"For what? STDs?"

Polly shook her head. "Drug addiction. It wasn't a problem until he was broke and couldn't afford them. Then he'd get some money and ditch therapy."

"What did Roxy see in him?"

"Blame it on timing, I suppose. You know Roxy went through a bad spell. The medical board thing. Fred was there for her. Together they'd start over as the first couple of porn. She thrived in the business while Fred…" Polly's voice trailed away. "Offstage he was as randy as a billy goat, but aim a camera at his pecker and it wilted like a noodle. His nickname on the set was Lack-of-Wood Daniels."

The man with the paunch looked glum, uneasy with his role as the recipient of all the forced condolences and feigned sorrow. His face was as weather-beaten as a tree stump. His cap said DANIELS LANDSCAPING and he wore a navy petty officer insignia for a tie tack.

Polly and I halted before him, at the edge of a bubble of stinking whiskey breath. He looked at her face, then her breasts, me, her breasts again, and back to her face.

Polly waited for his eyes to make the round-trip before introducing him as Henry, Fred Daniels' older brother from Sacramento. She told him my name and business here.

Henry pulled his gaze from Polly's bosom and stared at me. His eyes were glossy with 150 proof. He sneered. "You wanna know about Fred?"

Henry said, "I've been wiping Fred's ass since his birth. He's a goddamn pain even dead. Left me with his burned-out house, debts, this funeral."

"Sorry to hear that," I said.

"Why? It isn't your problem." Henry looked through me. He even ignored Polly and her mountains. Fred's brother seemed content to let his drunken buzz hold the world at a distance.

"I do have a problem," I replied. "Your brother might have had information about Roxy."

Henry brought his gaze to my eyes. "About her murder?"

"Maybe," I replied.

"Meaning you think he killed her?"

"I never said that."

Henry chuffed. "Fred was too big a pussy."

He hadn't had a problem shooting at me. I asked, "Did Fred tell you something?"

The drunkenness ebbed from Henry's demeanor and he frowned as if the return of sobriety annoyed him. "Fred told me a lot of shit."

"He ever mention Cragnow Vissoom?"

Henry adjusted his cap and set it lower on his brow, like a gate locking into place.

I wanted to snatch his beard and zap him into answering. But I couldn't, not here at the funeral, not in front of so many people.

"I'd like to hear what Fred told you," Polly said. "As a favor to me."

Henry looked at her. His frown turned up at the corners as he fell under the spell of her breasts.

"Fred was always bumming money," Henry said, losing himself in her cleavage, "and when he got around to paying me back, he bragged that he scored big from Cragnow."

"Scored?" I asked. "You mean drugs?" I was certain Cragnow didn't nurse his high with anything but booze, and pedaling drugs wasn't on his resume.

Henry pulled his eyes from Polly and toward me. "Not drugs, money. Like he had something on Cragnow."

"Something what?"

Henry waved calloused hands to signal ignorance. "I never asked because I didn't want to know."

Maybe Fred's «something» was knowledge of Roxy's murder and other crimes.

Katz Meow had hired me and now she was missing. Coyote and I went to see Rebecca Dwelling and found her ass-end-up in a Dumpster. We talked to Fred and hours later, he was takeout for the morgue. Someone was making sure that a visit with me was a death sentence.

"Maybe Fred didn't die of an accidental overdose," I said, hoping to spur Henry into revealing more.

His eyes narrowed, and I got the impression of a clam closing tight. "I quit worrying about Fred a long time ago."

"Then you won't mind if I look through his house?"

"I do mind."

"Might be a help to me," Polly said.

Henry glanced at her face, started to look away, then fixed on her bosom.

Henry closed his eyes. "I can't. Going through Fred's things is family business." Henry faced me. He brought a hand up to shield his face, not from the sun but from her breasts. "If I find anything suspicious, I'll give it to the cops." His sneer returned. "Get it from them."

The minister interrupted. "I need my speaking honorarium. You got cash?"

Henry gave me the shoulder. Even if he had nothing more to say, I resented the brush-off. I'd decide when the conversation was over.

Polly tugged at my sleeve. "There'll be another time, Felix."

She was right. I'd drop by Fred's house later and poke around. If Henry objected, I'd make him squirm under hypnosis.

Polly led me to the pavement and we turned toward the parking area. Her heels ticked a rapid beat across the asphalt.

"Think Fred's death and Roxy's have something in common?" asked Polly.

"I don't know. Anyway, thanks for getting Fred to talk."

"Don't thank me, thank the girls." Polly laid a hand across her breasts.

"Let's talk about Cragnow Vissoom," I said. "What are your dealings with him?"

"None. He came on the porn scene after I left, thank goodness."

"What's your impression of him?"

"A complete dick-head. From what I've heard. We may have been at the same parties or banquets, but I've never said as much as boo to him."

"Let me toss out another name. Lucius Rosario."

"You mean Lucky?" she asked. "There's a bottom-feeder for you. He bankrolls Cragnow's productions and as dividends, snacks on the stray pussy."

"What about Mordecai Niphe?"

"The doctor? He was the one who got Roxy's medical license pulled after she snitched on him. Grapevine says he's helped Lucky Rosario over the years."

"In what way?" I asked.

"Mostly real estate."

"Councilwoman Petale Venin?"

"Ever wonder," Polly replied, "What would happen if you mated a shark with a bulldozer?"

"She's that subtle? What's her relationship with Cragnow?"

"As far as I know, none other than the usual influence peddling," Polly said. "This is L. A. The land is paved with crooked politics and shady deals."

I let the next name slip out casually. "The Reverend Dale Journey."

Polly halted. Her lips bunched into a snarl. "That son of a bitch. Journey's done his best to shut off what tiny drops of funding Open Hand gets from the government. Meanwhile that pious bastard swims in tubs of money provided for his 'faith-based initiatives.' Seems he can't tutor school kids or feed the elderly without a new Mercedes every year."

"Would Journey have anything to do with Cragnow?"

"You're kidding? Of course not. That'd be like Larry Flynt and Billy Graham meeting for coffee and donuts. Why do you ask?"

"Because Cragnow and Journey both had the same real estate broker, Rosario."

Polly repeated the name. "Interesting. For Journey to have contact with Cragnow, even through a go-between like Rosario, would be political suicide."

I studied Polly. "You know Roxy had a sister?"

"Where?"

"Here in L.A."

Polly kept silent for a moment. "Wow. She never mentioned a sister." Polly started walking again. "And I don't remember meeting any of Roxy's relatives at the memorial service."

Polly stopped beside a white Infiniti sedan and pulled a remote and keys from her purse. "I've got to get back to the office." She clicked the remote, and the sedan's lights flashed. She reached back into her purse and produced a business card. "In case any more questions come up, call or email."

I took the card and put it in my shirt pocket. "Thanks." I needed to verify what Polly told me, and for that I had to be alone with her. "I'm parked down the way. Could you give a lift?"