People had been murdered for less. That was one suspect.

"And the rest of the enemies?"

"Project Eleven."

"Excuse me?"

"Project Eleven," she repeated. "That's the name of the effort to redevelop the area around the city of Pacoima." Katz raised an eyebrow. "Ever heard of Pacoima?"

Unfortunately. I had spent my childhood bouncing from southern New Mexico to Pacoima as my parents fought, made up, and fought some more. I lived for months at a time with my aunt and mother, until my dad came around and we pretended to be a family again. I had felt tiny and brittle. Nothing seemed mine. Not my emotions, thanks to my parents. And not the few belongings I had, thanks to the neighborhood thieves and drug dealers.

Yeah, I knew Pacoima.

I looked back at Katz. "I know where it is. But I don't know beans about Project Eleven."

"It was a huge public works boondoggle that Roxy worked to defeat."

Roxy.

Pacoima.

Now I remembered where I had seen Roxy before. "Let me see that DVD again."

Katz leaned away in surprise.

"Come on," I insisted.

She gave me the DVD. I studied Roxy's face, especially her dimpled cheeks and the radiance of her eyes.

During one of my stays in Pacoima, I had buried my troubles in an atlas and become my elementary school's champion in the geography bee. After winning the all-city contest, I was invited to get my award at the public library downtown. At the time I was as dark as a coffee bean and wore tight, high-water pants because my good trousers had been stolen off the clothesline. All the other kids were well-off and white. They and their parents arrived in fancy cars while I hitched a ride with my teacher in her old Datsun. Everybody gave me fake, polite smiles, as if to tolerate my presence. When I got handed my trophy-a desk globe from National Geographic-I felt like a trained monkey getting a prize for being especially clever.

A guy from the newspaper took pictures of the rich kids and their parents. Some high school girls herded the students from a Glendale elementary together for a group shot. One of those pretty girls saw me alone with my globe. She invited me over and stood beside me in front of the group. She gave me the only genuine smile I got from anyone that afternoon.

After all these years, that girl had a name.

Roxy Bronze.

Now someone wanted me to find her killer.

How did that young woman with her privileged life and beautiful personality wind up doing porn? And then get murdered?

I returned the DVD to Katz.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"I might want to buy a copy. Where were we?"

Katz tapped the papers she had given me. "Look into these people. Councilwoman Petale Venin. She hated Roxy for undermining Project Eleven. And there's developer Lucky Rosario. He liked to hang around Cragnow and score with the actresses."

"That include Roxy?"

"If he had the chance, but that never happened. If Lucky was ever alone with Roxy he would've strangled her."

I wrote Lucky Rosario on my blotter and underlined it. "Why?"

"Roxy helped the local community fight Project Eleven. She not only humiliated Venin and Rosario, but the attention also forced the city council to withdraw the plan. Cost both Venin and Rosario a fortune."

Interesting cast of villains. "How do vampires tie in?"

"That's the connection between Cragnow, Venin, and Rosario."

"What? That they're vampires?"

"They might be."

"Might be?" I asked.

Her tone made it seem as though being a vampire was a casual diversion. She had no idea of the burden we carried because of the sorrow from the loss of our souls. I had lost mine during my service as a sergeant in the Iraq war. I was overcome with grief after mistakenly slaughtering an innocent family when an ancient Iraqi vampire-an ekimmu-lured me close and turned me into one of the undead. I never thanked him for it-the smelly bastard.

"Look, I feel stupid mentioning it, but I have to," said Katz. "That's what Rebecca Dwelling told me."

"Where is Rebecca?"

Sweat beaded on Katz's temples. "Back in Los Angeles."

I thumbed the papers. Discounting the vampire angle, there was enough evidence and motive to persuade even the most skeptical of cops that Cragnow, Venin, and Rosario had something to gain by Roxy's murder. Obviously the police knew and didn't act. Katz had good reason to be paranoid.

One big question remained.

"Katz, why me?"

"Rebecca said Coyote passed your name along."

My fingers tingled again. I didn't know a Coyote in Los Angeles or anywhere else. "Who's Coyote?"

Katz wiped the sweat collecting on her brow. "Someone she met at the club."

"He's a vampire?"

"Go ask Rebecca." Katz pulled a small amber bottle of pills from her purse. She glanced at the watercooler. "Could I have a drink?"

I got up and approached the cooler. Now to find the truth. With my back to Katz, I removed my contacts and put them into their plastic case. I turned about and offered her a paper cup filled with water. She reached for it and looked up to my face to say thanks.

Our gazes locked. Her pupils dilated. Her red aura blazed like I had hooked her up to an electrical socket. Her jaw relaxed, and those delicious lips parted. The amber bottle fell from her hand and rattled onto the floor. Her aura swirled like glowing syrup.

I set the cup on my desk. I picked up the bottle-prescription Xanax-and placed it next to the cup.

Taking both of her hands, I kneaded the tender webs of flesh between her thumbs and index fingers to deepen my hypnotic control. I couldn't risk fanging her. If she found marks on her neck, however faint, that would certainly confirm what she suspected about the existence of vampires.

I massaged her hands. "Katz. Ms. Meow, close your eyes."

With her eyes closed, she appeared angelic, a creature far removed from the licentious wench on the DVD.

Hypnosis dulled a human's mind, and I had to prod Katz's consciousness for every answer. What she couldn't do was lie. I questioned her for ten minutes and asked her to repeat every detail concerning Roxy.

My fingers trembling, I struggled to replace my contacts. I ordered Katz to wake up.

Katz's bosom heaved. Her eyelids fluttered. She gripped the armrests with a start.

"Are you okay?" I asked, feigning concern.

She blinked, tapping her chest as she took deep breaths. "I feel light-headed."

"You passed out for a second," I said, presenting the cup of water. "Happens. It's the altitude."

Katz read her gold wristwatch. "A second? Feels more like minutes." She opened the bottle and shook out two pills. "So there's no misunderstanding: Felix, you are taking this case?"

"I am. Give me time to clean up business on my end."

"A few days, no longer." Katz downed the pills and chased them with a gulp of water.

Her breathing relaxed. The Xanax hadn't yet taken effect, but the ritual of downing them soothed her.

She picked up one of my business cards from the plastic holder and wrote on the back of the card. "My plane leaves this afternoon. Here's my number. Call when you get to L.A."

Katz collected her handbag and fluffed her tresses. I walked her to the door and wished her a safe trip.

I returned to my desk and studied the papers Katz had left for me. My thoughts turned black with worry. This case was a tangle of murder, revenge, big money, and vampires. And the worst part? My hypnosis of Katz Meow confirmed that it was all true.