“What convinced her?”

“Free rent and one thousand dollars a month in cash. Which I’m sure she didn’t declare to the IRS. Why are you asking so many questions about her?”

“Her name comes up when we ask around about your brother.”

“I don’t see why it would. But if you want evidence of Myron’s hateful nature, go ahead and talk to her. After the old man’s stroke, Myron announced that his father’s priorities outweighed Lester’s and that Patricia was moving to Hudson. Needless to say, I was furious. She was an excellent caretaker and Lester had gotten used to having her around. You’d think she might have been loyal, but there was Myron, with his forty pieces of silver.”

“He gave her a raise?”

“An additional thousand dollars a month and free use of the guest room. If you people have connections with the IRS, there’s a tip for you.”

Petra said, “You mentioned Mr. Bedard renting to disreputable types who paid cash. Anyone in particular?”

“Minorities,” said Iona Bedard. “That kind of thing.”

“Your brother didn’t associate with any other tenants?”

Bedard ground out her second cigarette and placed her glass on the floor with exaggerated care. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

“Understand what, ma’am?”

“Lester was ill. That doesn’t make him one of them.”

“How did he fare after Ms. Bigelow left?”

“Not well,” said Iona Bedard. “Myron refused to pay for another nurse or for any additional treatment. One time, Lester had to be taken to the county hospital, which I understand is a snake pit. Myron relished the I-told-you-so. The names he’d call Lester I won’t repeat.”

“Lester had some legal problems, as well.”

“All due to his illness.” Iona Bedard flicked ashes in the general vicinity of the tray. Most of them landed on the carpet. “Shortly after the old man died, my marriage finally accomplished what it should have accomplished years ago. Disintegrated. Circumstances forced me to beg Myron to allow Lester to stay at Cherokee and I don’t take well to begging. After the divorce I insisted on-and got-the building and that was that. Lester never beat his problem but his need for drugs did seem to be winding down a bit.”

“That can happen with addicts, if they live long enough,” said Petra. “Where did Lester’s financial support come from?”

Iona Bedard poked her chest. Waved dismissively. “Go on, you people, I’ve done your work for you. All you have to do is find the bastard.”

We didn’t move.

“Please,” said Bedard, making it sound like an order.

Petra said, “Does the name Robert Fisk mean anything to you?”

“There was a Bobby Fisk in my class at Atherton Prep. Flight surgeon in the navy.”

“What about Rosie?”

“The Riveter?”

“Blaise De Paine?”

Iona Bedard patted her coiffure. Laughed.

Petra said, “Something funny, ma’am?”

“That, young lady, is not a real name. Now go on, do your job.”

On the ride down, we had the elevator to ourselves. Petra fanned herself and laughed. “That must’ve been one lousy prenup.”

Milo said, “If voodoo worked, ol’ Myron would be frying in oil.”

“She gives us no evidence he has anything to do with Lester, but on her say-so we’re supposed to track him down in Europe.”

“Hatred’s a great motivator.”

“I’m sure he adores her, too. After fifteen minutes, I’m ready to strangle her. But so what? For ten years Jordan’s been out of his life.”

I said, “As opposed to all those disreputable ‘minority’ types who shared Jordan’s lifestyle but were nothing like him.”

“Talk about denial,” said Petra. “One thing she’s probably right about. ‘De Paine’ is a moniker.”

We crossed the lobby in silence. Milo and I had parked in the hotel lot but Petra had left her Acura on Walden Drive across Wilshire, and we walked her over.

She unlocked the car and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat. “Any parting thoughts, guys?”

“It was me, I’d keep it basic,” said Milo.

“Concentrate on Fisk, anything else is a distraction. In terms of your Ms. Bigelow, I’m not seeing any stunning link. Even if she did channel hospital dope Jordan’s way, that’s also ancient history.”

“Seems to be,” said Milo.

“You have doubts?”

“The only sticking point is one day we’re talking to Jordan about Patty and soon after he gets dead.”

“The only possible connection would be he tipped someone off about some secret so big and bad he had to be silenced. Like what?”

Neither of us had an answer.

“Either way,” she said, “the key is finding Fisk.”

Milo said, “Dancing hit man. There’s a network show for you.”

I said, “Jordan was an ex-horn player. It keeps coming back to music.”

Petra said, “Jordan hadn’t played for years. The only music connection I can see is dope.”

“Or an anti-dope thing. As in Jordan pushing product on the wrong person.”

“Who’s the wrong person?”

“How about a music-biz honcho’s kid.”

“Daddy puts the hit on Lester for supplying his prodge? Great, I’d love to haul in more suspects, maybe Fisk will fink once we have him in custody. I got DMV on his wheels, from the lapsed files. ’Ninety-nine Mustang, red at the time, registration fees six months overdue. I also put in a rush subpoena on his phone records, let’s see what comes up. If I’m lucky maybe I can haul him in before Cruella phones the brass and trash-talks about us middle-class peons not following her cultivated instructions.”

Milo said, “Gonna cover your butt and look for her ex?”

She swung her purse. “I’ll sic Raul on it, give him some training in long-distance sleuthing.”

“Smart guy?” said Milo.

“Smart but real new. Quiet, though. I like that. See you, guys.”

We returned to the Hilton parking lot.

I said, “One thing meeting Iona was good for. Now we understand Patty’s housing choices.”

Milo said, “A thousand a month in cash for three years makes thirty-six K she didn’t have to declare. Then ol’ Myron moves her to Hudson and she’s raised to two grand. How long did she stay there?”

“Around two years.”

“Another forty-eight, for a grand total of eighty-four thou. Toss in her salary at the hospital, plus five years of free rent, and it’s a nice six-figure haul. Talk about a sweet deal, Alex. The downside was no job security. The old man dies, sayonara.”

“She moved to Fourth Street,” I said. “Nicest place yet, but she stayed less than a year. Maybe paying full rent was jarring. Or she was determined to save her cash now that she had some. Eighty-four thousand even at a conservative rate of interest could double in ten years. If she participated in the stock-market boom, she could’ve done significantly better. Downshifting to Culver Boulevard meant living in a dump but it got her to homeownership. Without the windfall from Myron Bedard, she might never have pulled it off. Her portfolio’s what started me wondering about dope, but maybe it’ll boil down to savvy investing.”

“Helped along by a little tax evasion.”

“That, too.”

Isaac Gomez’s e-mail read:

Hi, Dr. D. We’re in Bangkok and I’m writing this from an Internet café but the connection’s tenuous and we’re moving on so don’t bother responding. I woke up thinking about that crime trace and realized I’d made a methodological error by limiting myself to cases classified as homicides, as opposed to manslaughter, aggravated assault, or anything else that could’ve developed into murder but wasn’t reclassified. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it right now but when I get back in a few weeks, I’ll dig around the data a bit more and see what I can come up with. Hopefully, I haven’t missed anything crucial. Heather says hi. Best, IG