“So you’d planned to smash my car.”

Glance at his father. “Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“I dunno- few days.”

“Why a few days? What gave you the idea?”

“Her… the shooting.” The boy sat up straighter, doughy face brightening. “It just showed how fu- how trashed everything was, the ni- the black kids and the Mexes. It just showed how ruined everything was and it was the school’s fault.” Turning to his father: “That’s what you and she said.”

Mrs. Buchanan put her hand to her mouth.

“Oh, Christ,” said her husband, blanching. “You goddam little moron! People have opinions- this is America, for Christ’s sake! You express an opinion- you’re supposed to speak your mind. That’s what democracy is. Otherwise it might as well be Russia. But you don’t go around destroying private property for Christ’s sake!”

He turned to Linda. “Listen, ma’am, you’ll be paid every last penny for your car. That Trans Am is going to the used-car dealer tomorrow and every last penny we get from that will go for your car and you’ve got my word on that.”

“Good. I expect payment within a week,” said Linda. “But that’s not enough.”

The boy stared at her, petrified.

“Please,” said Mrs. Buchanan, “don’t make him go to jail. He’s-”

“Not jail,” said Linda. “Too easy. I want more out of him. Some real repentance.” To Matt: “Where do you go to school?”

“Pali.”

“Junior?”

“Sophomore.”

“What time do you get off?”

“Two.”

“He’s in limited academic,” said his mother.

“By two-thirty I want you over at my school. Helping out.”

“How?” said the boy.

“Any way I want you to help. One day you might be scrubbing some graffiti off a wall. Another day you might be working the Xerox machine. Or writing an essay.”

The boy flinched.

“Don’t like to write, Matt?”

“He’s had trouble,” said his mother. “Dyslexia.”

“Then it’ll be especially helpful for him.”

“Yes, it will,” said Mrs. Buchanan. “Yes, it surely will. We do appreciate it. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Detective Sturgis,” said Linda, “I’m willing not to press charges if Matt here cooperates and ends up being a big help to me. On one condition. If he screws up, can I still press them?”

“Absolutely,” said Milo. “I’ll keep the file open, make sure he gets the max, all felonies, tried as an adult.” To Matt: “We’re talking heavy jail time, son.”

“He’ll cooperate,” said his mother. “I’ll see that he-”

Linda said, “Matt? You understand what’s going on?”

“Yeah- yes. Ma’am. I will. I… I’m really sorry. It was dumb.”

“Then I’m willing to give you a chance.”

Mrs. Buchanan poured out copious thanks.

Mr. Buchanan seemed to sag in his chair, looking older, smaller, the strain of macho pretense lifted from tired shoulders.

He said, “You’re one lucky camper, mister. And you haven’t heard from me, yet.”

Outside at the curb, Milo said, “I had nothing to do tonight. Went driving. Saw his car circle the block real slowly, about nine-thirty, slow down further when he reached the school. Third time he came around I decided to put the cherry on my roof and stop him. He had the crowbar right there on the seat. Dumb kid. He nearly browned his pants when he saw me.”

Linda said, “You heard the mother- all those school problems.”

“Just like Holly,” I said.

“But they didn’t know each other,” Milo said. “I worked him over on that with extreme thoroughness. He has no record, no membership in any gangs or groups. So it looks like this is the only mischief he’s been into- or caught at.”

Linda’s back was to him. He raised an eyebrow, wanting to know how much I’d told her.

I gave a tiny shake of my head, said, “Maybe you nipped a criminal career in the bud.”

“His career wouldn’t have lasted long- the dumb ones are the ones we catch. Anyway, time to be shoving off. Sorry for waking you but I thought you’d want to know.”

“I did,” she said. “I’m glad you called. Do you think I did the right thing?”

“Seems as good an option as any. The juvenile system takes over on something like this, we’re talking stern lecture. Maybe. If you got a real kick-ass judge, a week at the honor farm and exposure to some people he doesn’t need to be exposed to. But if he screws up again, let me know. I can always pull a few fast ones, procedurally speaking, and scare the bejesus out of him.”

Linda said, “Okay. And thanks again.”

He said, “Bon soir,” saluted, and walked off.

“Good man,” said Linda.

“No argument there.”

We went back to my place and found we were too wound up to sleep. I located a deck of cards in a kitchen drawer and we bored ourselves with a few hands of poor-attention-span gin, finally turned off the lights and dozed, lying close to each other.

The next morning, I drove her back to her apartment and went up with her. She changed into a lilac-colored suit, picked up her rental car in the subterranean garage, and drove to school. I ran a few errands, then drove there myself. Bits of streamers still clung to the chain link. Otherwise the grounds were quiet- almost ghostly. Morning-after blues.

I waited in Linda’s office while she checked to see if any adjustment problems had cropped up in the aftermath of the concert. A few teachers reported some unruliness, but nothing they couldn’t handle. At noon I stopped in with those teachers and, having convinced myself everything was going smoothly, left.

At 1:00 P.M., Mahlon Burden called. “Any progress, Dr. Delaware?”

“I met with your son last night.”

“Excellent. And?”

“He had nothing new to offer about Holly, but he did say you visited him about a month ago. You were concerned about her.”

Pause. “Yes, that’s true. I knew Howard had been… sneaking her over to his house. He and his wife thought I didn’t know, but of course I did. Since they were spending more time together, I thought he might be able to tell me why she’d been looking sad.”

“Sad?”

“Withdrawn. Uncommunicative. More than usual.”

“When did that start?”

“Let me think back- late September or the beginning of October. I remember because my fall catalogue had just gone out. Excuse me for not mentioning it when you were at the house, but with everything that’s been going on- the memories- it slipped by. I haven’t been functioning at full capacity.”

“Did you suspect her contact with Howard was causing the withdrawal?”

“I didn’t suspect anything, Doctor. I was simply trying to develop hypotheses. Now, of course, you’ve provided me with one. The death of the black boy. That occurred late September. He and Holly may have been closer than I thought. What else do you know about him other than that he was a drug user?”

“Some people who knew him doubt he was a drug user.”

“People?”

“Ted Dinwiddie.”

“Ted Dinwiddie.” Burden gave a small laugh. “Not exactly an Einstein, that one. Howard used to do his homework for him. Where was Novato killed?”

“South L.A.”

“South L.A. Before the riot we used to call it Watts- never could understand that, people burning down their own homes, fouling their own nests. Did your detective friend mention which gang he belonged to?”

“There’s no evidence he belonged to any gang.”

“In this city, drugs means gangs,” he said. “Or at least that’s what they say. What else can you tell me about him?”

“That’s it.”

“All right, then. What’s next on our agenda?”

“Mr. Burden, I haven’t learned anything that would vindicate Holly. And to be honest, I don’t see myself moving in that direction.”

Pause. “That’s very disappointing, Doctor.” But he didn’t sound disappointed. Or surprised. “Have you considered talking to members of Novato’s family- delving into his background?”