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not, I repeat do not, disclose any aspect of what we are doing to other members of the LAPD, to your family, or to the press.” Jenkins finished with a nod. “That’s it . . . Let’s do this thing.”
    *   *   *
    A day had passed since the briefing, and Lee was about to meet with her two-person team. They were gathered in a small conference room on the sixth floor. Detective Dick Yanty was taking the opportunity to eat his lunch. It consisted of the P&J sandwich that his wife prepared for him every morning plus a carton of milk. Milo Prospo was digging into a meal purchased in the cafeteria. Lee wrinkled her nose. “What
is
that?”
    Prospo looked up. He had black hair, bushy brows, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. “It’s meat loaf with mashed potatoes. You should try it.”
    â€œRight . . . When I want to go on medical leave, I’ll jump on that. Okay, first things first. What’s wrong with you two? Jenkins told me that you volunteered! That’s crazy.”
    Yanty smiled vaguely. “Not my brightest moment, that’s for sure. But I’ve been working on the Bonebreaker case for years . . . And you’re going to need someone who is familiar with the evidence. A historian, so to speak. Assuming you plan to work the case, that is.”
    Yanty pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and looked Lee in the eye. The challenge was obvious. Was the public team going to investigate? Or sit around and wait for the serial killer to attack one of them? Lee nodded. “I’m glad you raised that issue. Damned right we’re going to work the case. And hard, too . . . So your familiarity with the evidence will be a huge help. What about you, Milo? Why did you volunteer?”
    Prospo barely contained a belch, and said, “Sorry.” Whenhe frowned, two bushy brows became one. “McGinty was a friend of mine. So this is personal. I hope the Bonebreaker comes for me because if he does, I’ll kill the bastard.”
    It was said matter-of-factly—and without a trace of humor. Prospo was serious. Never mind the score, which was the Bonebreaker nine, police zero. Or the fact that the detective was well past fifty and at least twenty pounds overweight. Prospo saw himself as a stone-cold killer. Lee considered some sort of lecture and decided against it. “So,” Yanty said. “When’s the press conference?”
    â€œAt three,” Lee answered. “The media-relations people figured that would provide the TV stations with plenty of time to get the story on the evening news.”
    Prospo used a piece of bread to soak up the last of the gravy. “And then?” he inquired.
    â€œAnd then I’m going to reinterview Cheyenne Darling. I read the original transcript, and there’s no color. It’s a straight-on ticktock of what time McGinty went out, when Darling became worried, and so on. I’m hoping for something more.
    â€œMeanwhile, I’d like to see you guys go through the list of people the team talked to in the past and follow up. How many of them were in the slammer when the chief disappeared? How many have some other alibi? And how many are dead? Let’s narrow the list.”
    â€œSounds good,” Yanty said, as he threw his brown lunch bag into a trash can. “Have fun at three.”
    â€œWatch your six,” Lee replied. “The Bonebreaker could come after any one of us.”
    â€œRoger that,” Prospo said, as he carried his plate out of the room. “I’ll be waiting for him.”
    *   *   *
    The LAPD headquarters building had opened for business in 2009, was known for its angular appearance, and cost $437 million old bucks to construct. The façade had beendamaged by a rocket attack five years earlier and was awaiting repair. But so long as the weather was good, the outside plaza was the