The detective told one of the uniforms to see the woman, then edged forward, slipped out my wallet, and glanced at the license. He was more tense than he should've been, and I wondered why. Maybe he didn't like my shirt, either.

He brought my wallet to the phone, punched in a number without taking his eyes off me, then mumbled something I couldn't understand.

"We entered the apartment with a key the father provided and at his request. Would you lighten up?"

The uniform reappeared. "Hey, Holstein, they're cool. She says the father called her and told her to expect'm."

Holstein nodded, but the tension stayed.

"Can we put our hands down, or you like the view of our pits?"

"Sure, smart guy. Might as well relax. We're gonna be here awhile."

Pike and I dropped our hands. I guess Frank had raised so much hell that Hollywood Division had finally rolled out.

"I'm surprised you guys are on this. She's only been missing since yesterday."

Holstein painted me with empty cop eyes, then took a seat on the edge of Karen Garcia's desk.

"Not anymore. Karen Garcia's body was found up at Lake Hollywood about an hour ago."

I felt my breath catch. Joe Pike might've stiffened. He might've leaned forward just a hair, but if he did I could not tell.

I said, " Holstein? Are you sure?"

More voices filled the courtyard, speaking with the distinct cadence of police officers. Down below, Mrs. Acuna wailed.

I sat on Karen Garcia's leather couch and stared at the picture of her in the paper crown.

"Joe?"

He did not answer.

"Joe?"

April, three months prior to the Islander Palms Motel

Karen Garcia said, "I'm a freshman at UCLA. I study child development there, and work with the day care part-time." She was almost a foot shorter than Pike, and he had to remind himself to step back. He had been warned that he tended to stand too close to people, and it made them uncomfortable. He stepped away. She said to one of the little boys, "Daniel, stay with the others, please. I have to speak with this police officer."

Daniel blurped his tongue like an airplane engine and flew back to the group. LAPD patrol officer Joe Pike had already jotted in his notebook that there were eleven children, ages three through five, in the care of Ms. Garcia and her children's group co-teacher, a slim young man with round spectacles and curly hair named Joshua. Joshua appeared nervous, but Officer Pike had learned that people often tensed when dealing with the police. It usually meant nothing.

They were surrounded by children in MacArthur Park, south of Wilshire by the lake in LAPD's Rampart Division. The day was warm and the sky overhead almost white from the smog. Pike's navy-blue uniform soaked up the heat and made the sun seem hotter than it was. The park was filled with women pushing carriages or playing with their preschoolers on the swings and slides. Homeless men were asleep on the grass, and some younger guys who were probably harmless but out of work had drifted away when the radio car had turned into the parking lot, responding to a see-the-woman call regarding a possible child molester. The woman was Karen Garcia, who had phoned 911 with the complaint.

Pike said, "Do you see the man now?"

"No, not now." She pointed to the brick rest rooms at the edge of the parking lot. "He saw us watching him and went behind the rest rooms over there before you got here. I haven't seen him since. He had a camera with a long lens, and I'm sure he was taking pictures of the children. Not just mine, but other kids, too."

Pike took notes. If the suspect saw her go to the phone, he'd be long gone. Pike would look, but the man was gone.

"Joshua asked him what he was doing, and he walked away the first time, but he came back. That's when I called you."

Pike glanced at Joshua, who nodded.

Pike said, "Description?"

"Pardon me?"

"What did the man look like?"

Karen said. "Oh. He was shorter than you. How tall are you?"

"Six-one."

"A lot shorter. I'd say five-eight or nine, but very wide and heavy. Fat, but he didn't look fat, just fleshy, with stubby fingers."

Pike wrote. "Hair, eyes, clothes, distinguishing characteristics."

"Blond hair, but dyed. I mean, a real do-it-yourself job."

Joshua said, "Long and slicked back. Like, how many human beings still use Brylcreem? "Joshua grinned when he said it, maybe trying to feel out Pike's sense of humor or maybe just trying to dispel his own nervousness. He looked disappointed when Pike did not respond.

Ms. Garcia said, "He was wearing dark slacks and a white shirt with a kind of vest, a brown pattern of some kind, and he was carrying the camera." She waited for Joshua to chime in. "I didn't get close enough to see anything else."

Joshua said, "Zit scars."

Ms. Garcia stepped closer to Pike and touched his arm. "Are you going to find him?"

Pike closed the notebook, and stepped away from her. "We'll radio a dispatch to other cars in the area. If we spot him, we'll question him."

Ms. Garcia wasn't happy with that. "That's all?"

"No. we'll also beat him to death."

Joshua stared, uncertain, but Karen Garcia laughed, showing even white teeth and a strong laugh which Pike liked a very great deal. "To protect and to serve."

"Yes, ma'am."

Karen Garcia said, "You don't have to say ma'am, for God's sake."

The little boy with the blurping sound raced away again, and Joshua chased him.

Pike said, "we'll do what we can, but if you see him again, call right away." Pike handed her a card. "Tell them you spoke to car two-adam-six."

Ms. Garcia looked up at him with the dark brown eyes, as if she was trying to see through his sunglasses. Calm eyes that Pike also liked. "I thought I was speaking to a man, not a car."

Pike said, "Two-adam-six. You have a good day, ma'am."

Pike went back to two-adam-six, where his partner sat behind the wheel, idling with the air conditioning on. Pike slipped into the shotgun side, putting his nightstick in its holder. Woz didn't look at him, smoking a cigarillo as he watched a group of Honduran girls in halter tops. Gang bait. Pike said, "Suspected pedophile with a camera. Got a description."

His partner shrugged. "So fuckin' what."

"We're on it."

"Maybe you. "Hard, with an edge to it.

"You going to retire?"

Wozniak's jaw clenched. He shook his head once.

"Then we're going to work this."

Wozniak glared at Pike another moment, then sighed and seemed to relax. Accepting it. "The guy a weenie wagger?"

"Shutterbug."

Pike recited the description and related what Ms. Garcia had said. Halfway through, Wozniak waved him quiet. "Yeah, yeah, I know the guy. Lennie De Ville. Another fuckin' perv, be better off with a bullet in his head."

"Got a last-known?"

Wozniak was staring out the window again, watching the paddleboats on the lake. "Creep like this moves around, livin' in motels and weeklies and jumping the rent when he can." Wozniak drew deep on the cigarillo, then rolled down his window far enough to drop it outside. "I'll ask around." Wozniak looked past Pike, and scowled. "Now fuckin' what?" Pike turned, and saw Ms. Garcia walking toward them.

Karen Garcia watched the officer walk back to his car, unable to take her eyes off the way his ass worked beneath the tight uniform pants, and the way the heavy John Brown belt rode his trim waist. His arms were tanned and muscular without being bulky, his hair short and thick, his face lean and handsome.