“Friend of the family,” said Milo.

The tall man kept scrutinizing me, inhaling and blowing out smoke without removing the cigarette from his mouth. He’d majored in stoicism and graduated with honors.

Milo said, “Dr. Delaware, Detective Bradley Lewis, Central Division Homicide. Detective Lewis, Dr. Alex Delaware.”

Lewis blew smoke rings and said, “A doctor, huh.”

“Family doctor, as a matter of fact.”

“Ah.”

I tried to look doctoral.

Milo said, “How’d it happen, Brad?”

“What?” said Lewis. “This some kind of a bounty thing? Getting paid for bringing the good news back to the family?”

Milo said, “It won’t bring her back, but yeah, I can’t imagine they’ll mourn.” He repeated his question.

Lewis pondered answering it, finally said, “Back alley a few blocks south and east of here- the industrial area between San Pedro and Alameda. Auto versus pedestrian, auto winning with a first round KO.”

“If it’s hit and run, why are you guys on it?”

“What a sleuth,” said Lewis. “Hey- d’you ever do police work?”

Grinning.

Milo didn’t talk or move.

Lewis smoked and said, “As it happens, the auto didn’t take any chances, according to the techs. Ran over him once, then backed up and did it at least twice more for good luck. We’re talking road pizza with all the toppings.”

He turned to me, pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, and flashed a sudden, wolfish grin. “Family doctor, huh? You look like a civilized gentleman, but appearances can be deceiving sometimes, right?”

I smiled back. His grin widened, as if we’d just shared a terrific joke.

“Doctor,” he said, chain-lighting a second cigarette and grinding out the first on the sidewalk, “you wouldn’t by any remote chance have used your Mercedes or BMW or whatever to put poor Mr. McCloskey out of his misery, would you, sir? Quick confession and we can all go home.”

I kept smiling and said, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Darn,” said Lewis. “I hate whodunits.”

“The car was German?” said Milo.

Lewis kicked the cement with one boot heel and blew smoke through his nose. “What is this, Meet the Press?”

“Any reason not to tell me, Brad?”

“You’re a civilian, for one.”

Milo said nothing.

Lewis said, “Maybe even a suspect, for two.”

“Right,” said Milo. “What is this, Brad? Fucking Murder She Wrote?”

Turning his stare on Lewis. They were the same height but Milo outweighed Lewis by fifty pounds. Lewis stared back, smoking, stone-faced, and didn’t answer.

Milo near-whispered a single word that sounded like “Gonzales.”

Lewis’s gaze faltered. The cigarette in his mouth dipped, then arced upward as his jaw tightened.

He said, “Look, Sturgis, I can’t fuck around with this. At the very least there’s a conflict of interest- like if we end up coming out to Pasadena and talking to the family about this.”

“The family, as it stands right now,” said Milo, “is an eighteen-year-old girl who just found out her mother’s dead and doesn’t even have a body to bury ’cause it’s at the bottom of the goddam dam. Sheriff’s just waiting for it to float-”

“All the more reason-”

“That happens, it’ll be loads of fun for her, right, Brad? ID-ing a floater? Meanwhile, she’s been cooped up in the house for the last few days, tons of eyewitnesses, so she sure as hell didn’t run the piece-o-shit over, and she sure as hell didn’t put any contracts out on him. But if you think there’s some advantage to coming around and getting her really freaked out, be my guest. Deal with their lawyer- guy’s uncle was Hammerin’ Harmon Douse. Captain Spain always did appreciate guys taking the initiative.”

Lewis puffed and dragged and stared at his cigarette as if it were a thing of wonder.

“If that’s where it leads, bet your ass I’ll be there,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

Milo said, “Be my guest, Brad.”

The dark detective finished talking to the homeless men and gave a dismissing wave. They dispersed, some of them entering the mission, others drifting up the street. He came over, wiping his palms on his blazer.

“This is the famous Milo Sturgis,” said Lewis, between rapid drags on his cigarette.

The shorter man looked perplexed.

Lewis said, “Heavyweight champ from West L.A.- went one round with Frisk?”

Another second of confusion, then insight spread across the shorter man’s baby features. Revulsion followed a moment later. A pair of hard brown eyes shifted to me.

“And this,” said Lewis, “is the family doctor- family that’s been interested in our d.b. Maybe he can look at that knee of yours, Sandy.”

The other detective wasn’t amused. He buttoned his jacket and when he turned to Milo, he might have been regarding a floating body.

Milo said, “Esposito, right? You used to be over at Devonshire.”

Esposito said, “You came around here earlier and talked to the deceased. What about?”

“Nothing. He wouldn’t talk.”

“That’s not what I asked,” said Esposito, clipping his words. “Regarding what specifics was your intention to talk with the deceased?”

Milo paused- weighing his words or unraveling the syntax. “His possible involvement in the death of my client’s mother.”

Esposito didn’t appear to have heard. He managed to back his body away from Milo while pushing his head forward. “What do you got to tell us?”

Milo said, “Ten to one it’ll come down to something stupid. Interview the residents of this resort and find out the last person McCloskey short-portioned on the hash line.”

“Save your advice,” said Esposito, moving back farther. “I’m talking information.”

“As in whodunit?”

“As in.”

Milo said, “Afraid I can’t help you with that.”

Lewis said, “The hash-line theory doesn’t cut it, Sturgis. The residents of this resort don’t tend to have cars.”

“They get day jobs once in a while,” said Milo. “Driving, delivering. Or maybe McCloskey just met up with someone who didn’t like his face. Wasn’t much of a face.”

Lewis smoked and said nothing.

Esposito said, “Brilliant.” To me: “You got something to add?”

I shook my head.

“What can I say?” said Milo. “You bought yourselves a whodunit, for a change.”

Lewis smoked.

Esposito said, “And you got nothing that would take the who out of the dunit?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Milo. Smiling. “Well, maybe not that good, but I’m sure you’ll work at improving it.”

He began walking past the two of them, heading for the front door of the mission. I tried to follow but Lewis stepped in front of me. “Hold on, Sturgis,” he said.

Milo looked back. His forehead was knotted.

Lewis said, “What’s your business in there, now?”

“Thought I’d see the priest,” said Milo. “Time for confession.”

“Right,” said Esposito, smirking. “Priest gonna grow a beard, listening.”

Lewis laughed, but it sounded obligatory. “Maybe it’s not the optimal time,” he said to Milo.

“I don’t see any yellow tape, Brad.”

“Maybe it’s still not optimal.”

Milo put his hands on his hips. “You’re telling me this is a restricted scene because the d.b. once bunked here, but it’s okay for vagrant scumbags to come in and out? Harmon Junior’s gonna love that, Brad. Next time he and the chief meet up on the links they’re gonna share a few yucks over that one.”

Lewis said, “What is it, three months? And you’re already acting like a fucking suit.”

Milo said, “Bullshit. You’re the one with the invisible tape, Brad. You’re the one all of a sudden turned careful.”

Esposito said, “We don’t have to take this shit,” and unbuttoned his coat. Lewis held him back, puffing like a chimney. Then he dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk, watched it smolder, and moved aside.