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want. I'll find you a lollipop.”
    Tom gave him a glare. They walked in through the back entrance and up to Jessup's apartment. Tom opened the door as quietly as possible, one hand on the butt of his pistol. He flipped on the lights, and after a quick tour revealed the place was empty he relaxed a bit.
    Roy took out the Foxhound and played with the dials. He started at the bookcases, waving the antenna in a serpentine pattern from top to bottom. Nothing happened, so he moved on to the near wall. When the antenna pointed at the electrical outlet, the red light began to blink and the Foxhound vibrated. He nodded at Tom and pointed.
    Tom knelt next to the outlet and stared. It seemed completely normal. A lamp was plugged into the left socket. He switched it on and the lamp worked fine.
    Tom went into the kitchen, where he recalled seeing some screwdrivers in a junk drawer. He found one and brought it back to the outlet. Then he unplugged the lamp and carefully unscrewed the cover.
    It was definitely a bug. He removed two more screws and took out the entire assembly, careful not to jostle or disconnect it. The device was high-tech and professional. A flat platform mike was taped to the inside of the wall, with a long antenna running alongside. It drew power off of the apartment's electricity, and the current was live and allowed the sockets to function. Tom looked for any labels or markings, and wasn't surprised when he didn't find any.
    He put the device back and joined up with Roy in the bedroom.
    His partner was kneeling next to another socket, the Foxhound blinking. Tom took the detector into the kitchen. Within two minutes, he'd found a third bug in an outlet next to the phone.
    Neither one of them said a word until they were back in the car.
    Roy spoke first.
    “Damn. That guy had more bugs than a housing project.”
    “Not homemade spy gear, either. That was some major league equipment.”
    “Even in Vice, we didn't have stuff that slick.”
    “So who does have stuff like that?”
    “The government.”
    They exchanged a look. Tom started the car and pulled out of the alley, eyes on the rearview. “What next? Try a sting, draw Kilpatrick into a trap?”
    “What else can we do?"
    “Call the district, have Wally check the fax. I’m waiting on Jessup’s phone records.”
    Roy got on the cell and Tom considered this new development.
    Whoever bugged Jessup's apartment was big league. Kilpatrick was the killer, but someone had to be behind him. Perhaps the mysterious Bert.
    “Fax came.” Roy dialed another number. “Jessup called the O'Hare Hyatt three times in the last few days.”
    “See if they have a convention going.”
    “Way ahead of you, partner.”
    Tom hung a ralph and headed for the expressway.

    “Got it.” Roy pocketed his cell phone. “The Hyatt is hosting a huge convention all this week, hotel is booked solid.”
    “What kind of convention?”
    “It's an NFLCA expo.”
    “Enlighten me.”
    “The National Fishing Lures Collector's Association.”
    “That was this week? Damn it, I forgot to mark my calendar.”
    “Hurry. They said the Creek Chub auction starts in twenty minutes.”
    Tom patted his pocket, reassured that the knife was still there, and then merged onto I-90.

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Chapter 6
    Los Angeles

    “We can still make our reservation. You can throw something on.”
    Joan stared at Max, stunned. “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Not at all. Reservations at Carmichael’s are very hard to get.
    Everyone eats there. The waiting list is months long.”
    “I can’t believe you. Some maniac broke in my house, killed my dog, and tried to shish-kabob me—”
    “Joan, you’re being dramatic. Everyone gets robbed. This is LA.”
    “Stop the car.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    “Stop the damn car.”
    Max pulled the Lexus to the curb in front of a McDonalds.
    “Joan, let’s not overreact.”
    “Overreact? You’re a callous, arrogant, insensitive jerk.”
    “Insensitive? Who just