Pike walked past him and through the gate.

Poitras grunted. "Same old talkative Pike."

We followed a narrow, winding trail through the trees. The leaf canopy above us rustled from the wind, but down on the floor the air was still. Ash from the fires to the north filtered through the canopy, floating in the still air. Poitras swatted at it as if the ash was insects he could drive away.

I said, "What about the cause of death?"

"Coroner investigator just went down."

"We saw him. What's your take?"

Poitras tipped his head toward Pike, clearly uncomfortable, and slowed his pace to let Pike pull ahead. "Unofficial, it's one shot to the head. Looks like a.22, but it could've been a.25. She was popped up here on the trail, then fell down into a little ravine. No sign of assault or a sexual attack, but that's just my eyeball. They'll have to take smears back at the coroner's." Smears. Looking for semen.

"Any wits?"

"I've got people making a house-to-house up along the ridge trying to get names, but you know how it is."

The trail ran along a ledge about fifteen feet up from the water, sometimes in dense trees, sometimes not. When we reached a barrier of yellow crime scene tape, we followed a freshly broken path down to the lake, then traced the shoreline around a small finger. That's where we found the crime scene.

"The vic is right over here."

Pike took two steps up the slope and stopped.

Karen Garcia lay head down at the bottom of a narrow ravine, wild purple sage obscuring her body. Her right arm was twisted behind her, her left extended straight from her torso. Her left leg was bent at the knee, left foot under her right leg. What I could see of her face was discolored with lividity, and the ugly smell of decay gases hung at the water-line like a pall. Giant black bottle flies and yellow jackets swarmed around the body. The CI swatted at them with his clipboard, as a Hispanic detective said, "Fuckin' meat eaters."

If Pike felt anything I could not tell.

The CI, now wearing latex gloves, leaned over her to look at something that the Hispanic detective was pointing out. Her exposed hand had already been taped into a plastic bag to preserve evidence that might be under her fingernails. They would check later when she was at the morgue.

"Who discovered the body?"

"Couple of hikers. They found her down here, and called it in up at their car. You guys know Kurt Asana?"

The CI made a little wave. Asana.

Pike said, "How'd you get an ID so fast?"

"Doofs who found her. She had her driver's license in her shorts." Officers arriving on the scene wouldn't touch the body. No one was allowed to touch the victim before the coroner investigator had his shot. That way, when a suspect was brought to trial, the defense attorney couldn't argue that ham-handed cops had contaminated the evidence. If the hikers hadn't done their search, the police would still be wondering who she was until Asana emptied her pockets.

Poitras said, "Hey, Kurt. Can you give me a ballpark on the time?"

Asana tried to bend her shoulder joint, and found it stiff, but yielding. "Rigor's starting to let go. I'd say about twenty-four hours."

"She came up here to run between nine-thirty and ten in the morning."

"Well, I'm just guessing right now, but that fits. When I get the BT, I'll be able to calc it out pretty close."

Asana took a scalpel and a long metal thermometer from the box and moved back into the weeds. Pike and I both turned away. Asana would be going for a liver temperature. When he had the liver temp he would chart it against the outside air temperature and be able to tell how long the body had been cooling.

We were waiting for Asana to finish when three men in good-looking suits came around the finger like they owned the lake. Lou Poitras stepped forward to block the trail. "Can I help you?"

Behind me, Joe Pike said, "Krantz."

The one called Krantz held up a gold detective's shield about two inches from Poitras's nose. He was a tall, leathery man with a high forehead and lantern jaw. He looked like the kind of guy who liked to jut the jaw at people to show them he meant business. He jutted it now.

"Harvey Krantz, Robbery-Homicide. Detective Stan Watts. Detective Jerome Williams." Watts was an older white guy with beefy shoulders and a round head. Williams was black, and younger. "Are you Lieutenant Poitras?"

"That's right."

"Hollywood Division is off this case as of now. RHD is taking over." Robbery-Homicide Division is LAPD's elite homicide division. Based out of Parker Center downtown, they could and did handle high-profile homicides all over the city.

Poitras didn't move. "You're kidding."

This was probably the biggest case Poitras had on his table, and he wouldn't like giving it up.

"Pull your men off, Lieutenant. We have the scene." Krantz tucked his badge away and jutted his jaw some more. I made him for his mid-forties, but he could've been older.

"Just like that?"

"Like that."

Poitras opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then took a single step back and turned toward the crime scene. His face was as flat as an empty plate. "Two Gun. Chick. We're off."

The Hispanic detective with Asana looked over. "Say what?"

"We're off. Robbery-Homicide has the scene."

The Hispanic detective and another detective who'd been poking around in the weeds stepped away as Watts and Williams went over. Neither of the RHD guys seemed to mind the flies.

Krantz was moving past Poitras to join them when his eyes widened, and he said, "Joe Pike."

Pike said, "When did they start hiring chickenshits like you on Robbery-Homicide, Krantz?"

Krantz's face went bright red. He glared at Poitras and shouted so loud that Asana looked over. "Do you know who this man is? Why is he at this scene?"

Poitras looked bored. "I know who he is. The other guy is Elvis Cole. They're working for the vic's father."

"I don't give a rat's ass if they're working for Jesus Christ! They don't belong here, and your ass is gonna be in a sling for opening this crime scene to unauthorized personnel!"

A faint smile flickered on Poitras's lips. Poitras and Krantz were about the same height, but while Krantz was bony, Poitras weighed two hundred sixty pounds. I had once seen Lou Poitras lift the front end of a '68 Volkswagen Beetle and turn the car all the way around. He spoke quietly. "The watch commander ordered me to give them full access, Krantz. That's what I've done. The vic's father has juice with the City Council, and Pike here personally knew the vie."

Krantz wasn't listening. He stepped past Poitras and stormed up to Joe. Maybe he had a death wish.

"I can't believe that you have the balls to come to a crime scene, Pike. I can't believe you have the gall."

Joe said, "Step back." The voice soft again.

Krantz stepped right up into Pike's face then. Right on the edge of the cliff. "Or what, you sonofabitch? You going to shoot me, too?"

Poitras pushed Krantz back and stepped between them. "What's with you, Krantz? Get a grip on yourself."

Krantz's mouth split into a reptilian smile, and I wondered what was playing out here. He said, "I want this man questioned, Lieutenant. If Pike here knows the vic, maybe he knows how she got like this."

Pike said, "It won't happen, Pants."

Krantz's face went deep red, and an ugly web of veins pulsed hi his forehead.

I moved close to Pike. "Is there something happening here that I should know about?"

Pike shrugged. "Nothing much. I'm about to put Krantz down."

Krantz's face got darker. "You're going in, Pike. We'll talk to you at the Division."

Behind us, Poitras's Handie-Talkie made a popping sound. Poitras mumbled things that we couldn't hear, then held it toward Krantz. "It's Assistant Chief Mills."