The floor director raised his hand, made a circling gesture, and Marcy Bernside said that Channel Eight's Personal News Team would return in just one minute. The director raised both hands, then announced, 'In commercial. We're clear.'

Marcy Bernside shouted, 'Fuck! Who blew the feed to my fucking ear phone?' She twisted around to glare at the newsroom. 'Come on, Stuart. What're you assholes doing back there? Jesus Christ!' So much for wholesome.

Kara pulled my arm and said, 'Showtime.'

She hustled me to the anchor desk and had me sit in the sportscaster's vacant seat while the camera operators repositioned for a two-shot of me and Lyle. I could see Lyle's lines frozen on the TelePrompTer, waiting for the commercial to end. The floor director clipped a tiny microphone inside the lapel of my sport coat, then ran the wire under my jacket and plugged it into a larger cable that had been lying on the floor. Kara introduced me to Lyle Stodge who said, 'I'm glad that you could join us. You're quite a guy.'

I said, 'Will anyone notice if I make faces at the camera?'

Lyle Stodge shuffled loose yellow legal sheets. 'Don't worry about anything. I've done this ten thousand times, and I can make anyone look good. Even you.' I looked at Lucy and Lucy laughed. I looked back at Lyle Stodge and he winked. Another comedian.

A makeup person was adjusting Marcy Bernside's hair. Marcy was singing to herself and moving to the song as if she were alone in her home. She was singing the Z.Z. Topp song Legs. Nervous energy.

The floor director said, 'Ten seconds.' He raised his hand above Lyle's camera. Lyle straightened his jacket and leaned toward the camera. The makeup person left the set. Lyle said, 'Would you stop with the goddamned singing, for Christ's sake?'

Marcy Bernside gave him the finger and kept singing.

'Three, two, one -' The floor director touched the TelePrompTer and Lyle's script scrolled upward. Lyle made his patented crinkly-eyed smile at the camera. 'As we reported at the top of the hour, a private investigator working for the Big Green Defense Machine has made a startling discovery that may shed new light on the Theodore Martin murder investigation. He joins us now in a Channel Eight Personal News exclusive, bringing you the people who make the news.' Lyle turned the pleased smile toward me. 'Mr Elvis Cole, thank you for joining us in a Channel Eight Personal News exclusive.'

'Thanks, Lyle. It's good to be here.' Mr Sincerity.

Lyle laced his fingers and leaned toward me, getting down to serious journalistic business. 'How is it that one man working alone was able to uncover these things when the entire Los Angeles police department working for three months couldn't?'

'I followed a tip that Jonathan Green's office received on the hotline. If LAPD would've gotten the tip, they would've made the same discoveries, and probably sooner.'

Lyle chuckled good-naturedly. 'Sounds like you're being modest to me.' The chuckle vanished and Lyle turned serious again, cocking an eyebrow to let everyone know just how serious he was. 'Tell us, was it dangerous?'

'It's just meeting people and asking questions, Lyle. It's no more dangerous than crossing the street.'

Lyle made the chuckle again, then twisted around to smile at Marcy Bernside. 'Marce, I'll tell you, I've never met the real McCoy who liked to blow his own horn, have you?'

Marcy Bernside said, 'Never, Lyle. Real men let their deeds speak for themselves.'

Lyle twisted back to me. 'Theodore Martin has proclaimed his innocence from the beginning. Many people are now saying that your discovery proves him right.'

'It's another piece of the puzzle.'

Lyle leaned toward me, serious and professional. 'Many people are also saying that the LAPD botched this investigation, and now they're unwilling to admit their mistake.'

'LAPD is the finest police force in the nation, Lyle.'

Lyle nodded as if I'd just laid out the Unified Field Theory. 'Well, sir, we've checked into your background and learned that you certainly have an excellent reputation, even among members of the police department and the district attorney's office.'

'Those guys. Did they really say that?'

Lyle nodded gravely. 'Personal News Eight is told that this isn't your first high-profile case. Apparently, you've worked in a confidential capacity for some very high-profile celebrities.'

'I never discuss my clients, Lyle. That's why it's called "confidential."'

Lyle squinted approvingly. 'A man of integrity.' He gave an encouraging smile. 'Most of us see private eyes on television or in movies but never get a chance to meet the real thing. Tell me, is it as exciting as it seems?'

'No.'

Lyle laughed. They paid him seven hundred thousand dollars a year for that laugh, and I wondered if he practiced it. 'Looks like you're a truthful man, as well. How does it feel to be compared to that famous, fictional Los Angeles detective, Raymond Marlowe?'

Marcy said, 'Philip Marlowe.'

Lyle looked confused and twisted to look at her again. I guess she'd said her bit and he hadn't expected her to speak again. 'What was that, Marce?'

'Raymond Chandler created Philip Marlowe.'

Lyle laughed again, but this time the laugh was strained. Guess you weren't supposed to correct the anchor while you were on the air. He twisted back to the camera and said, 'Well, it looks as if Los Angeles has found its very own Sherlock Homes, and, unfortunately, that's all the time we have for this segment.' Lyle Stodge offered his hand to me, and we shook as if he had just awarded me the Congressional Medal of Honor. 'Mr Cole, it's been my privilege to meet you. Congratulations, and thank you for taking the time to talk with us.'

'Thanks, Lyle. It's been personal.'

The floor director raised both hands. 'In promo. We're clear.'

Lyle Stodge glared at Marcy Bernside. 'You fucking cunt! Don't you ever do that to me again on air!'

Marcy Bernside gave him the finger again. 'It's Holmes, moron. Sherlock Holmes. With an L.'

'Oh, yeah, right. Sure.'

Kara Sykes undipped my lapel mike and helped me off the set. No one gave me a second glance.

We followed Kara Sykes back to the lobby, then left the building and walked to the car. Lucy hugged my arm. 'That was almost as much fun as Beverly Hills.'

'Un.'

She stepped back and looked at me. She cocked her head. 'Are you okay, Studly?'

I said, 'Luce?'

'Mm?'

'If Truly wants me to do another of these, I'm going to shoot him to death. Will you represent me?'

She smiled sweetly. 'Oh, you know that I will, hon. You shoot him all you like.'

Thanks, Luce.'

Lucy, Ben, and I spent the next two days seeing Disneyland and Malibu and the Griffith Observatory. We saw Ronald Colman's house. We shopped in Beverly Hills. I called Jonathan's office twice each day, asking to speak with either Jonathan or Truly, but neither was ever available. Busy, they said. In meetings. No one returned my calls.

I stayed away from my office because of the press. The answering machine was flooded with so many interview requests that I deleted them without playing them. The eat-me lady called back twice.

Elliot Truly's assistant phoned to arrange three more television interviews and two appearances on local talk radio. It's important to Jonathan, she said. We need our side of it known, she said. I asked her about Pritzik and Richards. I said that I wanted to know what was going on. She said that she would talk to Jonathan and get back to me. She didn't.

News reports questioning LAPD's investigative techniques appeared with greater frequency. A summer marine layer moved in, filling the morning sky with an oppressive layer of dark clouds. Sometimes they burned off by noon, but not always.