“Good. That sounds good, Len. But I did want you specifically to know that my interest in taking over Dominic’s job at Sunset isn’t going away. If it wasn’t for the unfortunate choice of words in this situation, I’d be tempted to say I’d kill for that job.”

Tamara heard Hunt’s cry of delight from back in his office. She jumped up at her station, went to the connecting door, and opened it to see her boss standing up behind his desk, arms outstretched above him in the classic touchdown signal.

“I’m guessing good news,” she said.

Hunt brought his hands down, but his eyes still danced. “That was the wife, Ellen, who had just got off the phone with Len Turner. You want to guess?”

“She confessed?”

“No.”

“She gave you a list of suspects?”

“No, but she does want to talk to us. Meanwhile, how about if she puts up fifty grand on her own?”

“Fifteen?”

Hunt’s smile wouldn’t go away. “Five- oh, Tam. Fifty. She didn’t want people to think she didn’t care as much as any of the nonprofits. She’s the most hurt. She’s been damaged the most. She wants the killer to be caught more than anybody else. I feel terrible for her, but in all other ways, I’ve got to say that I’m starting to feel pretty good about this whole thing. Your brother is too much, you know that?”

“I do, but don’t tell him. He’ll get all swell-headed.”

“Don’t tell me what?” Mickey appearing as if by magic behind her in the doorway. “I promise, my head will stay the same size it is now.”

His sister half turned to face him. “Ellen Como just came in for fifty thousand, which brings us up to-you’re not going to believe this-two hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Mickey’s mouth dropped. “No way.”

Hunt nodded. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook. Ten here, fifteen there, a couple more twenty-fives. This was a brilliant idea.”

“Uh-oh,” Mickey said. “Tam’s right. I can feel my head getting bigger.” He pushed on the sides of it with both hands. “Stop,” he cried in mock desperation, “stop.” Then, smiling, “It’s no use. I’m going to have to buy a new hat.”

“You don’t have a hat,” Tam replied. “I’ve never seen you wear a hat.”

“Whew! That’s lucky. I could have been out a perfectly good hat.”

“I’ll buy you the damn hat,” Hunt said.

When the telephone rang again, Tamara pushed her brother to the side and ran over to her desk. Hunt came up to stand beside Mickey at the door, waiting to hear what was coming next.

“The Hunt Club, Tamara speaking. How can I help you?” A pause, then, “Yes. Yes, we are. Uh-huh, that would be us. Just a minute, Mr. Hunt is handling that. I’ll let you speak with him.” She covered the receiver and looked over. “It’s somebody from Len Turner’s office,” she said. “You’re not going to believe this, but the Board of Supervisors just voted to pitch in.”

By the time Hunt left the office, the city had pledged thirty thousand dollars and the total reward from still other nonprofits had grown to three hundred thousand.

It was a lifeline.

So he was in high spirits as, following Ellen Como’s phoned instructions, he pulled his Mini Cooper into the sandstone driveway in front of the mansion on Cervantes Street. Getting out of the car, he looked up at the façade in front of him, marveling at the way some people managed to live. He loved his giant old warehouse, of course, but that was industrial and mostly his own handiwork.

This place just took his breath away. Looking as though it had only yesterday been painted a rich Tuscan orange, it might have been plunked down whole and set here from the hills outside Florence. An actual turret rose over a circular entryway, giving the place the feel of a castle. One side of the face of the second story was a picture window that would, he knew, command a view of the Marina, the bay, and the Golden Gate Bridge beyond. Over the garage directly in front of him a riot of bougainvillea bloomed, and above that, apparently another entire wing stretched to the property line at the side and well into the back.

He took the fifteen curving steps up through a flowering garden of herbs and brightly colored blossoms and stopped at the top to check out the view behind him, which was, if anything, grander and more expansive than he’d imagined. Even the entry floor here was higher than the tops of the residences across the street, so the vista included the dome of the Palace of the Legion of Honor (in the lagoon in front of which Mickey had found Como’s body) and, beyond that, the greenery of the Presidio.

He tarried a moment longer, taking it all in, and was just about to turn and ring the doorbell when the door suddenly opened behind him.

“Mr. Hunt?” Ellen Como waited expectantly. “I didn’t hear the bell but I saw you standing out here.”

Hunt shrugged an apology. “I’m afraid I got mesmerized for a minute. This is quite a view you have.”

Cursorily glancing behind him, she nodded. “I tend not to notice it much anymore. It never changes, you know. But, please.” She stepped back and pulled the door with her. “Do come in.”

They sat on matching chairs with a table between them. The table held a plate of chocolate chip cookies, a floral pitcher of water, a coffeepot, sugar and cream, two cups and saucers, and two glasses.

Ellen was very nearly beautiful, obviously fit, and exquisitely turned out. Here in the midafternoon, she wore a demure, dark brown, tailored evening dress. Not a perfectly dyed reddish-brown hair on her head was out of place. Hunt thought it was possible that she’d had a face- lift and maybe other cosmetic surgery, particularly around the eyes, but if so, the work was all but undetectable. He noticed her hands-usually a giveaway of age-and they were smooth and graceful-looking. She might equally have been thirty-five or forty-five and, at whatever age, a product of wealth and breeding.

“Before we get started,” Hunt began, “I wanted to express my condolences to you. I realize that this must be an incredibly difficult time, and if at any point you don’t feel up to talking…”

She acknowledged him with a small nod, a tiny lift of her cheekbones that might have been an attempt at a smile. “Thank you, but I asked you here, if you recall. I’m very grateful to you for coming out.”

“Of course. So how can I help you?”

She gathered herself, drew in a breath, folded her hands together on her lap. Her shapely legs were crossed at the ankles under her chair. “You said you’d be looking into tips you got from people who might want to claim part or all of the reward?”

“Right.”

“Well, I thought to do that efficiently you might need to have background on Dominic, on what he was involved in, who he was involved with.”

Hunt decided to come out with it right away. “Are you talking about Alicia Thorpe?” He’d already gotten the report from Mickey that Ellen had sent Juhle and Russo to talk to Alicia, to consider her a suspect.

Ellen Como narrowed her eyes, perhaps surprised by the question. “I mentioned her to the police,” she said, “and they didn’t seem too interested. They seemed more concerned with where I was, my so-called alibi.”

Hunt was canted forward on the chair, comfortable. “They did go and interview her,” he said. “I think the problem is that they don’t have any physical evidence yet. The murder weapon, anything like that.”

“So you’ve been talking to them too? The police?”

Hunt gave her what he hoped was a reassuring look. “Last time, just about three hours ago. We’re in pretty close communication.”

“When you saw them, did they mention that girl?”

“As a matter of fact, they did. I think they’re considering her a person of interest at this time, but as I say, since there’s no actual evidence…”