"You've got his number. Maybe you can hook up later," he said. She frowned. "Hey listen, this friend, Fruega, is at the hospital and I'm heading over there to see if I can talk to him. I'd like you to come along, seeing as how you're so good at getting men to talk."

"Okay. You want me to follow you there or ride with you?"

"Why don't you ride with me. I can bring you back here when we're done." He wanted to see how she felt about last night, and about him.

Lawless told McCain he was in charge of the crowd. McCain barked at two teenagers who had ventured too close to the canal. They called him names in Spanish, but moved back.

Getting in the car, Jensen saw Lawless's boom box sitting on the seat. "You got music? Detectives get music?" Her mouth hung open in disbelief.

"Not officially. I only listen to it when parked," he lied. He grabbed the stereo and put it in the trunk.

He sat on the driver's seat but left his feet on the pavement. He pulled a cloth out from under the front seat and wiped the dust off his shoes.

"Dust will get ground into the polish and scratch the leather," he said, putting the cloth under the seat, feeling the need to explain.

"I do it all the time," she said, turning away to hide her smile.

He started the car, but when he pulled out into the street he realized he didn't know what hospital Fruega had been taken to.

"What hospital do you think they went to? Doctor's?" he asked.

"It's closer than Memorial."

It would take them fifteen minutes to get to Doctor's Medical Center in central Modesto; not a lot of time, but enough for what Lawless wanted to talk about.

"You know," he started. "I answered your question about the premonition I had at dinner last night, so I'd like you to answer my question about why."

"Why what?"

"Why me?"

"You mean, how could a young woman be attracted to an older man?"

"No. That happens a lot. Usually because the older man's rich."

"Are you saying young women can only be attracted to older men because they want their money?"

"I didn't say 'only'. I said 'usually'. You know the story. The sixty-something ceo trades in the old wife for a younger model, the so-called 'trophy wife.' He gets a young chick, but what's the trophy wife get? Diamonds and furs and a few million bucks in the divorce settlement when he notices she's starting to wrinkle around the eyes and decides to go shopping for a younger model."

"That sounds awful, the way you put it. Don't any of them last?"

"Rarely. But, not to fear, everyone makes out in the end. CEO gets an image boost from having a bimbo to show off and she goes to parties and dinners and meets people she would never have met on her own. And there's the money and jewels. If she doesn't blow it all, she could be set for life."

"How depressing, people using people. You don't think that's what last night was about, do you?"

"Hardly. You saw my place. The only thing I wouldn't give up in there are the cds and shoes." This wasn't going like he hoped. "I don't see myself as much of a catch, that's all. You're young and beautiful: what do you see in me?"

"Maybe just to have a good time. Maybe more."

He thought about her answer, but couldn't decide how to take it.

After a minute of silence, he said, "Were you really meeting someone there, at the restaurant last night?"

"Why do you ask? I said I was."

"Detectives learn little tricks over the years, like how to tell when someone isn't telling the truth; they look away, do things with their hands, squirm around in their chair, start sweating ... You showed all the signs last night when you said someone called and canceled on you." He left it at that and waited for her response.

She turned to look out her window. "I suppose I've never been very good at lying. I went there with a friend, but when I saw you in the bar I asked her if she minded if I had dinner with you instead."

"Pretty ballsy, if you ask me. What if I'd turned you down?" he said, without conviction.

"It was worth a chance."

He sat a little straighter in his seat. "Still, why me?"

She sighed. "I'm going to have to answer that question, aren't I? You're not going to let it go."

"I just wanna know, that's all."

"I like you. You're just a little -" she struggled for the word "- off-center. You're not ordinary or normal. I'm tired of normal. I see you around HQ of course, once in a while at the courthouse, but when we talked the other morning by the canal, I could see something ... different in you. Men around here are so boring."

Lawless was stunned; it had never occurred to him that someone might be attracted to him because he was different. Then he thought, Wait until she hears the opera.

He turned into the hospital's parking lot, surprised at how quickly the trip had gone, parked somewhere he shouldn't have and shut the car off.

"I'd like to see you again," he told her. "I'd like to see you tonight if I can."

"It's not your bowling night?" she asked, smiling.

He turned and smiled back. "No, it's poker night, but I can squeeze you in during one of the beer runs, if you can keep your motor running."

"Great," she said. "Can I wear my tight shorts and tank top, make sandwiches and bring you guys snacks and beers when you call?"

"That'd be nice," he said, getting out. They grinned at each other across the top of the car.

He fought the urge to take her hand while they walked to the hospital.

Inside, Lawless flashed his badge at the information window and asked for Tony Fruega's room number, was told his name wasn't in the computer.

"Is it possible he's got a room but it hasn't been put in the computer yet?" he asked the thin woman behind the desk. Her hair was cropped close to the scalp on the sides, but on the top sprouted like a clump of wild grass; a bad style for her as it emphasized her long narrow head and left bare big floppy ears. A large mole on her left earlobe sprouted hair like the top of her head; she stroked the spiny mole hairs with a finger when she talked.

"No, sir. It goes into the computer as soon as they get the room. It's hospital policy. Otherwise we wouldn't know where everyone is and someone might get the wrong medication."

"Yeah, like that never happens," he said, then looked at Jensen and drummed his fingers on the counter. The woman frowned at his finger-drumming, while stroking her hairy mole.

"Are you sure he checked in today?" Jensen asked Lawless.

"He should have been brought into the emergency room this morning, at about eight."

"It's only ten thirty-five, sir. He's probably still in the er," Mole Lady said.

"For two and a half hours?"

The woman rolled her eyes.

"Of course," he said, turning from the desk. "What was I thinking? Average wait in the er is, what, four hours? Five?"

They left the window and Jensen whispered, "All these doctors in here, you'd think at least one of them would offer to take that mole off for her."

"I'm not sure she'd let them. Did you see how she pets it?"

They strode down the corridor, heading deep into the hospital. They'd entered the building on the north but the emergency room was on the south; they followed signs pointing the way through a maze of hallways.

As they made yet another turn, Lawless said to Jensen, "I might need you to talk to the mother, if she's still here, or to the boy, if I can't get him to open up. Hopefully he's talking by now."

She nodded.

They walked through a set of swinging doors and entered the emergency room. Two dozen people turned and looked at them; some sick-looking, some obviously injured, some crying, most bored from the wait. Other than a crying child and a woman yelling at a nurse, it was relatively calm; everyone sat in their seats and watched the window, waiting to be summoned.

Back in the corner, an obese Hispanic woman had an arm around a thin Hispanic male, who looked to be about nineteen or twenty. The male was rocking back and forth in his chair, moving his lips. Lawless tapped Jensen on the shoulder and nodded toward the pair.

As they approached the woman, Lawless said, "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you Mrs. Fruega?"

Without looking up, she said, "Thank God! We've been here all morning and my Tony hasn't seen a doctor. Why can't you people get some more -" She looked up and stopped. "You're not doctors." She had a round face with pillowy cheeks and soft eyes hidden in folds of skin.

"No ma'am. We're from the Sheriff's Department. Is this Tony Fruega?"

"He doesn't need cops, he needs a doctor!" She started to cry. "Look at him. He doesn't talk, he just rocks back and forth and says that awful swear word."

Lawless could barely hear the boy, but it sounded like he was repeating the word bitch.

He said to Jensen, "I'm going to see if we can take him somewhere private, get him some attention. You stay here." She nodded and sat down next to Mrs. Fruega.

He flashed his badge, bullied a couple of nurses, and a small exam room opened up. They were still fussing with the room when Tony Fruega was led in. A nurse helped lay Tony on the bed and left, after telling them a doctor would be there in a minute. No one believed her.

Tony lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, babbling and gesturing with his hands. Most of what he said was unintelligible, but every now and then a word came out with its sounds in proper order. Usually it was bitch, but they also heard Bobby and ass. His mother stood at his side and fretted; fluffing the pillow, tucking sheets, pulling at covers. Lawless stood opposite Mrs. Fruega and Jensen waited at the foot of the bed, arms folded across her chest.

"Has he said anything at all to you, Mrs. Fruega?" Lawless asked.

"What's wrong with Tony? Why won't he talk to his mama?" She repositioned a pillow for the fifth time.

"He's in shock, Mrs. Fruega," Lawless said. "The doctor will be here in a few minutes and I'm sure they'll give him something to help him sleep. He'll feel a lot better when he wakes up. Do you mind if I try and talk to him?"

"He don't say nothing." She started crying again. "Tony, mi hijo, talk to your mama."

Lawless took her response as a yes, which it wasn't, but she hadn't said no either. Not that it mattered, Tony was an adult. "Tony, my name is Detective Lawless. I would like to talk to you about what happened to your friend, Bobby Gutierrez."

His words had no effect.

"Tony, you're in the hospital now and a doctor will be here soon. You're safe. Can you hear me?"

No response. Mrs. Fruega stopped crying and was clutching her son's hand; she held it for a moment, then he pulled it away and waved it around, babbling.

Lawless said to Jensen, "We might have to come back later. I can't get anything out of him."

"You've barely tried," Jensen said, frowning. "Let me."

She moved to take Lawless's place at Tony's side and took Tony's hand in hers, which immediately calmed him. She spoke, soft and low, comforting; he stopped babbling, but continued to stare at the ceiling.

She put a hand on his face and gently turned it until their eyes met. "Tony, you're alright now. You're safe. It can't get you here." She stroked his hair, keeping eye contact.

Mrs. Fruega said, "What did you say?"

Tony's face softened. He blinked and sighed.

Then, loudly: "Bitch ate Bobby's ass! Bitch ate Bobby's ass!"

"Yes, I know. It's alright now. Bitch can't get you here," Jensen cooed, still stroking his hair and holding his hand. Lawless watched, in awe.

"Bitch ate Bobby's ass," Tony said again, whimpering.

"I know, Tony. You're safe now. Tell me about the bitch."

"What bitch?" Mrs. Fruega asked.

"Bitch was big," Tony said. "Bitch was black." His voice had changed, becoming flat and monotone, almost robotic.

"Yes. Bitch was big and black. Where did the bitch come from?" Jensen said, stroking, always with the eyes.

"Bobby was taking a piss. Bitch came out of the canal. Bitch ate Bobby's ass!" He became agitated again and it took Jensen a minute to calm him down.

"What did bitch look like?"

"Bitch was black."

"Did bitch have eyes or a mouth?"

"Teeth!" he yelled. "Bitch gots silver teeth! Shiny teeth! Bitch ate Bobby's ass with her big silver teeth!"

Mrs. Fruega started crying again.

Jensen tried to regain control, but Tony broke eye contact and was gone.

When Lawless and Jensen left the room, Tony was quiet and awake but unaware of where he was or who was with him. No doctor had come to examine him.

They sat on opposite sides of a small table in the hospital cafeteria, drinking Cokes, mulling over the events in Tony's room. Lawless was gloomy, disappointed they couldn't get more out of him.

They went round and round about what they should do; both agreed they needed to do something to prevent further deaths, but couldn't agree on what. If they went to the sheriff with what they had, they were sure he would think them crazy. They had suspicious deaths, all next to canals, holes in grilles, and funky DNA; not enough.