Milo nodded.

“Classical self-hatred,” said the grocer. “Turning all that rage against the self. All oppressed groups are at risk for it. Minorities in official capacities are really vulnerable. But in Smith’s case it may be getting in the way of his doing his job.”

“Why’d he need you to identify the body?”

“Ike had no family anyone could locate.”

“What about the landlady?”

Dinwiddie shrugged again and stroked his mustache. “She’s pretty old. Maybe she couldn’t handle the stress. Why don’t you ask Smith?”

“What else can you tell us about Novato?”

“Top-notch kid. Bright, charming, learned fast, not a lick of trouble. Always willing to do above and beyond the call of duty, and believe me, nowadays that’s rare.”

“How’d you hire him?”

“He answered an ad I put up on the bulletin board at the Santa Monica College job center. He was taking courses there, part time. Needed to work to support himself. The all-American work ethic, exactly the kind of thing Dad used to extol.” The gray eyes narrowed. “Course, Dad never would have hired Ike.”

I said, “Did you run into any problems having him work here? Given the attitudes you described.”

“Not really. People will accept blacks in relatively menial positions.”

Milo said, “Do you still have his job application on file?”

“No.”

“Remember his address?”

“Venice. One of the numbered streets, Fourth Avenue or Fifth, I think. The landlady’s name was Gruenberg.”

Milo wrote it down. “What about a picture?”

Dinwiddie hesitated, opened a drawer, took out a color snapshot, and handed it to Milo. I craned and got a look at it. Group photo. Dinwiddie, the two cashiers out front, and a tall, lanky, mocha-colored young man, posed in front of the market, waving. Everyone wearing green aprons.

Ike Novato had light-brown kinky hair cut short, full lips, almond eyes, and a Roman nose. The stooped posture of one who’d reached full height early. Big, awkward-looking hands, shy smile.

“This was taken last Fourth of July,” said Dinwiddie. “We always throw a big party for the local kids. Safe and Sane Celebration. Free candy and soda instead of fireworks. One of the parents brought a camera and took it.”

Milo said, “Can I borrow this?”

Dinwiddie said, “Guess so. Are you saying there’s some connection between Ike and what happened at the school?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Milo said.

“I can’t see that,” Dinwiddie said.

I said, “Were there any problems with his doing deliveries? Having him come into people’s houses?”

Dinwiddie’s right hand curled into a fist. Mounds of muscle and sinew appeared along the massive forearm. “In the beginning there were a few comments. I ignored them and eventually they stopped. Even a stone racist could see what a decent kid he was.” He tightened his other hand. “Chalk up one puny point for truth and justice, huh? But at the time I thought I was doing something important- making a stand. Then he goes down to Watts and gets shot. I’m sorry, hut it still makes me angry. The whole thing was depressing.”

“Any other reason for him to be down in Watts?” said Milo.

“That was Detective Smith’s point. The street where he was shot was a notorious crack alley- why else would he be there except to make a deal? But I still have my doubts. Ike told me more than once how much he hated drugs, how drugs had destroyed his people. Maybe he was down there to catch a pusher.”

“His people,” said Milo. “Thought he had no family.”

“I’m speaking generically, Detective. The black nation. And your Smith’s the one who told me there was no family. He said they ran Ike’s fingerprints through all the police files- missing kids, whatever- and nothing turned up. Said Ike had applied for his Social Security card only a few months before working for me. They had no record of any previous address. He told me it would be a Potter’s Field situation if no one came forth and claimed the body.” Wince. “So I took him home.”

“What did the boy tell you about his background?”

“Not much. We didn’t have extended discussions- it was a work situation. I got the impression he’d had a good education because he was pretty articulate. But we never went into detail. The name of the game around here is hustle, hustle, hustle.”

“You never asked him for references?”

“He came from the college- they screen them there. And his landlady said he was reliable.”

“Have you talked to the landlady since his death?”

“Just once. Over the phone. I asked her if she knew anything about his family. She didn’t either. So I took care of everything. Did what I could. I figured cremation would be… I don’t know, cleaner. Ecologically. That’s what I want for myself.”

He raised his hands and let them settle on the desk. “And that’s about all I can tell you, gentlemen.”

Milo said, “What was the relationship between him and Holly?”

“Relationship?” Dinwiddie grimaced. “Nothing romantic, if that’s what you’re getting at. He was on a completely different level than she was. Intellectually. There’d be nothing in common between the two of them.”

“We’ve been told he was her boyfriend.”

“Then you’ve been misinformed,” Dinwiddie said, clipping his words. “Ocean Heights is flap-jaw capital of the world- too many small-minded people with too much leisure time. Take anything you hear around here with a container of salt. Iodized or otherwise.”

Milo said, “We’ve been informed that Ike and Holly used to talk.”

Dinwiddie’s hand rose to his tie and loosened it. “What Ike did tell me,” he said, “is that when he went to deliver to her house, occasionally they’d strike up a conversation. He said she was lonely. He felt sorry for her and took the time to make her feel good about herself- he was that kind of kid. She started preparing things for him- milk and cookies. Tried to keep him there. Which was really unusual for Holly- she never wanted to talk to anyone. I told Ike how unusual that was and I warned him.”

“About what?” said Milo.

“The sexual thing, her developing a crush on him. You know the fantasies people have about blacks- all the hypersexual nonsense. Put black and white together and everyone assumes it’s something dirty. Add to that the fact that Holly wasn’t psychologically normal and the risk of trouble was definitely something to worry about. To Ike’s mind he was just being friendly- the way you’d be to a needy child. But I could see her reading more into his friendliness than he’d intended. Coming on to him, getting rejected, and screaming rape. So I advised him to be careful. For all of our sakes.”

“Did he listen to you?”

Dinwiddie shook his head. “He thought I was worrying over nothing, assured me there was no danger of anything happening- Holly never got seductive. That all she wanted was a friend. What could I say to that? That he should reject her? Because she was white? What would that have said to him?”

Neither of us answered. Dinwiddie kept talking, in a low, deliberate tone, as if unaware of our presence. “One time I was driving home, doing a delivery that took me past the Burden house, and saw the two of them out in front. Ike was holding a bunch of books and Holly was looking up at him as if he were some kind of big brother. She and Howard had never been close. Ike looked more brotherly with her than Howard ever had. I remember thinking how strange it looked- a white kid and a black kid actually communicating. In Ocean Heights. It could have been a poster for tolerance. Then I thought how stupid it was that something as simple as that would be strange.”

He punched a button on his calculator, studied the number that came up as if it were a puzzle.

“They were just a couple of kids,” he said. “Trying to get through life. And now they’re both gone. And I’ve got a special on asparagus.”