Niphe exited and headed uphill on Lincoln Avenue. We followed him through northern Pasadena and then Altadena. The trees and rooftops of the neighborhood were silhouetted by a white glow coming from uphill.

Niphe turned east on Loma Linda Drive, which ran parallel to the steep foothills of the Angeles National Forest.

The glow came from light reflected off a huge white obelisk fixed atop an octagonal plinth. The plinth sat on a truncated pyramid that straddled the intersection of long four-story buildings set at right angles. The predominant architectural theme was acres of glass and chrome siding. Under the glare of dozens of spotlights the building complex looked like a gigantic piece of costume jewelry.

Coyote let his pickup coast to a halt.

His lupine tapetum lucidum reflected a surreal glow. He whispered, "Me voy a pegar ciego." I'm going to go blind. He rubbed his eyes and blinked as if in disbelief, then put on his sunglasses.

"Whatever you do," I said, "don't stop the engine."

Too late. The six-banger coughed and sputtered. Coyote pumped the gas and slid the choke, but all went quiet. Both Coyote and I hung our heads and sighed.

Niphe's BMW turned off Loma Linda and onto the wide driveway flanked by a simple Christian cross about ten feet tall. Standing next to the cross was a granite marker the size of a garage door. Engraved on the marker was: WELCOME TO THE HOME OF THE JOURNEY WITH GOD™ MINISTRIES. REVEREND DALE JOURNEY, PASTOR.

I'd seen snippets of Reverend Journey on his television show in between the channels presenting bass fishing and how to get rich selling distressed real estate. Journey bagged souls for Christ and evidently made a handsome living off his finder's fee.

The driveway led to two terraced parking lots, both of which were gloomy and empty. Niphe paused at the west end. The dim light of a cell phone outlined his face. Who was he talking to? And why was he waiting here?

The growing smell of deceit and conspiracy was enough to drive the needle on my internal stink-o-meter into the red.

We had a megachurch that looked liked it was designed for the fat Elvis. Then there was Dr. Mordecai Niphe, chief inquisitor and author of Freya Krieger's demise. As far as I could tell, the medical community considered Niphe an upstanding doctor. So why was he-a Jew-driving like a demon in the middle of the night to one of the largest Evangelical ministries in the country? How did that fit into his palling around with the porn mogul Cragnow Vissoom? Did Niphe know Cragnow was a vampire?

Under hypnosis, what would Niphe reveal? From where I sat in Coyote's truck, the distance to Niphe was about two lengths of a football field. His aura looked fuzzy from the tendrils of anxiety and wariness that writhed about him. Other than the cross and granite marker, there was no cover between the doctor and me. Moving even at vampire speed I doubted that I could cross the openness and surprise him.

Coyote took off his sunglasses and pulled his arms out of his denim jacket.

"What gives?" I asked.

Coyote began unbuttoning his shirt. "He'd be expecting a man."

"So you're going to transform into a…"

"They don't call me Coyote for nothing."

A coyote would be a surprise but not unusual here along the foothills.

"Good," I said. "Distract him enough for me to get close."

"Vato, if he gets out of his car, you'd better bring a shot for rabies."

Niphe closed his cell phone. His aura's undulating tendrils calmed. The BMW coupe continued up the driveway, past the upper tier of the parking lot, and disappeared behind the main building.

Now my stink-o-meter was at full tilt.

Who had Niphe come to see? Maybe they had something to do with the death of Roxy Bronze and vampire-human collusion, or maybe they didn't. There was one way to find out.

I would ask.

Politely.

With my talons around their necks.

Coyote and I stepped out of the truck and trotted toward the church.

Halfway across the lower parking lot, Coyote stopped. He began walking backward toward his truck. "Vato…"

A searchlight from uphill bore upon us. The light hurt my eyes and I brought my hand up to shield them.

A voice yelled through a megaphone. "This is private property. You are trespassing."

Two red auras moved behind the glare of the spotlight. At our far right, two more red auras sat in a vehicle with the lights dimmed. The vehicle rolled down the driveway on the eastern side of the parking lot. Yellow lights suddenly flashed and rotated on top of both vehicles.

Security guards. Armed perhaps. But no matter, subduing them wasn't worth the risk of blowing our cover.

The second vehicle hit us with another spotlight. Scissored between the two intersecting shafts of light, Coyote and I skulked back to his truck. To add to the humiliation, his Ford wouldn't start and I had to push.

A guard taunted us through his megaphone. "Next time get a truck with a motor, you stupid bastards."

Asshole.

When we rounded the turn and headed down the slope on Lake Avenue, the spotlights went off.

For all my street smarts and vampire cunning, we were driving down the road to nowhere. "What the hell is with this goddamn investigation?"

Coyote shifted gears and the truck lurched forward. "Simon. It's confusing."

"More than confusing. What do you think is going on?"

Coyote's expression became uncharacteristically serious. He tipped his ball cap back. A wispy tuft of hair curled free. "Don't put me on the spot, ese. I'm not much in the 'think' department."

"Let's start at the beginning. Interrupt when you have something to add," I said. "Freya Krieger rats on Dr. Mordecai Niphe for botching an operation and killing the patient. Niphe gets his revenge by destroying Freya's medical career."

"And she comes back as Roxy Bronze, the porn star working for that pinchi Cragnow Vissoom," Coyote said. "I'm with you."

"Then for reasons I still don't fathom…"

"Fathom?" asked Coyote.

"It means 'understand,' " I explained. "Roxy teams with Veronica Torres at Barrio Unidos to stop Project Eleven-the plan to redevelop Pacoima. Which they do."

"And that pissed off a lot of rich people because they lost money," Coyote said.

"One of those people is Lucky Rosario, who it turns out has been siphoning…" I waited for Coyote to interrupt again.

"I understand siphoning," he said. "That's how I get gas for my ride."

"Rosario funds Cragnow's movies and in return gets to play with some porn tail. Now it turns out that Dr. Mordecai Niphe is sending thank-you gifts to Cragnow."

"Let's not forget the dump truck treatment, ese."

"I haven't."

"l Porque?" asked Coyote. Why?

"Don't know," I said. "Does it have to do with money? Sex? Or something else? If that's not confusing enough, now we've got Dr. Niphe sneaking off to meet with the Reverend Dale Journey."

Coyote slowed at a traffic light and gunned the engine to keep it from stalling. "You sure, vato?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dr. Niphe only went to Journey's church." The light turned green and Coyote let the truck jerk forward. "We're not sure who he went to see."

"True. But I'll bet that Niphe wouldn't have been invited unless Dale Journey knew about it. Notice that the security guards didn't show up until we got there."

Coyote frowned. "Vato, that's too much shit for me to think about. And you still haven't gotten to why Katz Meow is missing or why someone killed Rebecca Dwelling."

Or mentioned a lot of other people I knew wanted Roxy dead.