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"That address you asked me to look into?" Induma said quietly. "It's a rental property, owned by an old Jewish broad in Encino. The last lease ended two months ago, Korean family. If someone new was renting it, they did it with cash."

So Charlie had spent less than two months there. He'd moved in to do whatever it was that had gotten him the money. Or to lie low with the bundles of hundreds.

"Given the single-digit vacancy rate in Culver City and the fact that the owner was busted for not reporting income in '05, I'd say it's likely she took cash under the table," Induma added. At my expression she blushed-a rarity-and shrugged. "It's not hard to check certain things if you know where to look. Or who to ask."

"Still. You're pretty good."

"No. Just Indian. We cultivate relationships all over the place and can scare a computer into behaving itself most of the time." She eyed shirtless Alejandro, now pleading with the TV. "Two of my three most useful skills." She smeared some mango pickle on a wedge of papadum, popped it into her mouth, rolled her eyes with ecstasy. "Now, the late Mike Milligan was part of a few separatist groups, real bad news. Ruby Ridge survivalist stuff, mountain men who hoard guns and thump The Turner Diaries. They got him on DNA for a murder in the eighties-left a hair on the body-but he sold out some other guys in his organization and got early parole. The unofficial word is that he was the terrorist killed at San Onofre, but the government is neither confirming nor denying publicly."

Certainly didn't sound like Charlie, but I had to ask. "Was he in the army? Vietnam?"

"He was."

"Which infantry?"

"I couldn't find that. Some Vietnam-era service records are still classified, and the rest are a mess. I'm way stronger on law-enforcement databases than military stuff."

I set down my fork on the Easter-blue plate. "You're sure this Mike Milligan was the guy, not just another bullshit part of the cover story?"

"Anything's possible, but this is pretty good intel. And there are enough documents and trails for him that I doubt it's someone they just invented. I guess a lot of these separatist types are former military. At least according to the assistant police chief."

"You went to the assistant police chief? LAPD?"

She shrugged. "When we installed my encrypted backup software at the crime lab, I was there every day for two months. I don't get speeding tickets either."

"You didn't mention me, right?"

"Oh-that's what you meant. Only by name and Social. Come on, laugh. All right, don't laugh. No, of course not. And don't worry. He has strong incentive to keep my confidence. Unless he can find someone better to call the next time his fingerprinting database decides to hang from hitting a thread-unsafe code section." Her not-so-poker face showed what she predicted the likelihood of that to be.

The doorbell rang, and I came up off the stool. "Are you expecting anyone?"

Her forehead textured. "No, but relax."

Alejandro flew by, slipping in his socks. "It's for me. It's for me." Some murmuring at the door, and then he returned with a Domino's pizza box.

I said, "You're not eating with us?"

"He doesn't like Indian food," Induma said.

Alejandro seemed upset at the prospect of having hurt her feelings, though I knew from her expression that he hadn't. "No, baby, I just in the mood for Italian, thassall."

"He thinks Domino's is Italian food," Induma said.

I hopped up and got the bottle of dessert wine from the accent table in the foyer. She snatched the bottle from my hand, glancing at the label, her face lighting up. "Olallieberry. Brilliant." She rose to her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek.

Smiling, she poured two glasses. Took a sip. Closed her smooth, beautiful eyelids as she savored the taste. We drank and looked at each other a bit. She opened her mouth to say something. Closed it. Then she said, "Why did you think you couldn't tell me about all this when we were together?"

I swirled the wine around, peering down into the glass as if it held great interest. Induma didn't say anything, but I could feel her gaze on me. I cleared my throat and said, softly, "Can you get him out of here?"

"Alejandro?" she called, not moving her stare from me.

"Yeah?"

"Give us a minute?"

"Okay, baby. I go to the gym." He came into the edge of my vision, kissed Induma, and then his footsteps padded away. The front door closed, cutting off his whistling.

She said, "Were you worried I'd think you were a murderer?"

I shook my head.

"Couldn't you trust me?"

The bareness of the question, the vulnerability in it, knifed right through whatever protective shell I thought I'd built up. "God, yes, I trusted you." A touch of hoarseness edged my voice. "But I was scared what might happen to you."

She returned my stare evenly. "So it was all for me, huh?" she said pointedly.

"Not all." I studied the counter. "I guess I wasn't used to what it was like to be… you know, close to someone. I never really learned that as an adult."