The chiseled male anchor came on, and they cut to a live shot of Jonathan on the sidewalk outside his office. Jonathan and Truly and the lesser attorneys were accusing Angela Rossi of planting the murder weapon, and they were demanding a full investigation, not only of Rossi but of the LAPD command that was protecting her. Jonathan said that his team had uncovered proof that Rossi had tampered with evidence on other occasions, and then Stan Kerris brought out Mrs Louise Earle. When I saw Mrs Earle I leaned forward and the swollen feeling spread to my neck and my shoulders. Jonathan introduced her, saying that she had come forward through the efforts of Elvis Cole. He reminded everyone that Elvis Cole was the fine young detective who had made the breakthrough about Pritzik and Richards. He said that what Mrs Earle was about to say was even more shocking. The camera closed on Mrs Louise Earle, and she said that Detective Angela Rossi had planted counterfeit money on her son, LeCedrick, and then arrested him. She said that Rossi had threatened to have him killed in prison if she said anything. Mrs Earle was crying when she said it, and Jonathan Green put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

I watched the news for another ten minutes and then I turned off the television. I said, 'What in hell is going on here?'

No one answered.

I took a deep breath, let it out, then leaned back in my chair and wondered if I could feel any more out of the loop. I could, and in about twelve seconds I did.

I paged through the faxes until I came to Stuart Langolier's D-55 booking page from the Ventura County Sheriff's office. The booking page showed Stuart Paul Langolier's fingerprints in two rows of five along the bottom of the page, and his front- and side-view mug shots above the prints. The fax quality was poor and the prints had come through mostly as black smudges, but the mug shots were clear enough.

It was eight years ago and the hairstyle was different, but Stuart Langolier wasn't just Stuart Langolier. He was also James Lester, one-time client of Elliot Truly.

I gathered together the faxes, locked my office, and went home to pick up Lucy.

It was going to be a hell of a party.

It was just after six when I got back to the house. I let myself in through the kitchen and saw Lucy on the deck. She was standing at the rail, and she was wearing a white silk slip dress with spaghetti straps that left her shoulders and back bare. The silk was without embroidery or detail, and seemed to glow in the lowering sun.

I said, 'Simple. Elegant. Utterly devastating.'

She turned and smiled, but the smile seemed strained. 'Ben called. Peter's going to bring him home after dinner.'

'Great.'

'You were gone a long time.'

'Angela Rossi's partner was waiting for me. Have you seen the news?'

'No.'

I turned on the local station, but now they were talking about a fruit fly infestation in Orange County. I changed channels twice, but other things were happening in the world. 'They've got a woman I interviewed saying that Rossi framed her son.'

'Congratulations.' She didn't understand.

'That isn't what she told me. Rossi didn't frame anyone. I cleared her, and that's what I reported to Jonathan.'

'I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. These things happen.' She said it, but it was as if she wasn't really there.

I turned off the television and looked at her. 'Is everything okay with Darlene?'

'Of course.' She glanced away, then made a little shrug. 'Just something at the office.'

I looked closer. 'You sure?'

Lucy stiffened ever so slightly. 'Shouldn't you get ready, or are we not going?'

'Luce, he made it sound like I uncovered this woman. He made it sound like I turned up something that implicates Angela Rossi.' I said it carefully.

'Perhaps you're just being sensitive.' Cool.

I took a step back and went upstairs and put on a jacket and tie. The cat watched me from the closet. Hiding. I said, 'Don't say a word.'

He didn't.

I folded the fax from Santa Barbara and put it into my inside jacket pocket, and then we went out to the car. I said, 'Would you like the top up or down?' Thinking of her hair.

'It doesn't matter.'

I left the top down.

I said, 'If there's a problem, I wish we could talk about it.'

She looked out the window. 'Please don't start one of those conversations.'

I nodded.

Lucy relaxed as we moved along Mulholland and down Coldwater, and by the time we gave the car to a valet she was smiling again and holding my hand. She said, 'There're so many people.'

Jonathan Green lived in an expensive home on a corner lot just north of Sunset in Coldwater Canyon. It was an older, established area of great red pines and curving drives and ranch-style estates that looked not unlike the Ponderosa. A small army of valets was trotting along the walks, and the curbs were already lined with cars and limousines and an awful lot of people who looked as if they'd just stepped out of the Academy Players Directory.

Jonathan's front entry was open, and, as we approached, we could see that his home was crowded. I said, 'Prepare to be stared at.'

She glanced at me. 'Why?'

'You'll be the most beautiful woman there.'

She hooked her arm through mine.

'In the most beautiful dress.'

She squeezed my arm. I'm such a charmer.

A news crew from Channel Eight had lights set up on Jonathan's front lawn and was interviewing a well-known figure who had starred in a hit television series in the early seventies, and who now ran a major studio. Lucy said, 'Isn't he somebody?'

'Yep.' He was well known for his efforts as an active fund raiser for private social programs and had received humanitarian-of-the-year awards twice, in large part because Teddy Martin had contributed heavily to his causes. He was less well known for the violent, hair-trigger temper that he has frequently shown toward the young men whom he supplies with heroin.

As we passed, he was telling the reporter, 'I've known from the beginning that Teddy is innocent, and this proves it. Teddy has been a force for good in our community for years. He's stood by us, and now it's our turn to stand by him. I can't understand why the district attorney has this vendetta.' Other reporters were spread through the crowd, interviewing other supporters.

The entry was wide and long and opened onto a great room that flowed outside through a line of French doors. The floors were Spanish tile and the decor was western, with plenty of rich woods and bookshelves and oil paintings of cattle and horses. An original Russell hung over a great stone fireplace. Behind the French doors were a pool and a pool house and, still farther back, a tennis court. Maybe a half-dozen of Kerris's security people were standing around, trying to be unobtrusive and not having a lot of luck at it. The grounds were lush and dramatically lit, and waiters and waitresses moved through the crowd, offering wine and canapes. Maybe three hundred people were drifting through the house and around the pool. Lucy said, 'This is beautiful.'

I nodded. 'Crime pays.'

'Oh. There's Jonathan.'

Green was near the fireplace, talking with a couple of men in dark suits and a together-looking woman in her late fifties. One of the men was tall and thin, with little round spectacles and a great forehead and bulging Adam's apple. Intense. As we approached, he said, 'LAPD has an entrenched white male racist attitude that is impervious to change. I'm telling you that the time is right to simply abolish them.'

The together woman said, 'That's a non-issue, Willis. Angela Rossi is a white female.'

Willis jabbed the air. Agitated. 'And as such must subjugate herself to the dominant white male racist attitudes that surround her. Don't you see that?'