"No Neccos," she repeated, "'til tomorrow after school."

"Where are you and Uncle Wyatt going, Dad?" Brendan asked.

"Out to the living room," Juhle said, "for some private adult conversation."

"Dev, listen," Hunt was saying. "When you told me about it last night, maybe you don't remember, but you were all over the wife. Parisi wasn't any part of it, and even if I had thought about it and mentioned it to you, you would have said no way, that she was ancient history. If there was anything between Parisi and Palmer, they broke up six months ago. She is not jealous of Staci Rosalier all of a sudden now. The wife had the better immediate motive. Why else get 'em both to her house? Plus, you must admit, this isn't exactly something we've dealt with every day, you and me, withholding information. I didn't know it was information. Next time, I tell you everything before I think it. Promise. You'll be telling me to shut up before I've opened my mouth."

Juhle still didn't like it. His face hadn't softened except for the instant after the door to the kitchen had closed behind his family when he'd been referring to Malinoff and said, "It was a beautiful moment, I tell you. You should have seen it. The ambulance and everything." But after that, the fun was over.

Now he reclined-head back, feet up, eyes closed-in his big, brown leather lounger. His features looked drawn with fatigue, pain, and irritation. Connie's footfalls came from the back of the house, and in a moment, she appeared with a glass of water and some pills. She looked at her husband first, then over to Hunt, who was sitting forward on one of the other chairs, elbows on his knees, jaw set, eyes bright, tightly wound.

"Excuse me," she said, "time for medication." She dropped the pills into Juhle's hand, waited while he threw them into his mouth, then handed him the water. Then she turned to Hunt. "These usually make him sleepy," she said, and walked out.

When the two men were alone again, Hunt said, "I'd hate to have her mad at me."

Juhle opened his eyes. "Don't fuck with your friends, their wives won't be mad at you."

"How many times you want me to apologize?" No answer. "Dev, I need your help."

"What? Finding Parisi? You're dreaming, Wyatt."

Suddenly remembering Hardy's advice, Hunt said, "Listen to me. I can help you, too."

Juhle let out a short, aborted chuckle. "Sure you can. And you're motivated, right? You find Parisi, you'll give her to me. No, if you find her, you'll hide her from me. Or she'll hide herself, keep herself hid is more like it."

"That won't happen. I'm giving you my word it won't happen. If she's findable, I can help you," he repeated.

With a sigh, Juhle brought his lounger back to a sitting position. He still looked weary, but there was a hint of interest. "Why are you going to do that, Wyatt? And first, I've got to believe that you will do that."

"I just gave you my word, Dev."

Finally, Juhle nodded. "All right. That leaves how."

Hunt let out a breath. "You know what I do for a living about half the time in my job: I find people. And right now I've got people talking to everybody she knew, everybody we can find, personally, firm, family, you name it. If she's dead, she's dead, and she'll probably turn up someday. But last I saw her, I guarantee you she wasn't going into hiding on this murder rap. Somebody picked her up, and I'm just praying right now that they didn't kill her right away. That's where I'm coming from. Have you heard anything about a ransom note? Did you track any credit card use yet? Any sign that she's on the run?"

"All that's classified."

"Okay, so do we have a deal, or what? I'm telling you, I'll give you everything I get, the minute I get it. But I need to know what you've got about Parisi, every little thing. If I'm missing something. Someplace I could be looking."

"And what would that be?"

"If I knew, I'd know, wouldn't I? But give me that and I could take Parisi off your plate entirely and leave you free for everybody else. Mrs. Palmer, whoever. But that's the other thing I can give you that you don't have and I really believe you need."

"What's that?"

"A partner."

Juhle narrowed his eyes, his mouth tight. "I've got a partner."

"Right. I've met him. He helping you much?"

"He's a cop."

"Yes, he is."

"I don't go behind his back."

"Of course not. Go in front of him. See if he notices. Meanwhile, you and me, we do what you and Shane used to do-try to figure this stuff out."

Juhle looked down at his swollen hand, closed it and opened it again a couple of times. Finally, he gave it up with a sigh. "No. No note. No credit cards. No cell phone. No nothing. And why do you think," he asked, "we haven't gotten any kind of line on Staci Rosalier's family?"

"So I've got Wes talking to Fairchild and Tombo about what she might have been doing Monday night, which could eliminate her from your equation all by itself. Meanwhile, Amy Wu's with Carla-" Hunt said.

"Parisi's secretary Carla? We talked to her today," Juhle said.

"She give you anything?"

"Pretty much the same timetable you've already got. Not much else."

"Okay, but speaking of the timetable, I've got Mickey Dade going to find out where the Manions live so I can get to Carol, the wife."

"You don't have to bother," Juhle said. "Shiu and I already talked to her today. She lives out in Seacliff. Incredible spread. We waltzed in like we own the place."

"How'd you do that?"

"It doesn't get talked about much out in the world, but all her security guards are off-duty San Francisco homicide inspectors."

"Even Shiu?"

"Only the best for the Manions, Wyatt. I'm probably the only cop in the detail she doesn't call by his first name. Shiu called on her security number, and we got the red carpet."

"See." They'd been talking the case for ten minutes or so and by now the friction had bled out of the room. Hunt was all the way back in his chair, legs crossed. "This is why we need to communicate on this. So what did Mrs. Manion know?"

"Basically nothing. She never saw her. Parisi never showed. That's a dead end."

"She tell you what they were supposed to be talking about?"

Juhle stared up at the ceiling, dredging it back. "She's a bigwig on some committee-the Friends of the Public Library? Something like that-Shiu's got it in his book, I'm sure. Anyway, they've got a fund-raiser later on in the summer, and they wanted Parisi to be, like, the local celebrity master of ceremonies, so she wanted to feel her out on it. I guess they liked her work on TV, the new face and all."

Hunt let out a breath, finally shook his head. "So she leaves her house, gets in her car, and vanishes?"

"Right. That's what we've got."

"You get her phone records?"

"Working on them, Wyatt. She just became a live suspect today. We should have something by tomorrow, Monday the latest."

This wasn't nearly soon enough for Hunt, but he had no say on it. "And you've talked to Palmer's office, too?"

By now, Juhle's pills and weariness were slowing him down. He took a couple of seconds to respond. "Yep. He was probably thinking about moving on the union, although Gary Piersall says it was a bluff."

"So where would Andrea play there?"

"I've been trying to work that connection all day. It's a dry well."

"How about if she thought she knew or had discovered who'd put the hit on Palmer? She goes to…what's his name, the union chief?"

"Jim Pine."

"Right. She goes to Pine-or not to Pine directly. Maybe even to one of her colleagues at Piersall, maybe talks about her suspicions. She's going to blow the whistle, and somebody decides they've got to stop her-"