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looked back to the four lanes of cars at a dead stop. He should have left right after everything was done. It was unseemly to gloat like a drunken frat boy after a messy conquest. That was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. He shifted, starting to get nervous. If traffic didn’t start moving soon, and the wheels he had set in motion started to turn, he was screwed. Game over before anyone really got to play.
    He lifted his fingers and stretched them. He still wanted to hit something.
     
    Law Offices of Faye Baxter & Josie Bates, Hermosa Beach
     
    “When did you start working for Josie?”
    “Three months ago.” Hannah turned on the lights.
    The place was exactly what someone would expect of a California bungalow converted to office space. The living room was a reception area with a desk for Angie. File cabinets were nestled into an alcove where a breakfront probably stood when this was still a home. A bay window looked out onto a porch. In front of that were two loveseats and a table with magazines arranged neatly on top.  An arched doorway led to the old dining room, now the conference room. Archer knew what kind of meetings were conducted around that table: women stunned to find themselves part of a divorce action, parents looking for help with a troubled kid, small businesses being sued by legal spammers, property disputes, parking violations, wills. Every once in a while Josie’s previous life – that of a high priced, high risk defense attorney – would rear its head, and draw her back into problems that were just a little bigger than this place. He thought those days were over. Now Archer had to assume something had come down the road that was a little more serious than a DUI.
    “Come on.” Hannah brushed by him and led the way down the hallway.
    The three bedrooms had been turned into offices. Faye had knocked out a wall between the first two and created a modest suite for herself. Easy chairs were covered in muted fabrics, flowered pillows were plumped on a small couch and bucolic paintings hung on the walls along with a formal portrait of the man who had been both husband and partner. There were photographs of her daughter and grandchildren peppered over a credenza behind her desk. Clients who walked into this room felt like their mom would make everything right.
    At the end of the hall Hannah flipped on another light, and Archer paused in the doorway of Josie’s office. Clients who walked into this room would feel empowered. The desk was sleek and the color of sand, like the exposed wood floors. Behind the desk were white-shuttered windows and in front of it was a black and white rug. The painting on Josie’s wall was white and blue. There were no family pictures on the desk, and the file cabinets were lined up in an alcove that used to be a closet. There was a coffee table and chairs to the left of her desk. Hannah opened the shutters. Late morning light flooded in.
    “I checked her personal answering machine. Angie might have other messages but all that’s on this one is a call about the South Bay Bar dinner and a man who only left his number. No message.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “It sounded like Cuwin Martin. He didn’t spell it. I took the number and left the message on the answering machine. He was black,” Hannah said.
    “Are you profiling?” Archer asked.
    “Just talking about a brother,” Hannah said just to bug him.
    Archer moved around the desk, but Hannah took Josie’s chair before he could. He pulled up another.
    “She wasn’t in the last two days. She was down at the Torrance courthouse day before yesterday, and then yesterday she said she was going to the San Pedro women’s center. I don’t know where after that. I called them, and they didn’t know either. They said she left around two.  When she’s not here I come in and file, input invoices into the computer, and other stuff.”
    Hannah pulled a file out of the desk drawer.
    “This is where I keep the back