AVIS AND KRISTIN BEALE had been bunking in the same room for more than a year. Logically, of all the people who knew Avis, her roommate, given their daily contact, should have had the most intimate knowledge. I figured she might very well know what Avis had been thinking, doing, and planning for herself and her baby.

Kristin Beale was our best hope - and maybe our last.

Conklin knocked on the paneled door in a corridor lined with them. A voice called out, "Come innnnn."

We did - and the smell of marijuana came out to greet us.

The dorm room was just big enough for two beds, two closets, and two desks. It looked out over the Presidio, and I could see a sliver of the bay over the tops of trees.

In front of the view was Kristin Beale.

She was lying on her back in the window seat, her long legs bent, her bare feet pressed against the wall. She was pretty, with a wild mop of dark brown hair, and had on footless leggings and a man's dress shirt. White wires were plugged into her ears.

The girl startled when she saw us, straightened her legs and sat up, and pulled out her earbuds. She was thin - too thin.

She said, "Who are you?"

As I did the introductions and told her why we had come, I looked the girl over. Even from fifteen feet away, I could see that Kristin Beale's pupils were dilated.

I also took in the state of the room.

Kristin's side had a post-tornado, morning-after look. The floor around her unmade bed was strewn with clothes, books, and candy wrappers.

The other side, Avis's side, was as tidy as a banker's desk. A pillow on the bed was embroidered with the letter A A, and there was a picture of the Richardson family on her dresser.

Avis's closet was open. I quickly went through her clothes and saw that she had them in two sizes. Size eight and extra large.

Her computer was turned off on her desk, untouchable without a warrant.

"Is Avis okay?" Kristin asked, in a tone that told me she didn't care at all.

"She's with her parents," I said. "She's doing okay, but she's been through an ordeal. Kristin, has Avis called you or written to you? We're trying to find her baby."

"Baby? I don't know anything about a baby."

"Avis was nine months pregnant," I said. "You saw her every day. Unless you're blind, you must have known she was pregnant."

"Well, I didn't," the girl said. "She was a pretty good eater and she didn't work out."

Turning to Conklin, I said, "You know, Inspector, I'm getting sick of these kids lying their faces off."

"I don't think they understand that we are homicide cops," he said. "Maybe they think that because they go to a rich kids' school, they're outside of the law."

The girl was staring at us now, eyes going back and forth between us and darting to a spot on the floor. I followed her eyes to a pile of laundry and saw the corner of a plastic bag under a sock.

I said to Conklin, "You're right. They're spoiled. They're living in a separate universe. A universe where this," I said, toeing the sock aside, "a few ounces of marijuana, isn't illegal. But, of course it's possession of an illegal substance, and in this case, given how much you have here, Kristin, I'm thinking it could even be possession with intent to sell."

"That's not mine. I never saw it before."

I had to laugh. Two feet from her bed and she'd never seen it before.

"I say it's your gra.s.s and that your urine is going to show that you've been smoking it."

I reached under my coat for my cuffs, and the girl backed up.

"Kristin Beale, you're under arrest for possession of narcotics."

"No ... what, are you - kidding? I'll get kicked out of here. Okay, okay, okay. Like, what do you want to know?"

"Where is the baby?"

"I don't know."

"Who is the father of Avis's baby?" I said.

"She never told me. I am telling you the truth truth."

"Someone got her pregnant," said Conklin.

"She's gone out with boys, but no one regularly."

"More lies," I said. "I think you'll tell us the truth at the station. Of course, we'll have to call your parents."

"I think she was going out with a married man," the kid yelled at me. "Look. She didn't tell me. One time, I asked her if she was pregnant. She said, 'I don't want to talk about it.' I asked if her secret boyfriend was married, and she gave me a look. Like this this. And she told me to never tell anyone. And that is everything I know. Everything. She never talked about the baby again. Maybe she told Larry Foster. Those guys are tight."

Chapter 32.

I PUT MY CARD on Kristin's desk and told her to call me if she had any thoughts she'd like to share that might save a baby's life. I flushed the weed down the toilet in the bathroom down the hall, and then, muttering under my breath about teenagers, my partner and I left the dorm.

During the six hours we had spent interviewing Avis's friends at Brighton, her parents had called me a dozen times. I had nothing for them, so I'd let the calls go through to voice mail. But as we were driving away from the campus empty-handed, Brady called.

I picked up the call on the third ring.

The lieutenant sounded agitated.

"The press has the story," he said. "It's going to hit the fan on the networks in a couple of hours, but it's already broken on cable news and the Web."

Cindy was my next caller.

"Lindsay. How could you not call me? You promised the story to me. You swore."

"I've got nothing, Cindy. Nothing at all. Zero. Zip. Legwork with no payoff."

Conklin's phone rang, too. It was Paul Richardson saying that the media were gathering outside their hotel, clamoring for a statement.

"Don't tell them anything," Conklin told Avis's father. "Stay in your room and get the hotel to block your incoming calls. Use only your cell phone."

"The press is going to do cartwheels with this story," I said to Conklin as we got back into the car.

"Maybe a lead will come out of it," he said.

"I like your optimism."

I'd seen similar stories spin out of control and confuse evidence, sp.a.w.n hoaxters, and contaminate jury pools. "Baby missing" could become kidnapping, child trafficking, even witchcraft or alien abduction. And that would be before the supermarket tabloids got hold of the story.

"We need to catch a break," Conklin said as we got back on the road.

I sighed loudly.

I wished I felt upbeat about this one. But I was feeling that it was too late to strap in. We'd already hit the wall.

Chapter 33.

THE PRESS-MOBILES were already parked in front of the Hall, satellite trucks and setups with talking heads using the gray, granite edifice as a backdrop.

Conklin pulled into the lot off Harriet Street and I got a buzz in my hip pocket. Yuki was texting me to say she wanted to see me, tell me about her date last night. She'd put a picket fence of exclamation marks at the end of her message.

I fired back a message in return, saying that I had to see her, too. Important!!!!!

At just after six, I edged into the standing-room-only crowd at MacBain's Beers o' the World Saloon, a cop-lawyer-bail-bondsman hangout two blocks from the Hall. There were peanut sh.e.l.ls on the floor, exotic beer on tap, and a pool table in back. Yuki was at the bar.

I opened my jacket and, revealing my badge hooked to my belt, flashed it at the guy sitting to Yuki's right.

"I didn't do it, Sergeant," he said, holding up his hands. We both laughed. "Congratulations on, you know, getting married," he said.

"Thanks for the seat, Reynolds."

I said, "Hey, girlfriend," to Yuki, kissed her cheek, planted myself on the bar stool. Then I ordered a Corona and plunged ahead. "I met with Candace Martin last night."

"You did what? what? I don't think I heard you right." I don't think I heard you right."

Yuki was only sitting a foot away from me, but she jacked up the volume to a yell. She'd never been angry with me before, and frankly I felt ashamed.

I flashed back to that trial of mine a couple of years ago, when I'd been accused of wrongful death in the shooting of a teenage girl who had fired on me and Jacobi without provocation.

It was absolutely self-defense, but I was put on trial anyway. The city of San Francisco couldn't help me. I could have lost my job, my life savings, my reputation, but that didn't happen.

Yuki Castellano had been on my defense team. She had fought for me and we had won. I owed her a lot.

I said to Yuki now, "Phil Hoffman asked me to see her. He said we've got the wrong person for Dennis Martin's killing."

"Are you ka-razy?" Yuki said.

And then she let loose with her trademark breathless verbal fusillade. "You listened to a defense defense lawyer? You went behind my lawyer? You went behind my back back and interviewed the defendant in my and interviewed the defendant in my case? case? How could you How could you do do that, Lindsay? What made you even think you had the that, Lindsay? What made you even think you had the right? right?"

"Chi and McNeill report to me," I said, feeling my cheeks flaming. "If they made a bad arrest, I had to know."

I could have called Yuki. I should should have called Yuki. But she would have been aboard the same train as Brady, Chi, and McNeill. She would have said, "Don't do it." have called Yuki. But she would have been aboard the same train as Brady, Chi, and McNeill. She would have said, "Don't do it."

"I just talked talked to her, dammit," I said. "All I did was to her, dammit," I said. "All I did was talk talk to her." to her."

Yuki signaled the bartender, a wiry young woman with big b.r.e.a.s.t.s named Nicole.

"Hit me again," Yuki said, pushing her beer mug forward, dumping a bowl of peanuts over the bartender's side of the bar.

"That's three," Nikki said.

"Yeah?" Yuki shot back. "So what?"

"Just sayin'."

"Well, don't don't."

Yuki swung around to face me. "So, while you were just talking talking to Candace Martin, what did she say?" to Candace Martin, what did she say?"

"She said that Ellen Lafferty was likely having an affair with her husband and she has a theory. Candace thinks either Ellen got dumped or she knew she was being played by a player. Candace thinks Ellen shot Dennis."

"Wow," said Yuki. "Candace is saying, 'The other dude did it.' What a shock."

Christ, Yuki was mad.

I said, "It answers the big unanswered question, Yuki. Who was the unknown intruder? If Ellen Lafferty didn't leave the house for her evening off, she was already on the scene."

"Lindsay, this whole setup is a Phil Hoffman distraction. Maybe Santa came down the chimney and did it. Maybe Dennis Martin pressed the gun into his wife's hand and pulled the trigger on himself. You should have kept your nose out of this. You've made me look bad and for what?"

"Paul Chi. It was his case."

"Good point. Why didn't Hoffman go to Chi? Chi? He went to you because we're friends and he's trying to undermine my case," Yuki said, slamming her beer mug down on the bar. He went to you because we're friends and he's trying to undermine my case," Yuki said, slamming her beer mug down on the bar.

"You're being jerked around, so enjoy that. I'm going to get that woman convicted. Because it wasn't the other dude, Lindsay. Candace Martin did it Candace Martin did it.

Chapter 34.