“Maybe the print was just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Art for her, cash for both of them? Course at these prices, a million or two wouldn’t buy that much art, would it?”

“We have only Glenn Anger’s word on how much Gina received every month. He could have programmed his computer to read any way he wanted.”

“Why would Gina give the Gabneys dough?”

“Gratitude, dependency- same reasons cult members give everything to the guru.”

“Could have been a loan.”

“Could have been, but she’s not around to collect, is she?”

He frowned and pushed his cake aside. “Ramp and Nyquist, the button-down boys, now her goddam shrinks. Suspect hit parade. Poor thing was an equal-opportunity victim.”

“Like ants crawling over a beetle carcass,” I said.

Milo tossed his napkin on the table. “What else do you know about this Moriarty?”

“Just her address. West Hollywood.” I pulled out the paper Jan Robbins had given me and handed it to him.

“Hey,” he said, “we’re neighbors- this is maybe six blocks from my place. Could have stood next to her in line at the supermarket.”

“Didn’t know you went to the market.”

“I was speaking symbolically.” He lifted his briefcase to his knee, rummaged, and pulled out his notepad, copied down the address.

“I can stop by,” he said, “see if she’s still living there. If she isn’t, anything further’s gonna have to wait, ’cause of all the other stuff I’ve got to deal with. You want to spend some time pursuing it, that’s fine, too.”

“Do I get a brand-new private-eye briefcase?”

“Buy your own, ace. We’re talking free enterprise.”

I paid the check and Milo chatted with Joyce, complimenting her further on her food, commiserating on the problems of running a small business, then somehow easing into the subject of Kathy Moriarty as if it were the next logical step. She had no new facts to offer but was able to come up with a physical description of the reporter: mid- to late thirties, medium height and build, brown hair cut short, Buster Brown style, rosy complexion (“like what you’d expect in an Irish girl”), light eyes- either blue or green. Then, as if realizing she’d given more than she’d taken, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Why do you want to know all this?”

Milo crooked his head and led her to the rear of the restaurant- a needless concealment, since we were the only customers. He showed her his inactive LAPD badge. She opened her mouth but said nothing.

He said, “It’s important you don’t say anything to anybody. Please.”

“Sure. Is something-”

“No danger to you or anyone. We’re just making a routine inquiry.”

“About that place- the clinic?”

“Does something about the place bother you?”

“Well,” she said, “like I was telling this gentleman, it is odd so few people come in and out. Makes you wonder what they’re really doing in there- this day and age, you’ve got to wonder.”

“Yes, you do.”

She shivered and seemed to enjoy the conspiracy. Milo obtained another pledge of silence from her. We left the restaurant and headed back toward Sussex Knoll.

“Think she can keep a secret?” I said.

“Who knows.”

“Not that important?”

He shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen? It gets back to the Gabneys that someone’s asking questions. If they’re not up to anything, it goes nowhere. If they are, maybe they’ll get scared and do something rash.”

“Such as?”

“Sell the Cassatt, maybe even do some other quick cashing-in that lets us know they’ve been holding on to some other assets of Gina’s.”

Gina. He said her name with an easy familiarity, though they’d never met. A homicide cop’s intimacy. I thought of all the others he’d never met but knew so well…

“… so,” he was saying, “that okay with you?”

“Is what okay?”

He laughed. “You’re making my point for me, champ.”

“Which is?”

“Go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m fine. What were you saying?”

“That you should catch some Z’s and check out Moriarty’s place tomorrow morning. If it’s an apartment building, talk to the landlord or the manager, if you can find them. Any other tenants, too.”

“What’s my premise?”

“Your what?”

“My reason for asking questions about her- I don’t have a badge.”

“Buy one,” he said. “On Hollywood Boulevard, one of the costume shops. Be as legal as the one I’m using.”

“Well, aren’t we bitter,” I said.

He gave an evil grin. “Okay, you want a premise: Say you’re an old friend just come out from the East Coast, you’re looking her up for old time’s sake. Or you’re a cousin- the grand Moriarty family reunion’s coming around soon and no one can seem to get hold of dear Kathy. Make something up. You met her sister- you should be able to make it sound realistic.”

“Nothing like a little deception to spice up the morning, huh.”

“Hey,” he said, “makes the world go ’round.”

As we parked in front of the house, Noel Drucker came out the front door carrying a large blue suitcase with a designer logo.

He said, “She’s up in her room. Writing.”

“Writing what?”

“Something to do with the bank guy and the lawyer, I think. She’s really ticked off, wants to sue them.”

Milo pointed at the suitcase. “For the boss?”

Noel nodded.

“Any idea where he’s gonna be living?”

“I guess he’ll stay with us till he finds a place. With my mom and me. Upstairs at the Tankard. It’s his, anyway.”

“You rent from him?”

“No, he lets us stay there free.”

“Pretty nice of him.”

Noel nodded. “He really is a nice guy. I wish…” He threw up one hand and said, “Whatever.”

“Must be hard for you,” I said. “Caught in the middle.”

He shrugged. “I figure it’s practice.”

“For international relations?”

“For the real world.”

He got in the red Celica and drove off.

Milo watched his taillights until they disappeared. “Nice kid.” As if he’d just tagged an endangered species.

Slapping his briefcase against his leg, he checked his Timex. “Nine-thirty. Gonna make a few calls. Then I’ll boogie on down to the mission and try to get a rise out of Mr. Deadbrain.”

“If Melissa doesn’t need me, I’ll go with you.”

He frowned. “What about sleep?”

“Too wound up.”

He said nothing for a moment, then: “Okay. He’s a nutcase- maybe your training will come in handy. But then do me a favor and go home and crash. Don’t keep driving on high- the engine burns out.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Melissa was in the windowless room, sitting at the desk behind a growing pile of papers.

She looked alarmed when we came in, stood suddenly, and knocked some pages to the floor. “Strategy planning,” she said. “I’m trying to figure out ways of getting the bastards.”

Milo picked up the papers, glanced at them, and put them on the desk. Blank. “Come up with anything?”

“Sort of. I think the best way to go is reviewing every single thing they’ve been doing since… since the very beginning. I mean really make them open up all their books and go over every line, every number. At the very least it’ll freak them out so much they’ll forget about ripping me off and I can concentrate on getting them.”

I said, “Good offense the best defense.”

“Exactly.” She clapped her hands together. There was color in her cheeks and her eyes glowed, but it wasn’t a healthy light. Milo was studying her, but she didn’t notice it.

“Did you get a chance to talk to any lawyers, Dr. Delaware?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, but as soon as possible, all right? Please.”