Long silence.

Teague said, “Lauren and I, we never – She was always a handful. From day one she always tried to make me feel… like an idiot. Everything I said and did was insensitive. And stupid.” He placed his palm over his heart. “Lauren was – Sometimes there’re people you just can’t get along with, no matter what the hell you do. I was hoping maybe one day she’d grow up, understand, maybe she’d start being… polite.”

He shook his head. Moisture in his eyes, for the first time. “Least I got two others… They love me, those two. No shit outta their mouths – You really have no idea who did it?”

“Not yet,” said Milo. “Why?”

“No why. I was just thinking it couldn’t be any big mystery. Look for a low life, pal. ’Cause Lauren chose a low-life lifestyle. Fancy clothes and all. Last time she was here, bragging about enrolling in college, I had my doubts.”

“About what?”

“About her being a student. I figured it was another one of her cons.” To me: “She lied since she got out of diapers – whether you saw it or not, that’s the truth. When she was four, five years old she’d point to red, tell you it was blue, just about convince you. To me, she didn’t look like a student, never seen a student dress like that, flash all that jewelry.”

“Expensive stuff,” said Milo.

“To my eye, but what the hell do I know – I don’t shop on Rodeo. Her mother liked all that crap too, used to lean hard on my checkbook. I had a good business back then, but who wants to blow it on that crap?” He pitched forward. Smiled. “She married an old guy. My ex. Senile old bag of shit. She’s soaking him for his dough, waiting for him to croak – Did you tell her about Lauren yet?”

“Just came from her place, sir.”

Teague’s smile died. Suspicion slitted his eyes. “She probably told you I was an asshole.”

“We didn’t discuss you,” said Milo. “Only Lauren. And by the way, Lauren was enrolled at the U.”

“Yeah? Well, look where that got her.” Teague sat back in the recliner. The footrest shot out, and he stretched his legs. The soles of his feet were black and callused. He breathed in, let the air out. Beneath his rib cage his belly swelled. “I know you think I’m an asshole. ’Cause I’m not faking out that everything was cool between me and Lauren. But at least I’m honest. Okay, so Lauren was in school. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t still hanging around with low lifes. You won’t hear that from my ex – she’s living in a dreamworld, Lauren was some angel – How’d she take it?”

“Hard,” said Milo. “Any contact between you and your ex?”

“Same as Lauren. Every so often, she used to call, throw it in my face.”

“When was the last time?”

Teague thought. “Years ago.” His smile was reborn. “It’s not like she’s gonna come visit the kids. That pisses her off – my having kids. She and I tried real hard to have a bunch and all we could squeeze out was Lauren. Clear to see it was her problem – Anyway, check out Lauren’s lifestyle, that’s my suggestion. She was living the life, riding high on the wave. But it wasn’t for free.”

“Few things are,” said Milo.

“Wrong,” said Teague. “Nothing is.”

“A PRINCE AMONG men,” said Milo.

I was driving east on Ventura Boulevard. Blackened storefronts, bare sidewalks, a breeze had kicked up, and scraps of litter danced above the cement. Warm breeze. Unseasonal winter.

“He hated her, didn’t he, Alex?”

“You consider him a suspect?” I said.

“Can’t eliminate him. Am I the only one who picked up nuances of paranoia?”

“Unhappy man,” I said. “Lots of anger. But he didn’t try to soft-pedal. Doesn’t that imply nothing to hide?”

“Or he’s trying to be clever, pull some kind of stupid double bluff. What a family. The more I learn, the sorrier I feel for Lauren.”

I knew what was taking place: Lauren’s corpse had begun as business as usual, inanimate as the mountain of forms he was forced to fill out on every case. Enlarging her humanity brought out his empathy. It’s happened to him on most of the cases we’ve worked together.

I said, “You didn’t ask him where he was the night Lauren was killed.”

“I don’t know when she was killed – waiting till the coroner gives me an estimate. Also, there was no sense threatening him right off. If nothing else slam-dunks, he’ll get a recontact. Maybe I can pay him a morning visit, see what he’s like when he’s not beered up.”

“And the shotgun’s not within arm’s reach.”

“Yeah, that was fun, wasn’t it? Loose cannon like that having access to a double-barrel. Just what the Founding Fathers had in mind… Wifey number two seemed quite the sheep. Think he slaps her around?”

“He dominates her.”

“I wonder if Lyle and Jane had violent stuff going on when they were hitched – Jane kept saying he was mean. Maybe something else Lauren was exposed to. That never came out when you treated her?”

“She complained about them but never mentioned violence. But the treatment wasn’t much.”

“Two sessions.” He rubbed his face. “Twenty-five years old and what did she have to show for it besides a nifty wardrobe?… People and their garbage. Some jobs you and I’ve got.”

“Hey,” I said. “Sure beats being rich and relaxed.”

He laughed. “You won’t catch me admitting this again, but your gig just might be tougher than mine.”

“Why’s that?”

“I know what people are. You try to change ’em.”

As I turned onto Laurel Canyon, he phoned the officer at Lauren’s apartment, found out Andrew Salander hadn’t returned.

I said, “He works the night shift.”

“You up for The Cloisters?”

“Sure,” I said. “One of my favorite spots.”

He laughed again. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Ever been to a gay bar?”

“You took me to one,” I said.

“I don’t remember that. When?”

“Years ago,” I said. “Tiny little place over in Studio City. Disco music, serious drinking, lots of guys who didn’t look at all like you. Past Universal City – back of an auto body shop.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “The Fender. Closed down a long time ago – I actually took you there?”

“Right after our first case together – the Handler murder. The way I figured it, some friendship rapport was developing and you were still nervous.”

“About what?”

“Being gay. You’d already made the grand confession. I didn’t get overtly repulsed, but you probably figured I needed more testing.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Testing you for what?”

“Tolerance. Could I really handle it.”

“Why am I not remembering any of this?”

“Advanced middle age,” I said. “I can describe the room precisely: aluminum ceiling, black walls, Donna Summer on tape loop, guys going off in pairs.”

“Whoa,” he said. Then nothing.

A few miles later he said, “You weren’t overtly repulsed. Meaning?”

“Meaning, sure, it threw me. I grew up with sissies getting beat up on the school yard and ‘fag’ as acceptable speech. I never pounded on anyone, but I never stepped in to stop it either. When I started working, my practice emphasized traumatized kids, and homosexuality never came up much. You were the first gay person I’d ever known socially. You and Rick are still the only gay people I know in depth. And sometimes I’m not sure about you.”

He smiled. “Aluminum ceilings… guys who didn’t look like me, huh? So who’d they look like?”

“More like Andrew Salander.”

“There you go,” he said. “I am the great individualist.”

The Cloisters was on Hacienda just north of Santa Monica, notched unobtrusively into the gray side wall of a two-story building. It was nearly three A.M., but unlike the postnuclear silence of the Valley, the streets here were alive, lit by a steady stream of headlights, sidewalk cafés still serving a garrulous clientele, the pavement crowded with pedestrians – mostly, but not exclusively, male. West Hollywood was one of the first L.A. neighborhoods to earn itself a nightlife. Now people emerge for after-dark strolls in Beverly Hills, Melrose, Westwood. One day, Los Angeles may grow up and become a real city.