"Anything to suggest foul play?" Dixon asked.

"No."

"He couldn't have gone somewhere with a friend?"

"He doesn't have friends."

"He goes for a walk in the hills every morning," Vince said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Something could have happened to him on a trail."

"It's pouring rain," Dixon pointed out.

"Every day, no exceptions. He's an obsessive-compulsive creature of habit," Vince said, stirring a mega-dose of cream into his drink. "The fact that he isn't where he's supposed to be is a major red flag."

"Do you think he could have Gina Kemmer stashed somewhere?" Dixon asked.

"That seems unlikely to me," he said, taking a seat across the table from the sheriff. "He had a close connection to Marissa. There's a possibility he could have snapped and killed her while in a dissociative state. If Gina had been there at the scene, he might have gone after her in a continuation of the same episode, but he wouldn't have gone after her later. I would make book on that.

"If Zander Zahn is a killer, the murder was spontaneous and situational," he said, "and there'd be a better than even chance he doesn't remember the crime at all. He wouldn't consciously go looking to commit another murder."

"I'm not sure then what it is we're supposed to do, Vince."

"I'm concerned for Zahn's mental state. He went over the edge yesterday. Now he's missing. I don't know that he wouldn't hurt himself."

"And you feel responsible for that."

"Yeah, I do," he confessed.

Dixon nodded. "If there's a chance he's lost in the hills out there, then we send out the Search and Rescue team."

"Do you still have the chopper up looking for Gina Kemmer's car?" Mendez asked.

"They'll go back up when the weather subsides. The radar shows there should be a break around noon."

"Is that thing equipped with a thermographic camera?" Vince asked.

Mendez had read about thermographic technology. The military already had it. Thermal-imaging cameras could read the infrared radiation emitted by all objects, making warmer objects-such as humans-stand out against cooler backgrounds-like the ground. For law enforcement it would mean being able to locate a human on the ground in circ.u.mstances where the person may not be visible to the naked eye-at night for instance.

Dixon barked a laugh. "Are you high? You spent too many years working for the federal government."

"I'll take that as a no."

"That would eat a big chunk out of my budget for a year!" Dixon said. "I'm excited we're getting a fax machine. I've got a Search and Rescue team with a German shepherd. That's the best I can do."

Vince held up his hands in surrender. "I get it."

The sheriff took a swig of his coffee. "What's going on with our littlest witness?"

"The memories are there," Vince said. "She's having nightmares. But she hasn't named a name. She talks about the bad monster and Bad Daddy. Bad Daddy was chasing Mommy. Bad Daddy hurt Mommy. The trouble is she asks every man she sees if he's the daddy. Because she doesn't have a father in her life, she's preoccupied with the idea."

"What if we put together a photo array of the men her mother dated?" Mendez suggested. "Maybe she'll react to one of them."

Dixon nodded. "It's definitely worth a try."

"I agree," Vince said.

"We'll start taking Polaroids of these guys," Mendez said, tossing his coffee cup in the trash.

Hamilton stuck his head in the door, looking to Dixon. "Bruce Bordain is here."

"I'll see him in my office." Dixon stood up. "Tony, you come with me."

"I get to be there when he tells you to fire me?"

"Why should I have all the fun alone?"

"Tony," Vince said, going for a refill on the coffee. "Did you find photographs at Gina Kemmer's house?"

"Yeah. They're in a box in the war room."

"Great. Thanks."

"Do you know Bordain?" Mendez asked Dixon as they went down the hall.

"I've met him. He's a good guy, a bit of a hustler. Don't play golf with him, you'll lose your shirt."

They went into Dixon's office and the sheriff stuck his hand out to a very tan, very handsome, smallish man with thinning dark hair slicked straight back a la Pat Riley, the LA Lakers coach. Bruce Bordain, the parking lot king of California.

"Bruce, thanks for coming in."

Mendez had expected Bruce Bordain to be a man as big as his fortune. But what he lacked in physical size, he made up for in magnetism. It beamed from him like an aura.

"Cal," he said, flashing a big white smile. "How's that slice?"

"Bad as ever. I'm taking up miniature golf. I don't lose so many b.a.l.l.s," Dixon said, sitting back against the edge of his desk. "Bruce, this is my lead detective, Tony Mendez."

"Tony." Bordain gave his hand a firm shake. "How about you? Does the boss here drag you out on the course?"

"Not me," Mendez said, shaking his head.

"He can't play badly enough to lose to me," Dixon joked. "Tony's on our softball team. h.e.l.l of a shortstop. Have a seat."

Bordain took one of the chairs in front of the desk. Mendez took the other. They settled in like they were just three guys talking sports and shooting the s.h.i.t. It was hard to imagine a man as loose and affable as Bruce Bordain being married to a woman as b.u.t.toned up and stuffy as Milo Bordain.

"How is Mrs. Bordain this morning?" Dixon asked.

"Stiff, sore, out of sorts," Bordain said. "She's pretty shaken up about what happened last night."

"Rightly so," Dixon said. "Good thing she was driving that German tank."

"She thinks you don't believe her about someone trying to run her off the road."

"It's not that," Dixon said. "I explained to her last night that without more information about the other car, there really isn't anything we can do."

"If the other car had made contact with her car, we'd at least have paint transfer, and we could be looking for a car with matching damage," Mendez said. "I went back out to the accident site this morning. We don't even have skid marks from a second car."

"Could be she just p.i.s.sed off the other driver when she hit her brakes," Dixon said, "and he swerved at her to scare her."

"Well, it worked," Bordain said. "It takes a lot to rattle my wife, but she hardly slept last night. First that business with the box-and, Jesus, why would anyone do something like that?-now this accident."

"You don't have any reason to think someone would try to kill her, do you, Mr. Bordain?" Mendez asked.

"I can't imagine why anyone would want to do that. I mean, Milo can rub people the wrong way, but she's got a good heart and she's certainly not involved in anything dangerous. She's pa.s.sionate about her causes, but none of her causes are controversial."

"What about you?" Dixon asked. "Has anybody threatened you for any reason? Do you have any development projects going on that someone might be against?"

"I've got a big project going in Vegas," Bordain said. "But believe me, I've greased all the right palms. Besides, it's a parking structure. n.o.body is against more parking s.p.a.ces. It's not like I put up nuclear power plants."

"And how are things between you and Milo?" Dixon asked.

Bordain raised his eyebrows. "Fine. You don't think I would try to have her killed, do you?"

"No. I was thinking more along the lines of her trying to get attention from you."

"Oh. No." He shook his head. "Are you married, Cal?"

"Divorced."

"Tony?"

"No, sir."

"Milo and I have been married thirty-seven years," Bordain said. "After that many years a good marriage is like a business partnership. We each have our strong suits, we each bring something to the partnership, and we don't get in each other's way. We're way past romance. We're old friends. We've got our system down and it runs like a well-oiled machine."

"And your wife feels the same way?" Mendez asked.

"Milo has everything she wants. She's very good at being Mrs. Bruce Bordain. She makes it a full-time job. She doesn't want me underfoot every day."

"I'm going to have to be a little indelicate here, Bruce," Dixon said. "Is there another woman in your life who might want to see Milo go away?"

Bordain didn't even blink at the suggestion that he cheated on his wife. "No. I've learned to make sure that doesn't happen. Pay now, not later. There are no angry women in my life."

"Your wife supported Marissa Fordham in a very substantial way," Mendez said. "Do you know of anyone who might have objected to that?"

"I imagine there are artists Milo doesn't support who weren't happy about that, but I don't know any."

"Did you have any objection?" Dixon asked. "Sixty grand a year and a place to live. That's a lot."

"Cal, I have more money than I could ever spend," Bordain said with the big grin. "What do I care if Milo wants to buy herself an artist? Believe me, she spends more money than that on clothes every year."

"What about your son?" Mendez asked, thinking of Vince's theory that Darren Bordain may have resented his mother's relationship with Marissa Fordham. "How did he feel about that relationship? Your wife made mention Marissa was the daughter she never had."

"Why would Darren care about that? He had to be glad for the distraction on Milo's part. The more time she spent with Marissa, the less time she spent smothering him."

"How well did you know Marissa?" Mendez asked.

Bordain shrugged. "Well enough to have a conversation with her. It's G.o.d-awful what happened. Do you have any idea who did it? Do we have another Peter Crane running around?"

"We don't think so," Dixon said.

"And the little girl? Has she said anything? Milo said you think she may have seen the killer. Has she named anyone?"

"Not yet," Mendez said. "The woman taking care of her has training in child psychology. She'll try to draw the memories out."

"She's what? Four years old?" Bordain said. "How reliable can she be? She could say anything. She could name someone just to make an adult happy that she answered the question."

"Anne knows what she's doing," Dixon said. "She'll be very careful in how she goes about it. And of course no one would be convicted on the testimony of a child alone. There has to be evidence to back it up."

"And then what will happen to her?"

"We're trying to find relatives," Mendez said.

"Milo has it in her head she should have the kid. She's fretting about it constantly."

"It's best that the girl is where she is right now," Dixon said.

"Do you think you could arrange a visit, Cal?" Bordain asked. "Milo is beside herself with everything that's happened. It would cheer her up to see the girl. She's the closest thing to a grandchild Milo is going to have any time soon. Darren is still happily playing the field."

"I'll see what I can do," Dixon said, noncommittal.

"It would mean a lot," Bordain said, getting up. "It could be worth, say, some new piece of equipment the sheriff's office needs."

He smiled again like the Cheshire Cat.

"I'll give that some thought," Dixon said.

"Let me know."

He reached out and shook Dixon's hand again, then turned to Mendez.

"Detective Mendez. Think about that golf game. I have a standing tee time at the Oaks country club. You should come."

"At the Oaks," Mendez said as Bordain disappeared down the hall. "I should come as what? His caddy?"

"I'm sure he pays well," Dixon said.

"He just offered you a bribe."

"Yes, he did."