Mrs Earle appeared a few moments later with two cups of coffee, walking carefully so as not to slosh. She said, 'That business with LeCedrick was several years ago. Why are you interested in that now?'

'I'm investigating the officer who arrested him.'

'Oh, yes. I remember her.' She put the cups on the table, then offered one to me. 'Would you care for milk or sugar?'

'No, ma'am. Then you were present during the arrest?'

She nodded again. 'Oh, yes. The police came to see me about that. They came back three or four times. Those affairs people.'

'Internal Affairs?'

'Mm-hm.' She sipped at her coffee. It was so hot that swirls of steam followed the contours of her face and fogged her glasses.

'You know LeCedrick is disputing the arrest.'

'Of course, I know.'

'LeCedrick claimed at the time of his arrest, and still claims, that Officer Rossi planted counterfeit bills in order to make the arrest.'

Mrs Earle nodded, but it was noncommittal, like she was waiting to hear more.

'Is that what you told the Internal Affairs people?'

Mrs Louise Earle gave a deep sigh and the mask of noncommittal detachment melted away into eyes that were tired and pained. 'I know he says that, and I'll tell you just what I told those affairs people.'

I leaned toward her.

'You can't believe a thing that child says.'

I blinked at her.

She put down the coffee and waved toward the armoire. 'I was standing right there when LeCedrick and that officer came in. I saw every little thing that happened.' Louise Earle closed her tired eyes, as if by closing them she could see it all again, just like she'd told the affairs people. 'The officer stood right there, holding her hat and telling me about her day. I remember that she was holding her hat because I thought how polite that was, to hold her hat like that. I didn't know she'd come to arrest him.'

'She didn't go back to his room?' LeCedrick had said that Rossi had gone back to his room.

'Oh, no. She just came in and stood there, talking with me the whole time. I was certainly angry when she arrested the boy, but she was very nice about it.' Very nice about it. I could see Jonathan Green when I related this. I could see his color drain, his eyes bulge. I wondered if he would pass out and Truly and I would have to administer CPR.

'LeCedrick claims that she accompanied him to his room. He says that she had a bag under her jacket containing the counterfeit bills.'

'It was summer. What would anyone be doing with a jacket in summer?' Louise Earle shook her head, and now there was a sadness to her. She crossed her hands in her lap. 'Mr Cole, you listen to LeCedrick and you'd think he was just the most innocent thing, but that just isn't the way it is. LeCedrick will lie at the drop of a hat, and always has.'

I sighed. So much for LeCedrick Earle.

Louise Earle said, 'Make no mistake about it. I love that child and it grieves me no end he's in jail, but he's said exactly the same thing every other time he's been arrested. It's always somebody else's fault. It's always the police out to get him. Like that.'

I nodded. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'If you're lookin' for me to say that boy is innocent, I can't. If you're lookin' for me to speak against that lady officer, I can't do that, either.' She looked stern when she said it.

'No, ma'am. I'm not looking for that.'

'He wanted me to lie for him back then, and I wouldn't. He wanted me to cover for him, and make excuses, and I said no. I said, LeCedrick, you have to learn to stop makin' excuses, you have to learn to be a man.' Her voice wavered and she stopped. She picked up the coffee, sipped, then said, 'It's cost me greatly, but it's for him. Something has to shock some sense into that boy.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'He hasn't spoken to me since the trial. He said he'd never speak to me again.'

'I'm sorry, Mrs Earle.' I didn't know what else to say. I felt awkward and ashamed that I'd come into her life and driven off Mr Lawrence and made her relive something that was clearly so painful.

'I tried to raise that boy right. I loved that boy as much as any mother could, and tried to show a good example, but he just went wrong.' Her eyes grew pink and a single tear worked its way down her cheek. 'Maybe that was where I went wrong. Maybe I held him too close and excused too little. Is it possible to love someone too much?'

I looked at her, and then I looked at the furniture and the pictures, and then back at her weary eyes and the weight they carried. 'I don't think there can ever be too much love, Mrs Earle.'

She seemed to consider that, and then she put her coffee down again. 'Has this helped you?'

'Yes, ma'am. It has.' Jonathan Green wouldn't think so, but there you go.

She stood, and it was clear that she wanted me to leave. 'If you don't mind, then, I should clip those zinnias and get them in water.'

'Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry I interrupted you and Mr Lawrence.'

The tiny smile came back, though it wasn't as strong as before. 'Yes, well, it'll take more than a little interruption to discourage that man.'

'Men are like that, Mrs Earle. We find something worthwhile, we stay with it.'

The tired eyes crinkled and suddenly the younger self was there again. 'Oh, you get on with you, now.'

She walked me to the door and I went out into the sun and got on with me.

The early afternoon heat shimmered off the sidewalks and cars and surrounding roofs in a kind of urban illusion of life's silver lining. It was just before two on the second day of my investigation into Angela Rossi and the doors of investigative possibility were rapidly closing, and with every closed door Angela Rossi looked better and the people making claims against her looked worse. Louise Earle was credible, cogent, in full command of her faculties, and did not seem to be a person who would miss seeing a cop carrying a bag of funny money through her living room. Of course, maybe Angela Rossi was a master of misdirection and had secreted the money behind her back. She might've shouted, 'Look over there!' and run to LeCedrick's room and planted the cash when Louise turned to look. Perhaps my investigative task for the afternoon should be finding out whether or not Angela Rossi was an amateur magician.

Or maybe not. Three teenaged girls with long skinny legs and halter tops came out of the house across the street and went to an ancient Volkswagen Beetle parked in their drive. They were lugging beach towels and bottles of Evian water, and everybody wore thongs. Off to the beach. Maybe I should offer to go with them and protect them from the thugs at the beach. Maybe we could discuss my findings. On the other hand, Lucy Chenier was arriving tomorrow, and maybe I should snap out of it before I found myself in really deep doo-doo. C'est la vie.

When I reached the sidewalk a tall, muscular black guy appeared beside my car. As he reached the car a heavy white guy in his early fifties climbed out of a blue sedan parked across the street and started toward me. The black guy was in impeccably pressed designer jeans and a tight knit shirt that showed his muscles, and the white guy was in a rumpled light gray winter-weight suit. A million degrees, and he's wearing winter weight. Cops. A woman's voice said, 'Excuse me, sir. May I have a word with you?' Polite, and kind of cheery.

The cheery woman was coming toward me from the adjoining yard as if she had been standing at the corner of the house there, waiting. She was maybe five-eight, and dark the way you're dark when you spend a lot of time in the sun running and working out and playing sports. I made her for her early- to mid-thirties, but the lines around her eyes and mouth were deep. Probably from all the sun. She was wearing designer jeans like the black guy and Reebok court shoes and a loose linen top that she would probably cover with a linen sport coat if it weren't so hot. Stylish and attractive, even with the Browning 9mm clipped to her right hip. She badged me with an LAPD detective shield as she approached, still cheery with the smile, and I recognized her just before she said, 'Mr Cole, my name is Angela Rossi. The detective in the gray suit would like to ask you a few questions.'