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murder the pervert who had ruined his innocent daughter. But even stranger—they can’t seem to find Jeremy in any records, in cyberspace, nowhere. He has no existence.”
    â€œThat’s impossible,” Maggie said. “Unless he wasn’t really Jeremy Fiedler, but somebody else. His cars had to be registered to somebody. Maybe he just got deleted.”
    â€œYeah, I’ve always worried about the lack of a paper trail now that everything’s going electronic. Or maybe the Long Beach PD isn’t that computer savvy.”
    How did Hairy Granger get inside the Trailblazer with Jeremy? What was Tuxedo Greene tying to tell Charlie and Betty when he sat on top of the vehicle? “Could you really disappear electronically and turn up dead anyway? And why didn’t we get a shock off the back gate when we went out in the alley last night?”
    â€œMaybe that part of it doesn’t work,” Betty Beesom answered.
    So many questions. Only maybes for answers.

CHAPTER 5
    CHARLIE HAD JUST stepped out of the shower when Detective Amuller rattled and banged at the security grate covering her front door.
    The obelisk originally had a buzzer and a speaker for each house to communicate with the gate as well as a button to open it for those permitted within, like the door release in an apartment building. Only the release buttons remained because vandals kept breaking the obelisk speaker or yelling obscenities into it when the fortress dwellers preferred to sleep. Visitors now had to park in the street. They could use the front doors of the two condos in front and call ahead for the two houses on the alley, where no one was expected to venture but the garbage man, cats, and homeless. One never put out the garbage or collected the empty cans at night.
    There was only one bathroom in Charlie’s house, and it was downstairs. And of course she hadn’t bothered to bring a robe. Yelling for Libby to let in the police, she raced upstairs and threw on clean sweats.
    â€œSee you’re still not home,” J. S. Amuller commented when she came down trying to sort out her messy mass of wet curls with a wire brush. He was watching Libby ignore him. “How is it she survived in this institution with a practicing nubiphile?”
    â€œJeremy never bothered Libby.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t dare. My mom’d kill him.”
    â€œLibby—”
    But the kid had trounced out the door, pulling her car keys from her pocket.
    â€œKind of chilly for shorts today,” the cop said, starting to follow her, but he’d hesitated at her wonderful pronouncement long enough to give her a head start.
    â€œShe’s slinging at the diner today. Green shorts, pink shirt.” The Long Beach Diner was better known for its meatloaf and mashers than its color scheme.
    There was room only for one car for each house in the designated parking between patios, and Libby usually parked next to their patio heading out. She had the Wrangler started and through the gate before the detective could reach her.
    They stood on the steps of Charlie’s sunken patio watching the gate close. “I’d like to explore that last statement of hers. Have to catch her at the diner, I guess. What’s this about Art Corry from the Times getting a real shocker off that gate last night?”
    â€œHey, that’s nothing. We had a guy from the P-T pole-vault over the wall and break Mrs. Beesom’s sentry palm this morning.” A seagull sat statue-still on the pink-tiled peak of Jeremy’s roof, like he thought he was a pigeon. The gulls were everywhere out here. They fought the cats and drunks for edible garbage in the alley.
    â€œAgainst the law to electrify security systems without displaying warning signs.”
    â€œDon’t look at me, I didn’t know anything about it. Jeremy apparently had it done and paid for it himself while I was out of town last fall. Nobody thought to tell me