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would be. Were there suspects already? A waiter came a few seconds later and gave them menus. When he had gone, Ronnie Abel said, “So. Would you like to explain your problem to us?”
    “It’s about a colleague of mine at the Intercelleron Corporation. Or really, about his murder.”
    “You said he was murdered a year ago?” said Sid.
    “Just over a year ago. The body was found on March sixth during a rainstorm. It was the last big rain of the year. There was a great deal of water in a short time. I don’t know if you remember. There was a pond forming in North Hollywood at Interlaken and Grimes, and they couldn’t clear the drains. They had to open the sewer and remove a clog of foliage and trash that had caught there. In that mess was the body of James Ballantine.”
    “What was the official cause of death?”
    “The medical examiner who did the autopsy found two bullets in Mr. Ballantine’s head. I don’t expect you to take all this information from my memory. I have a very thick file in my car. It’s got all the details the police detectives would give the company, as well as copies of the newspaper articles, insurance reports, and so on.” He reached into his inner coat pocket. “I brought a few things here with me. Here’s a copy of a Los Angeles Times article that gives a pretty good overview. It was printed about two days later.”
    He set it on the table. The Abels glanced down at the photograph of James Ballantine at the top and then at each other. Ronnie picked it up and scanned it.
    Sid said, “I assume that the reason you’re here is that a year has gone by and the police don’t seem to be making progress.”
    “It’s not just our impression,” said Hemphill. “After a few months of work, the detective on the case—his name was Kapp—died in a car accident. Other detectives had the case added to their workload, but no real progress has been made. A police lieutenant spoke with one of the company’s directors recently and confided that the police have run out of things to check. They seem to have done everything they could think of over the past year, and now all they can do is wait for something to change.”
    “What division was Detective Kapp?” asked Sid. “North Hollywood?”
    “Yes.”
    Sid looked at Ronnie, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she turned to Hemphill. “Who’s on the case now?”
    “The detective’s name is Fuentes. Miguel Fuentes.”
    “I worked with him for a while,” Ronnie said. “He’s very good. Did he tell you nothing was happening?”
    “I haven’t spoken with him. What I’ve told you came to me from the board of directors.”
    “What’s your job at Intercelleron?” asked Ronnie.
    “I’m the personnel director for the research section.”
    “Does your company do research for the government?” asked Sid.
    “Some, but it’s not the sort of thing that—”
    “Do people have security clearances?” Sid asked.
    “Some do, but not everyone. I don’t, for instance.”
    Ronnie said, “Right after the murder, were there any investigators from the federal government? FBI or military?”
    “Early on, there were two agents who came to look around and talk to a few people. I wasn’t one of them, and the agents were gone in about a day. I believe they didn’t find any indication that Mr. Ballantine’s death had anything to do with his work.”
    “What can you tell us about his work?”
    “He was a research scientist. He had a PhD in chemistry from the University of California at Berkeley. He had been a professor at Indiana for a few years before he came to Intercelleron. He was with the company for about four and a half years. I don’t know much about his projects, because I’m not a scientist. I was told that he had been trying to synthesize compounds that would result in additives to make food more nutritious. There was nothing directly connected to the military.”
    “Why does your board of directors want to hire outside