Darlene gasped. 'Oh my, but you do go on!'

I was grinning. Darlene did that to me. 'Darlene, have I ever said that you've got a very sexy voice?'

'Get on with you, now! You stop this nonsense before I tell Ms Chenier!'

We said our good-byes and I called Joe Pike to tell him that we were once more employed. His answering machine picked up on the first ring and beeped. He used to have a one-word message that just said, 'Speak,' but I guess he felt it was long-winded. Now, there was just the beep. When I asked him how people were supposed to know who they had gotten or what to do, he'd said, 'Intelligence test.' That Pike is something, isn't he?

I said, 'This is the Lone Ranger, calling to inform you that someone has once again been foolish enough to give us money. We're working for Jonathan Green.' I hung up. It might be days before I heard from him.

The envelope that Truly left contained a copy of LeCedrick Earle's arrest report as well as a formal letter of complaint written by a public defender on Earle's behalf. The arrest report was written by Officer Angela Rossi and stated that Rossi had arrested Mr Earle at his home after Mr Earle attempted to bribe his way out of a traffic code violation with eight hundred dollars in counterfeit one-hundred-dollar bills. The letter of complaint alleged that Rossi had planted the counterfeit money on Mr Earle and that Mr Earle was innocent of all wrongdoing. The arrest report said little, and the letter of complaint said even less. She said, he said. A single sheet bearing both Angela Rossi's home address and Raymond Haig's business address and phone number was the last entry in the file. A newspaper photograph of Rossi was clipped to the sheet. It was an old photo that showed an attractive woman with a lean, rectangular face and intelligent eyes. She looked determined.

I put everything back into the envelope, then called my friend Eddie Ditko at the Examiner. Eddie has been a reporter for about ten million years, and he answered with a voice that was maybe three weeks away from throat cancer. 'Ditko.'

'Is this Eddie Ditko, the world's finest reporter?'

He made a hacking sound like a cat gakking up a hairball. 'Yeah, sure, it says that right here on my Pulitzer. Hold on a minute while I wipe my ass with it.' That Eddie. Always with just the right thing to say.

'A guy named LeCedrick Earle was busted on a funny money beef five years ago. He claimed it was a setup by the arresting officer.'

'They all claim that. It's a natural law.' You see?

'The arresting officer was Angela Rossi.'

'I'm hearing Notre Dame.' Bells.

'Rossi put the cuffs on Teddy Martin. She found the hammer.'

Eddie made the gakking sound again. 'You're shitting me.'

'Nope.'

He wasn't saying anything. Thinking. Sniffing the words and smelling a story. 'What's this to you?'

I didn't say anything.

He gave the big sigh, like I was asking for an organ donation. 'What do you want?'

'Whatever you've got on the Earle arrest, and anything in your files about Rossi.' Ever since the Christopher Commission the Examiner kept a database on LAPD officers. The Fourth Estate's version of Big Brother.

'What's this have to do with Teddy Martin?'

I didn't say anything some more.

'Yeah, right. I'll get back to you.' Then he said, 'You really give me ass cramps.'

He hung up without another word. Always the pleasant conversationalist.

I put everything back in the envelope, then locked the office and drove up through Hollywood and the Cahuenga Pass and into the San Fernando Valley. I left the Hollywood Freeway at Barham and drove east along the foot of the Verdugo hills through Burbank into Glendale. Raymond Haig owned a Mr Rubber Discount Tire franchise in an area of gas stations and falafel stands and flat single-story buildings with shops that sold secondhand clothes and wholesale electronics. A weathered Hispanic guy in a broken straw hat had set up a little churro cart outside the tire store, the churros hanging in ropes inside the glass cart. The Hispanic guy was decked out in cowboy boots and jeans and a wide leather belt with a gleaming silver buckle inlaid with the image of a Brahma bull. A vaquero. A couple of kids with skateboards were holding fistfuls of wax paper and long brown churros, and a black dog with a bandana around its neck was sitting between them, looking first at one, then the other. Hopeful.

I parked on the street in front of the churro cart, then went into the store. A young Hispanic woman with tired eyes and too much makeup was sitting behind the counter, staring at a little television. I handed her a card. 'I need to see Mr Haig. If you tell him that Elliot Truly sent me, he'll know what it's about.'

She took the card and disappeared through a door leading to the service bay, and a couple of minutes later she came back with a tall guy in his late forties. Haig. He was wearing a plaid shirt and a maroon knit tie, and he had a pencil caddy in his shirt pocket. The caddy's plastic flap said Beamis Shocks. He came over. 'You Cole?'

'That's right. Elliot Truly said that someone from his office spoke to you, and that you'd be willing to answer a few questions about Angela Rossi.'

His face split with a sleek smile and he put out his hand. 'You bet. Let's go in back and I'll tell you everything you need to know about that rotten bitch Rossi.' Nothing like an unbiased opinion.

He led me to a small office cluttered with parts catalogs and product manuals and posters of bikinied young women posing on lug wrench displays. Enlightened. A couple of padded chairs sat opposite his desk for customers, and a Mr Coffee with a tower of Styrofoam cups sat on a table next to the glass door. 'You want a little coffee?'

'No, thanks.'

Haig poured a cup for himself and brought it to his desk. There was a picture of a younger Haig in an LAPD uniform on the desk.

I said, 'How long were you on the job?'

'Fifteen bullshit years.' Unbiased, all right. 'Best move I ever made was getting out and going into business for myself. Yes, sir.' He settled in behind the desk, then picked up an unlit cigar and popped it into the side of his mouth. I took out a little pad and a Uniball pen to take notes. He said, 'Rossi's the reason I left the goddamned force.'

'How so?'

'I didn't want to ride with a woman.'

I smiled at him. 'You left because you didn't want to ride with a woman.'

He pulled the cigar from his mouth and made a move with it. 'Hey, you get these women in a car, they're either scared shitless and not worth a damn when things get hairy, or they're out of their minds aggressive and you never know what they're gonna do.'

'And Rossi was aggressive?'

'Christ, yes. Always tryin' to be more man than a man.' He had some of the coffee, then sucked at the cigar again.

I said, 'You were partners when she made the Le-Cedrick Earle arrest?'

'Yep. That's the bust got her into plainclothes. She got a big promotion off that bust.' He leaned back, and I noticed that small brown flecks of matter were scattered over the catalogs and desk and floor. I squinted at them and wondered what they were.

I said, 'LeCedrick Earle claims that she planted the money, and Truly says that you agree.' I felt something gritty on the arms of the chair and looked. More flecks. Sort of like brown dandruff.

Haig chewed at the cigar, then took it out and examined it. The end was soggy and frayed, and while he looked he absently spit little pieces of tobacco off his tongue. I saw a piece land on an air filter catalog. I saw another piece land on the framed photo of young LAPD Haig. Haig didn't seem to notice, or didn't care. I lifted my elbows from the chair and brushed at my arms. Yuck. Haig shook his head. 'Nope. I didn't say that. I said that I wouldn't put it past the bitch.'