That monster, Cole.

Frederick lurched up from behind the trees and hurried back to his truck, desperate to get away before the officer reappeared, and before her assassins trapped him.

I turned on the television to put noise in the house, then returned to the deck, wondering why I hadn't been able to tell Lucy about George Reinnike. The hillsides were sprinkled with their inevitable lights, following the canyon like a twinkling river to the city. High over the lights, a flashing red crucifix climbed toward the east; a jet out of LAX with red strobes on its wingtips and tail. They take off toward the sea, but turn across the city for a final good-bye. Lucy would fly that route tomorrow.

I went inside, made a cup of instant coffee, and stood in the living room. The television showed a news promo during a commercial. The Red Light Assassin had added another victim to the traffic signal body count. As part of the promo they showed a traffic camera's view of cars blowing through an intersection. I wondered if the Home Away Suites had a security camera in the parking lot. Gas stations, convenience stores, and supermarkets had cameras watching their parking lots, so maybe the Home Away Suites did, too, and Reinnike's car had been captured on tape. If their tape showed Reinnike's car, it might show his license plate.

I brushed my tooth to cover the gin, locked the house, and drove back to the Home Away Suites. It was better than brooding about Lucy.

Traffic was light, and Toluca Lake was quiet when I reached the motel. The parking lot was well lit, but not so bright that it would disturb the residents in the surrounding apartments. I got out of my car, but didn't go inside right away. I walked between the cars, looking for surveillance cameras on light poles and outside the motel, but I didn't find anything. Maybe they were hidden.

I went inside to the front desk and identified myself. The night clerk was a middle-aged woman who grew irritated when she learned what I wanted, and why.

She said, "I don't know anything about that business. They brought me down from Bakersfield because of all this."

The regular night manager had been relieved when the corporate office learned that prostitutes had visited the motel. She resented coming down from Bakersfield, and didn't think it fair that the regular manager had been fired.

"I want to ask about the parking lot. Do security cameras cover the parking?"

She pointed to the corner of the ceiling where a small camera hung from a metal bracket.

"We only have the camera inside. The police already asked for the tape, but it wasn't working. Now the home office is flying in and more people are going to lose their jobs. All for nothing, if you ask me. They buy these cheap things, then blame the managers when nothing works."

"The police were here about the cameras? Do you remember which officer?"

"I wasn't here. That was the day manager."

"All right. I'm going to walk around the building and the parking lot for a few minutes. I just wanted you to know what I'm doing."

"We'll have to put armed guards in our motels now, everyone's making such a big deal. You would think that poor man was murdered right here in the lobby. It's absurd."

I left before she could go on.

The Home Away Suites did not have outside security cameras, but the surrounding apartment houses and businesses might. Thomas said Reinnike had been parked in a spot directly across from the motel entrance, which was on the north side of the motel. I walked to the street, then looked back at the parking lot. A Mobil station was directly across the street to the south on the southeast corner, and a strip mall featuring a liquor store sat kitty-cornered across the intersection on the southwest corner. Both the Mobil station and the liquor store would have security cameras, but the angles wouldn't show the Home Away parking lot.

A 24/7 convenience store sat directly across Cahuenga Boulevard from the motel. The 24/7 would have cameras, too, and the angle might be better.

I trotted across Cahuenga. Two cars were tanking up at the pump island out front, with a heavy bass line booming from a little Toyota.

Inside, I joined three people in line at the counter. The clerk was a young guy with a neatly trimmed beard wearing a faded Mall Rats T-shirt. He checked out each customer mechanically and without interest. How are you today?… That will be six dollars and forty-two cents… Have a good evening. He had an unobstructed view of the Home Away parking lot. A security camera hung from the ceiling behind the counter, with a second camera at the back of the store. They almost certainly had cameras outside the store.

When it was my turn, the clerk said, "How are you today?"

"I'm investigating the murder of a man who was staying across the street. I have a couple questions for you."

"Wow. That's not something I hear every day."

I asked if their exterior security cameras showed the Home Away's parking lot.

"Sorry, dude, the cameras don't point that way. If you lean over here you can see what I mean."

He realized I wouldn't be able to see much by leaning, so he told me to come around behind the counter. A security monitor was set up on a shelf beneath the cash register. It showed grainy black-and-white views of us, the aisles, and the outside area between the gas pumps and the front door. The clerk pointed at the monitor.

"You see? The outside camera doesn't show the street. You can't see the motel."

We couldn't see the motel, but we clearly saw the cars at the pumps. Reinnike might have bought gas here, and his tag number might show on their tape.

"How long do you hold the recordings?"

"Twenty-four hours. It's not tape anymore-it's digital. The pictures stream to a hard drive, but the memory buffers out at twenty-four hours unless we put in a save."

"And you only put in a save if something happens?"

"Yeah, like if the store is robbed or an alarm goes off or whatever."

Reinnike had been murdered more than seventy-two hours ago. Twenty-four hours wasn't enough.

He folded his arms and looked at me curiously.

"I saw police cars over there last night. Was that what it was about?"

"One of their guests was murdered three nights ago."

"Right in the motel?"

"He was murdered downtown, but he was staying there."

I showed him the morgue shot. He studied the picture, then shook his head.

"They all kinda blend together. I couldn't tell you what my last three customers looked like."

"He was driving a brown Honda Accord with a bad dent at the left rear wheel. Maybe he bought gas."

"Sorry, dude. If their credit card clears, I don't even bother to look."

"He would have paid cash."

"A lot of people pay cash. I don't remember."

A construction worker grimed with white dust came in. He ordered two hot dogs, plain with nothing on them, and a large coffee with four sugars. I stood out of the way while the clerk took two hot dogs off the rotisserie and filled a large Styrofoam cup with coffee and sugar. The wall behind the counter was lined with a soft-drink dispenser, a coffee machine, a frozen-yogurt dispenser, and the rotisserie, but I didn't see an espresso machine. Nothing said "mocha."

When the construction guy left, I said, "Is there a coffee shop in walking distance?"

"Starbucks, up Riverside. It's ten or twelve blocks, though. We got coffee. What do you need?"

"It's not for me. A witness at the motel told me he crossed the street for a mocha. I was wondering where he got it."

"I get you. He could have come here. We got mocha, vanilla, and hazelnut-they're bullshit instant mixes, but we sell it. You know that stuff is mostly sand? You mix it with hot water."