"He was okay," she said. "Polite, didn't say much."

I said, "He kept out of your way and you were busy so that was perfect."

"Yes. You're not saying he's the one who...oh, G.o.d!"

Milo said, "What we're saying is we've got a dead girl on our hands and ol' Stefan was seen in her proximity the night she died. That makes him what we call a person of interest."

Her head dropped again. "This is a s.h.i.t-filled nightmare."

"For Tara Sly it was a nightmare, for you it's an inconvenience, Suki."

She looked up, dark eyes blazing. "You don't get what I'm saying saying. Any of this gets out and we're complete and utter toast and it couldn't come at a worse time."

"Business is tough?"

"Just the opposite, business rocks rocks. We've been fielding some serious buyout offers that could be huge, so please, please, please, don't go public with any of this. Please. Please."

Milo said, "We'll do our best, Suki. If you've told us everything you know."

"I have! I swear to G.o.d!"

"Let's go back to something Brian claimed: You don't collect personal data on Sweeties once the initial criminal check comes back clean."

Moment's hesitation. "Basically...okay, we keep addresses and phone numbers, no reason not to. I'll give you Mystery's. Will that work for you?"

"Excellent, Suki. You'll also give us her real name."

"I would but I don't know it."

"Come on-"

"It's true, I'm being totally honest with you now, I want want to be honest, there's no reason to hold back." to be honest, there's no reason to hold back."

"You do a criminal check but don't probe for real names."

"We go by what they tell us," she said. "We're not the FBI, we shouldn't be expected to have...what do you call them-dossiers."

He stared at her.

"I swear."

"All right, Suki. Let's have her address and phone number."

"Okay, okay, okay." Click click click. "Oh, G.o.d."

"What?"

"Blank s.p.a.ce," she said. "It's been deleted."

"By who?"

"No way to tell."

"When?"

"Can't tell you that, either."

"Looks like your database is far from incorruptible. Better fix all that before the buyout offers are finalized."

She shot us a crooked smile. "I'm going to be sick." Announcing calmly as if introducing her next piece at a piano recital.

By the time she reached the door she was retching.

The bathroom she ran to was close enough for us to hear.

Truth in advertising.

*uki Agajanian returned from the lav pasty-faced and hunched, limp hair tied in an unruly knot.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," she said, as if we'd expressed concern.

Milo said, "Now what else are you going to tell us?"

"I swear there's nothing, guys. It's not like I actually met her. Or him. To us they're just names."

We waited her out.

She said, "I swear."

"One more question: Did anyone else named Suss log onto your site?"

She hesitated, threw up her hands, typed. "Negative."

"What about Longellos?" He spelled it.

"Negative."

"Okay, Suki, we're leaving now but if we find out you held back on anything-"

"I haven't," she said. "That would be poor judgment and I'm known for good judgment. We're going to b.u.t.ton things down even tighter from now on, but no one ever accused any of us of being stupid."

"Let's hear it for the Agajanian kids," he said.

"We're achievers. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Now, I really need to get to those emails."

We left her at her desk, texting with one hand, typing with the other. But before we reached the door to the hallway, she was running toward us, barefoot. "Could I ask you one thing-you don't have to answer but I really need to ask. How'd you actually connect us with her? Tara. Whatever her real name is."

"Just what we told you," said Milo. "Anonymous tip."

Ashen innocence gave way to a crafty smile. "C'mon, guys, really."

"Really."

"That doesn't make sense. Who'd want to screw us like that? That's totally sneaky and low."

Milo said, "Anonymous tips are our bread and b.u.t.ter."

"That's so sad."

"What is?"

"People messing with each other."

He winked at her. "We love our job anyway."

As we walked to the elevator, he said, "Truth is, I've been wondering about the tip myself, trying to figure out who else knew about any of this. With all the trouble Muhrmann and Tara and probably Connie Longellos took to cover their tracks, you'd think they wouldn't confide in anyone else."

I kept my voice even. "You'd think."

In the car, he said, "Rich family, it's all gonna boil down to mow-ney."

I said, "How about this for a soap opera: Suss fell quickly into l.u.s.t, started out paying Tara a monthly allowance, no big deal for someone with his net worth. Then he became emotionally involved and upped the stipend. With Stevie and Connie and Tara splitting the proceeds, that kind of progress was in everyone's interest. But the goose keeled over unexpectedly, the income stream dribbled out, and not only did Tara refuse to hook up with another Daddy, she wanted a lump-sum payment to finance her retirement, threatened Connie she'd tell the rest of the family about the scheme. That would mean more than lost income to Connie. It would spell disaster."

"Swimming with the sharks," he said. "Stupid delusional kid. But who was she waiting for that night at the Fauborg?"

"Maybe Connie."

"You said she looked like she was out on a date."

"Yes, I did."

The elevator arrived. Empty. Once we were inside, he searched for cameras, found nothing but didn't speak.

When we were back in the parking lot, he said, "Connie's relationship with Tara was more than business?"

I smiled. "It happens."

"A threesome," he said. "Tara, Connie, and Steve-o, s.e.x and money all meshed up together. Oh, man, that's more than a soap opera. More like a reality show."

"American Idolatry?"

We both laughed.

I said, "One more thing: Tara's ambitions could've been fueled by promises Suss made to her, as in permanent relationship."

"Leaving his wife for his bimbo?"

"Whether or not he meant it, it wouldn't have seemed outlandish. Check out the society photos in any Westside throwaway. Geezers with arm candy."

"Then he dies and she's nothing but an ex-chippie. Yeah, that could motivate some serious foolishness."

"In order to keep her believing, he bought her some bling."

"The watch."

"Jewelry would be attractive to Tara, because it's relatively liquid and she could sell it privately without paying taxes. She wore the watch in front of Muhrmann but what if Suss gave her a lot of other baubles that she kept from him and Connie? If they'd found out, there's yet another motive to punish her."

"So the date at the Fauborg was a setup from their perspective. But what was Tara expecting?"

"A night of fun."

In the car, he said, "They plan to kill her, why go public at a hotel and risk being seen?"

"Muhrmann never went inside, it's only a fluke that we noticed him. Neil the waiter told us no one appeared during his shift, so maybe Connie never showed and Tara left and met up with Muhrmann. He told her there'd been a change in plans, Connie had rented a party pad in the Palisades. They drove to a predetermined spot where Connie was waiting and the two of them finished her off with a .45 and a shotgun. They went for overkill because Tara's extortion had made it personal. Obscuring her face had the added bonus of making it tough to identify her. And it worked. We still don't know who she really is."

"Rub it in...okay, let's do some drive-bys, see where these people bunk down."

We took Laurel Canyon into the Valley, picked up the 134 west to the White Oak exit, headed south and crossed Ventura Boulevard, and climbed into the hills of prime Encino.

Portico Place was a gracious stretch of big houses shielded by healthy shrubbery and high gates. Phil and Connie Suss's address matched one of the grandest constructions: two towering stories of hand-troweled, tile-roofed, ocher-stucco Tuscan Revival set off by meticulously shaped date palms and brandy-colored bougainvillea and preceded by a cobbled motor court. Filigree double gates revealed a white BMW 3 series and a bronze Lexus convertible.

Milo said, "Mama and Brother Frank go for 90210 but Phil and Connie sure ain't slumming. Pretty good for a guy with no obvious income."

He eased a soft whistle through his front teeth. "Nothing like the lucky sperm club."

We watched nothing happen for nearly an hour before returning to the city.

Drs. Frank and Isabel Suss resided in 90210 but their house on the 500 block of North Camden Drive would've fit any middle-cla.s.s suburb.

The one-story ranch was painted pinkish beige. A skimpy front yard was mostly concrete. An older Honda sat in front.

"Two doctors," he said. "They're probably gonna be at work."

During the twenty minutes we sat there, the only action was a neighbor's uniformed maid walking a mouse-sized Chihuahua.

He said, "Kinda downscale for two skin docs, no? I thought Botox brought in the bucks."

"Maybe they don't care about the material world."

"Numbing faces for fun? The way things are going, I'll believe anything."

From the look of her real estate, Leona Suss cared plenty for the material world.