“Every task force they house down there uses the same room-and it’s not a room, Cole, it’s a fucking closet. Of course I know where it is. I spent three years down there.”

“Will you tell me how to find it?”

“The closet?”

“Yeah. I want to look at their files.”

“Are you stupid?”

“I need to see what they’re hiding.”

She held up her hands.

“You’re serious? You’re telling me you want to illegally enter an LAPD facility and break into official police files? You are actually asking me to help you do that?”

“I don’t know who else to ask.”

“That’s a police building, you moron. It’s filled with police officers.”

“I still have to do it.”

“You’re beyond stupid, Cole. They don’t have a word for what you are. Forget it. I am so pissed off right now-”

I drove another block, then pulled into a parking lot where a group of teenagers crowded a falafel stand. I parked behind the stand, but left the engine running. The smells of cumin and hot oil were strong.

“I know what I’m asking, but I have to keep Lou out of this for now and I don’t want Lindo to know. I believe Marx, Bastilla, and Munson aren’t trying to find the person who killed those seven women. I believe they know who that person is, or suspect they know, and they’re trying to protect him.”

Starkey’s face softened. The hard vertical line between her eyebrows relaxed as the weight of what I was saying settled, but then she shook her head.

“Marx might be an asshole, Elvis, but he’s a deputy chief of police. Munson and Bastilla-they’re top cops.”

“They appear to be protecting Nobel Wilts.”

The tip of her tongue flicked over her lips.

“The city councilman. Councilman Nobel Wilts.”

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me you believe a city councilman killed these women. That’s what you’re saying. Am I confused?”

“I don’t know. I’m not telling you Wilts is the killer because I don’t know. I’ve been digging into Marx, not Wilts, but you can’t rule out Wilts just because he looks normal. A lot of these guys look normal.”

“Thank you, Cole, I know that. I studied fucked-up people when I worked on the bombs. High-functioning people are just as fucked up as everyone else-they just hide it better. What do you have?”

I described Marx’s history as a fixer for Wilts, and how at least two of the fixes were for assaults against women. I went through everything Ida Frostokovich told me about Wilts meeting her daughter on the day Sondra was murdered, and described how Marx and Munson had been the original investigators. I told her how Marx had run interference for Leverage Associates when Darcy and Maddux were investigating Debra Repko’s murder, and that Wilts was a Leverage client and had arranged for Leverage to manage Marx’s run for the council. Starkey grew pale as the overlaps added up, and made only a single comment when I finished.

“Jeez.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said, too.”

Starkey rubbed hard at the sides of her face, then studied the kids around the falafel stand as if she thought she might have to pull them out of a lineup.

“I guess it’s possible. You don’t have any proof?”

“Nothing.”

“You think Marx and these guys are hiding the proof.”

“They’re lying. Things that might be proof are disappearing. People who should be involved are being cut out. You tell me.”

“If they’re protecting Wilts, you’re not going to find anything in their files. They would destroy incriminating evidence or doctor it.”

“Maybe I’m hoping something incriminating will be there. If Marx showed Wilts as a person of interest in the Frostokovich murder, maybe I’m wrong about the cover-up. Maybe it’s something else.”

Starkey laughed, but it was sickly and weak.

“Right. And you want to be wrong.”

“Like you said, the man’s a deputy chief of police. It’s okay if he’s a political asshole, but it’s not okay if he’s protecting a murderer. The only way I can know what they’re doing is to see what they’re doing with the information.”

Starkey nodded, but she was still thinking it through.

“So you just want to see.”

“The murder book Marx started on Frostokovich should contain statements by the girls she had dinner with on the night she died. They would have mentioned bumping into Wilts, and Marx should have followed up by asking Wilts if he saw anything that night. I also want to see what these blind tests they’re running through SID are about, and what happened to the DVD from the Repko case.”

“All right, listen-here’s what I can do. That’s very specific. That’s just looking in some boxes to see what’s what, right?”

“It won’t take long.”

“I’ll have Lindo do it. He’ll bitch, but he’ll do it. He can go in early and take a look when no one’s around.”

“They keep the room locked.”

“Cole, wake the fuck up-the department uses these offices every time someone squirts a new task force out their ass. They don’t change the locks. I know five different people down there who have keys to that room. I used to have them myself.”

“Lindo can’t be involved. If Lindo looks, I’ll have to tell him what to look for, and he’ll figure it out. The more people who know, the greater the chance Marx will find out.”

“There are ways to do this, man. There are people we can talk to.”

Starkey wasn’t liking it, and I couldn’t blame her. I twisted sideways, the better to face her.

“I know what I’m asking. You tell me you can’t get involved, that’s fine. I mean it.”

“Oh, that’s big of you, Cole. That is amazingly generous. If I decline to help you commit a crime against my employer, which just happens to be the Los Angeles Police Department, me being a sworn officer and all, you won’t hold it against me. How did I become so lucky?”

I felt myself flush.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m talking about a city councilman and a deputy chief who might be abetting the deaths of seven women. I can’t bring something like this forward until it’s tied up so tight Marx and Wilts can’t use their influence to duck it.”

Starkey rubbed at the sides of her face again.

“God, I’m hungry. A real date would’ve fed me before he fucked me.”

I straightened behind the wheel, even more embarrassed.

“Let’s forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, you shouldn’t have asked. Jesus Christ.”

“It’s my play. I didn’t want you involved.”

Starkey glanced at me, then studied her watch. She reached into her purse, took out a cigarette, and lit up even though I don’t let people smoke in my car.

“Looks like I’m involved whether you like it or not. I’ll get you in there myself.”

She waved her cigarette to fan the smoke.

“Don’t just stare at me, Cole. Buy us a couple of falafels and let’s get going. Traffic’s gonna be a bitch.”

THE CRIMINAL Conspiracy Section’s primary task was investigating bomb events. Most of the time when the bomb squad investigated a suspicious package, the package turned out to be someone’s abandoned laundry or a forgotten briefcase. But if the bomb squad determined the package to be an improvised explosive device, the CCS was tasked with identifying and investigating the person or persons who built the bomb. Such events could happen at any time, which meant CCS detectives might be working at any hour.

As we made our way through prime rush-hour traffic, Starkey sketched out her plan.

“Everyone bags it around four except for the duty officer. The D.O. hangs around doing paperwork, but that works for us. As long as the D.O.’s on duty the squad room is open. We just need to give everyone else time to leave.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“I am going to get us into the building. Then I’ll show you the file room and keep the duty officer busy while you see what you can find out about their investigation. How easy is that?”