Silence.

Milo said, "Were he and Tara close?"

"No."

"You seem sure."

Koznikov rubbed her forehead.

"What, Olga?"

"Him," she said. "I told Tara, she agreed with me."

"You told her to stay away from Muhrmann."

"All the girls," said Koznikov. She pitched forward, bosoms intruding on the desk. "You are saying he's the one?"

Milo said, "We're saying he a.s.sociated with Tara after she retired. We'd like to speak to him but haven't been able to find him. Any ideas?"

"Did he do it?"

"We don't know, Olga."

"But it's possible."

"Anything's possible but no, he's not a suspect and I don't want you to act on that a.s.sumption."

"I don't act."

"I'm serious, Olga."

"Fool," she spat. "He is the actor."

"He wanted to act?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"He lied."

"So?"

"Lying is good practice for acting."

"What'd he lie about?"

"Goofing around, not working."

"Booze, dope, rock and roll."

"Loser," she said.

"How'd you find him?"

"One of my properties, we did construction. He was digging foundation. Big muscles. I thought maybe he'd be okay, because he's gay."

"Muhrmann's gay?"

"I thought," she said. "Taking care of the body like that, the yellow hair, very tan."

Milo smiled. "Only gay men do that."

"Gay men are the best," she said. "Take care of the girls, no problems."

"Muhrmann didn't take care of anything."

"b.u.m," she said. "Loser."

"Did he have a particular thing for Tara?"

"No. Fool."

"Not a smart guy."

"I'm talking about her her," said Koznikov.

"She was stupid for hanging with Muhrmann."

"You play, you pay." She rubbed her hands together. "Okay, I'm finished."

Hoisting herself out of her chair, she pointed to the door. No more than five feet tall. Thin, tight lips gave her the look of a venomous toad.

Milo said, "If you could direct us to any girls she worked with, that would be helpful."

"I don't know any girls, I don't know anything."

"You knew Tara was dead."

"I watch TV," she said. "Mostly Home and Garden network, sometimes Do It Yourself. Good-bye."

"Olga-"

"Good-bye. Please don't come back."

She flung the door open. William stood inches from the jamb, chewing gum energetically.

"Hey," he said.

Koznikov said, "Take them out."

Milo said, "If you think of anything else-"

"I am old, I do not think well."

William made a move toward Milo's elbow, thought better of it, and gave a small bow and stepped back. "After you, sirs."

Milo proceeded up the aisle but I was restrained by Koznikov's hand on my wrist. Hard grip, just short of inflicting pain.

Tiptoeing, she placed one arm around my waist, pushed her mouth an inch from my ear.

I tried to move away but she held fast. Put her mouth near my ear. Hot breath, then a whisper: "Thank you for helping Gretchen."

I peeled her arm off, walked away.

She laughed. "That's what I figured you'd say."

*illiam trailed us through the barn. When we hit daylight, Milo said, "We'll take it from here, friend."

William's stance widened.

"On the other hand, friend, let's see some I.D."

"May I ask for what reason, sir?"

"You may ask but you won't receive an answer. Show me some paper."

William chewed fast. "Of course." Out came a billfold. Gold dollar sign clamping a brick of cash.

Milo said, "Marcy William Dodd. Park La Brea Towers, huh? Nice."

"I like it, sir."

Milo pointed to the row of vehicles. "Which is yours?"

"The Hyundai."

"That your only drive?"

William stopped chewing. "You were expecting a stretch Escalade, sir? With a gangsta lean and a fur hat on the headrest?"

"Why would I expect that?"

"You know how it is, sir."

"Did you know Tara Sly?"

"No, sir. Before my time."

"When did your time start?"

"Obviously after this person you're asking about left Madame's employment." Teeth flashed like strobes. "You know what, sir, I'm not feeling these questions and the law says I don't have to answer them. You take care, now."

He strode back to the barn.

By the time I started the Seville, Milo had run his name, found nothing beyond the address.

"Cleanest bunch of felons I've ever met."

"They sell furniture," I said.

"And I'm an Olympic ice-skater. Okay, let's get out of here."

As I turned onto La Cienega, he said, "What'd she whisper in your ear?"

"Sweet nothings."

"Seriously."

"She really likes my chest hair."

"The old charm never fails. You give her your number?"

"Oh, sure," I said. "Dinner and a movie."

"Be a new experience for you," he said.

"Cheating on Robin with an elderly psychopath? Gee, that's enticing."

"Personal sacrifice in service of the department."

"Unlike Muhrmann, I've got limits."

"Mr. Bad Behavior," he said. "And he goes way back with Tara-Tiara. Yeah, it firms him up as my prime."

He pulled out his pad and pen. "Time to fill in the time line before she snared Mark Suss. She splits from Santa Fe after her third arrest, which would be no longer than nine, ten years ago. Travels around, heads west. Maybe she even landed in those places she told Olga. A couple of years later, she's in L.A., probably low and grubby because she gets nabbed off the bus, works the street. A year later she signs up with Olga, becomes a high-priced spread, lasts three then she retires at the ripe old age of twenty-six. After meeting Muhrmann and maintaining some sort of relationship. Am I missing anything?"

"I find it interesting that she stopped paying her rent right around the time her mother died."

"What, traumatized into fiscal irresponsibility?"

"Maybe that motivated a life change."