The guitarist of the Doodoo Sluts. The one who had a psychotic break.”

Marge said, “I’m sorry he’s missing, but is he relevant to our case?”

“He is, and I found out this afternoon just how relevant. Not only did Melinda Little screw Rudy Banks, she fucked the whole damn band.”

“Oh my!” Marge said. “Busy gal our Melinda is.”

“I talked to Liam O’Dell-the drummer for the group. He was a font of information.” He recounted his afternoon with Mad Irish.

“How’d you even find O’Dell?” Oliver wanted to know.

“By accident. Liam’s involved in a lawsuit with Banks. I met him at Banks’s place when he was trying to track Rudy down just like I was doing. O’Dell remembered a Melinda who seemed to fit Melinda Little’s description, although he didn’t remember her surname.”

“Maybe she was using her maiden name,” Marge said.

“That’s a thought.” Decker looked at his detectives. “So there’s your source of independent information about Melinda Little and Rudy Banks. Arrange another interview with Melinda. Let’s concentrate on her before we spend money tracking down Arlington.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I want some answers. I’m tired of this fucking investigation dragging on and taking people like Ryan Goldberg down with it.”