"License and registration," Jenkins said.

"Can I ask what-?"

Jenkins turned, his boots crunching on pebbles as he headed back to the police car.

David sat quietly in his car, debating hitting REDIAL on his cell phone. But what would he say? He'd been pulled over for a routine ticket, no doubt. He decided to get UCPD on the line just in case Jenkins became violent, but as he reached for his phone, Jenkins reappeared.

"I'm giving you a fix-it ticket," Jenkins said. "You have a broken taillight."

"No I don't," David said. "I just had-"

"I don't think you want to harass a police officer. Do you, sir?" Jenkins ripped off the ticket and handed it over the glass.

David realized that Bronner was now waiting back in the car, and he grew even more tense.

Jenkins clicked on his flashlight and shined it into David's face from two feet away. David squinted into the light. "He knows right from wrong well enough to hide from the authorities," Jenkins said. "He's not compelled to commit these acts if he can plot and wait. This is a mind that is purposeful. This is a mind that is in control." Jenkins's shadow loomed amorphous and large behind the powerful beam. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a cold murmur. "This is a mind that you elected to defend." He clicked off the flashlight, and his eyes reflected back a glint from the dashboard lights.

David remembered his mother's hard-learned lesson from the young nephrologist who beat her-don't push a man on the edge-so he remained silent, but he readied himself to block a fist or flashlight butt coming at his temple. Instead, Jenkins pushed off the door frame. "You see about getting that taillight fixed," he said.

He headed back to the police car. As he passed the rear of the Mercedes, he swung the stock of the flashlight, smashing the taillight lens without breaking his stride.

Chapter 36

DAVID tossed his keys on the marble counter, closed the door to the garage behind him, let out an exasperated sigh, and hit the light switch. Nothing happened. He stepped forward into the living room, his hand scrabbling along the dark wall for another switch.

The voice came at him out of the darkness. "Don't bother."

David dropped his briefcase, the metal corner striking the hardwood floor, and he felt the flutter of papers settling around his feet. His eyes picked through the dark living room, coming to rest on the dark mass on the shadow of the leather chair.

"Why don't you sit down, Spier?" The voice was civilized and exceedingly calm. It wasn't Clyde, that much was certain. David wasn't sure whether he should be relieved by that, or more frightened.

"Do you want money?" David asked.

"Why don't you sit down?" the voice repeated. An arm rose from the formless shadow, indicating the couch across from the chair. David found himself obeying. He sat rigidly forward on the couch, trying to discern a face in the darkness. "It's come to my attention that you've been making… inquiries about me," the voice continued.

"Look, I don't know what- " David stopped. "Ed? Pinkerton?"

"That'll do."

David took a moment to gather his thoughts. "How's your wound? Is it healing?"

"Don't try to manipulate me," Ed said. "You're wondering: Am I going to hurt you? The answer: No."

"And why should I believe you?"

"You came looking for me, Spier. I didn't come looking for you." A moment of silence. "Why don't you have an alarm?"

"It's a safe neighborhood. Plus, we have Edison Armed Patrol."

"Yeah, they're doing a bang-up job."

"How's your kid?" David asked. "Your little boy?"

"Clever, Spier. We both know I told you I had a little girl. I always use the same lies. They're easier to keep track of." His affect was different from that he'd displayed in the ER. More shrewd.

"You used me," David said.

"I use a lot of people."

"But I went out on a limb for you. So you owe me."

"A phrase I wouldn't expect from you, Spier. What have you gotten yourself into? A dead hooker in the trunk of your Mercedes?"

"You've heard of the Westwood Acid Thrower? He came in and-"

"So now you feel responsible," Ed interrupted.

Coverage of the case must have been even more detailed than David thought. "Yes," David admitted. "I do. This guy's out there disfiguring women."

"You want revenge." Halfway between a statement and a question.

"No, no. God, no. I want him located and locked up."

"Why do you think I can help you?" Ed's questions came out of the darkness at him, one after another, baseballs from a pitching machine. David was struggling to keep up, to pull concise answers from the muddle of his emotions and motives.

"You'd said you were on parole, and that book you were reading.. . you seemed accustomed to dealing with things outside the law. I don't know many people like that."

"Why don't you trust the police?"

"The first victim is a cop's sister. They're out to eviscerate the guy."

"And you don't think he needs eviscerating?"