I said, "You guys ask Dersh about Saturday?"

"He went for his walk on the opposite side of the lake at a different time of the day. He didn't see anything."

I didn't remember that in his interview, and flipped back through the pages. "None of that's in here. Just the part about him being up on Saturday."

I held out the transcript for her to see, but she didn't take it.

"Watts covered it after we took over from Hollywood. You finished with those yet?" She held out her hand.

"No."

I read the Dersh interview again, thinking that if Watts questioned Dersh about Saturday, he had probably written up notes. If Watts was keeping the murder book, he had probably put his notes there.

I looked around for Watts, but Watts had left. Krantz wasn't back yet, either.

"How long can it take to find out about the autopsy?"

"Krantz is lucky to find his ass. Relax."

"Tell me something, Dolan. Can Krantz hack it?"

She didn't look up.

"I made a few calls, Dolan. I know you're a top cop. I know Watts is good. Krantz looks more like a politician, and he's nervous. Can he hack running the investigation, or is he in over his head?"

"He's the lead, Cole. Not me."

"Is he going to follow up on Deege? Is he smart enough to ask Dersh about Saturday?"

She didn't say anything for a moment, but then she leaned toward me over the pad and pointed her pen at me.

"Don't worry about how we work this investigation. You wanna make conversation, make it to yourself. I'm not interested. We clear on that?"

She went back to the pad without waiting for me to answer.

"Clear."

She nodded.

A muscular young guy in a bright yellow bowling shirt pushed a mail cart through the double doors and went to the Mr. Coffee. A clip-on security badge dangled from his belt, marking him as a civilian employee. Like most police departments, LAPD used civilians whenever they could to cut costs. Most of the slots were filled by young men who hoped the experience would help them get on the job. This guy probably spent his days answering phones, delivering interoffice memos, or, if he was lucky, helping out on door-to-door searches for missing children, which was probably as close as he would ever come to being a real cop.

I glanced over at Dolan. She was staring at me.

"Okay if I get a cup of coffee?"

"Help yourself."

"You want one?"

"No. Leave the transcripts on the chair. Stay where I can see you." Sieg heil!

I strolled over to the Mr. Coffee and smiled at the civilian. "How is it?"

"The shits."

I poured a cup anyway and tasted it. The shits.

His ID tag said that his name was Curtis Wood. Since Curtis was around all day, going from office to office and floor to floor, he probably knew which desk belonged to Stan Watts. Might even know where Watts kept the book. "That Dolan is something, isn't she?" The professional detective goes into full-blown intelligence-gathering mode, furtively establishing rapport with the unsuspecting civilian wannabe. I was thinking I could work my way around to Watts and the murder book.

"They made a television series about her, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. I liked it."

"I wouldn't mention it. She gets kinda weird if you bring it up."

I gave Curtis one of my friendliest smiles and put out my hand. "Already made that mistake. Elvis Cole."

"Curtis Wood." His grip said he spent a lot of time in the gym, probably trying to get in shape for the physical. He glanced at my pass.

"I'm helping Dolan and Stan Watts with the Garcia investigation. You know Watts?" The trained professional smoothly introduces Watts to the conversation.

Curtis nodded. "Are you the guy who works for the family?"

These guys hear everything. "That's right." Note the relaxed technique. Note how the subject has proven receptive to the ploy.

Curtis finished his coffee and squared around to look me in the eye. "Robbery-Homicide has the smartest detectives in the business. How's some dickhead like you come off thinking you can do better?"

He pushed the cart away without waiting for an answer.

So much for furtive intelligence gathering.

I was still standing there when Krantz steamed through the double doors, saw me, and marched over. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you, Krantz. It's been an hour."

He glowered at Dolan, who was leaning back in her chair. "You letting him just walk around like this?"

"For Christ's sake, Harvey, I'm right here. I can shoot him if I have to."

I said, "I had a cup of coffee." Like it was a federal case.

Krantz calmed down and turned back to me. "Okay, here's the deal. We're still not sure about the autopsy, but I'll let you know this afternoon."

"I had to wait here an hour for that?"

"You don't have to be here at all. Bishop says you can have the reports, so when they come in tomorrow we'll copy you on them. That's it."

Stan Watts appeared in the hall, the Buzz Cut with him, but not the other two guys. Stan said, "Harve. We're ready." The Buzz Cut was still staring at me like I owed him money and he was trying to figure a way to get it.

Krantz nodded at them. "Okay, Cole, that's it for today. You're out of here."

"If I can have the reports, can I take copies of Dersh's and Ward's interviews?"

Krantz looked around for Dolan. "Run off the copies for him."

"You want me to suck his dick, too?"

Krantz turned red. Embarrassed.

"She's something, Krantz."

"Get him the goddamned copies, then get him out of here." Krantz started away, then stopped and came back to me. "By the way, Cole. I'm not surprised you're here by yourself. I knew Pike didn't have the balls to come down here."

"You didn't look so tough up at the lake when he stood in your face."

Krantz stepped closer. "You guys are in on a pass. Remember that. This is still my shop, and I'm still the man. Remember that, too."

"Why'd Pike call you Pants?"

When I said it, Krantz flushed hard, then stalked away. I glanced over at Dolan. She was smiling, but when she saw that I was looking at her, the smile fell away. She said, "Hang on and I'll make those copies."

"I can make'm. Just show me where."

"You have to enter a code. They don't want us running off union flyers or screenplays."

Cops.

A few minutes later Dolan gave me copies of the two interviews.

"Thanks, Dolan. I guess that's it."

"I've got to walk you out."

"Fine."

She brought me out to the elevators, pushed the button, and stared at the doors while we waited.

I said, "I gotcha, didn't I?"

She looked at me.

"There at the end, with Krantz. I made you smile."

The elevator doors opened. I got in.

"See you tomorrow, Dolan."

She answered as the doors closed.

"Not if I see you first."

In the Matter of Officer Joe Pike

Detective-Three Mike McConnell of the Internal Affairs Group was certain that he'd gotten a bad clam. He d had lunch at the Police Academy 's cafe some two hours ago where the special of the day was New England clam chowder, and ever since he could feel it rumbling through his intestines like the LAPD's battering ram. He'd been terrified that the Unmentionable would occur crossing the always crowded lobby here in Parker Center, where the Internal Affairs Group had their offices, or, worse still, riding up that damned elevator which had been jammed with the entire LAPD top command, not to mention most of the goddamned mayor's staff.

But so far so good, and Mike McConnell, at fifty-four years of age and two years away from a thirty-year retirement, had made it to his office for the case file, and now to the interview room, where, as senior administrative LAG officer, he could hurry that officious prick Harvey Krantz through the interview before he crapped his Jockeys.