I said, "Dolan got him. You just came along for the ride."

Krantz started to say something, then thought better of it, and went to the door. He spoke to Stan Watts. Outside, a siren approached.

Leonard DeVille's original case file was spread across the kitchen counter, along with yellowed clippings about Wozniak's death, the lead detective's witness complainant list, and notes and addresses on all six victims. Karen Garcia's address was there. Her habit of running at Lake Hollywood, and notes on her route were there, as were similar notes on Semple, Lorenzo, and the others. It was creepy; like getting a glimpse inside a cold and evil mind that was planning murder. He had watched some of these people and charted their lives for months.

Krantz said, "I've got to hand it to you, Cole. You and Dolan made a right call. That was good work."

"See if there's anything about Dersh."

Krantz's jaw jutted, but he didn't say anything. Maybe, just then, he thought it was possible.

We were still shuffling through Sobek's planning notes when we came to my listing in the yellow pages, and a DMV printout showing my home address and phone numbers. Dolan's home address was listed, also.

Bruly whistled. "He has you, dude. I don't know how, but he knew you and Dolan were on him."

Krantz fingered through the papers. "He was all over Parker Center every day. He could've heard anything. He could've asked damn near anyone anything, and no one would've thought anything of it."

The way Krantz said it made me think that he and Sobek had had more than one conversation.

Bruly spread more loose pages, exposing a snapshot that was so wrong to this place and moment that I almost didn't recognize it. A snapshot of three boys talking to a teenaged girl holding a tennis racket. The girl's back was to the camera, but I could see the boys. The boy on the right was Ben Chenier. Two other snapshots of Ben were mixed with the papers, all three taken from a distance at his tennis camp in Verdugo. Lucy's apartment address was scratched on a corner of the DMV printout.

Krantz saw the pictures, or maybe he saw the expression on my face. "Who's this boy?"

"My girlfriend's son. He's away at this tennis camp. Krantz, this address is my girlfriend's apartment, this one's my home. That's the television station where Lucy works."

Krantz cut me off to yell outside for Watts. Somewhere out on the street, the siren died, but more were coming.

"Stan, we've got a problem here. It looks like Sobek was going to shut down Cole. He might be on the girlfriend, or the girlfriend's son, or on Cole's home."

Something sharp and sour blossomed in the center of me, and spread through my arms and legs and across my skin. I felt myself shaking.

Watts looked through the papers and photographs as Krantz spoke, and turned away with his cell phone before Krantz finished. Watts read out the addresses into the phone, requesting patrol officers be dispatched code three. Code three meant fast. Sirens and lights. Watts cupped the phone to glance back at me. "We got the camp's name?"

I told him. I was shaking when I borrowed Bruly's phone to call Lucy.

When Lucy came on, she was hesitant and contained, but I cut through that, telling her where I was, and that officers were on their way to her, and why.

Krantz said, "Cole, do you need me to speak with her?"

When I told her that Laurence Sobek had snapped Ben's picture, her voice came back higher and strained.

"This man was watching Ben?"

"Yes. He took photographs. The police are on their way to the camp now. They've dispatched the Highway Patrol."

Krantz said, "Tell her we have officers on the way to her, too, Cole. She'll be safe."

Lucy said, "I'm going to Ben. I'm going to get him right now."

"I know. I'll come get you."

"There's no way I could wait. I'm leaving now."

"Luce, I'll meet you there."

"He's got to be safe, Elvis."

"We'll keep him safe. Stan Watts is talking to the camp, now."

When I said it, Watts looked over and gave me a thumbs-up.

I said, "Ben's okay, Luce. The camp people have him. He's with them right now, and we're on the way."

She hung up without another word.

I tossed the phone back to Bruly on my way out the door, trying to ignore the tinge of accusation I'd heard in her voice.

The Verdugo Tennis Camp was a good hour east of L.A. in the rural foothills of the Verdugo Mountains. Krantz used a bubble flasher, and knocked a hundred most of the way. He left Watts to co-ordinate the surveillance of my home and Lucy's apartment, and spent much of the drive on his cell phone talking to Bishop. Sobek's landlady provided a license number, and both the LAPD Traffic Division and the Highway Patrol were alerted. The make and model of Sobek's Jeep were identical to those of Pike's.

Williams sat ahead of me in the front seat, crying and muttering. "A fuckin' shotgun. He about cut her in half with that goddamned thing. Motherfucker. I'm gonna cap that sonofabitch. I swear to Christ I'm gonna cap his ass."

I said, "We're taking this guy alive, Williams."

"No one asked you, goddamnit."

"Krantz, we're taking this guy alive. If he's alive, he'll cop to Dersh."

Krantz patted Williams's leg. "Worry about yourself, Cole. My people can handle themselves, and we're bringing this asshole to trial. Right, Jerome?"

Jerome Williams stared out the window, jaw flexing.

"We're bringing this man to trial, right, Jerome?"

Williams twisted around so he could see me. "I ain't forgot what you said. When this is over, I'm gonna show you just how goddamned black I am."

The sheriffs were already there when we arrived, four radio cars parked on the camp's dirt-and-gravel lot. The camp administrators were talking nervously with the sheriffs, as, behind them, horses snuffled in their stables. Ben had been right: It smelled of horse poop.

Krantz hoped to spot Sobek and capture him, so he had the sheriffs park their vehicles inside the camp's barn, then spoke with the senior sheriff about setting up surveillance positions. We did all this in the camp's dining hall, a screen-walled building with unfinished wood floors. The kids were being held together in the boy's dormitory.

Other parents arrived before Lucy, collecting their children and leaving as quickly as possible. Krantz was pissed that the camp administrator, a woman named Mrs. Willoman, had called the families, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. If the cops tell you that a multiple-homicide killer might be dropping around, there aren't many responsible alternatives.

Lucy arrived ten minutes later, her face strained when I went out to meet her. She took my hand, but didn't answer when I spoke to her, and didn't look at me. When I told her that we were in the dining hall, she walked so quickly that we broke into a trot.

Inside, she went directly to Mrs. Willoman, and said, "I want my baby."

A teenage camp counselor brought Ben from the bunk room. Ben looked excited, like this was a hell of a lot better than riding horses or even playing tennis.

Ben said, "This is cool. What's going on?"

Lucy hugged him so tightly that he squirmed, but then her face flashed with anger. "It isn't cool. Things like this aren't cool, and aren't normal."

I knew she was saying it for me.

Krantz asked Lucy to stay until we received word that her apartment had been secured. After, we would follow them home to make sure they arrived safely. Krantz offered to provide twenty-four-hour protection, and Lucy accepted. She stared at Ben, rubbing his back, and said that maybe they should go back to Louisiana until this was over. When I told her I thought that might be a good idea, she went over to the screen wall and looked out.