She said, "I take it that was Brouchard, the coroner?"

"It was," he said, without turning around.

"Did he get the DNA results back on the Weston killing?"

"He did. The DNA was identical to the stuff he took off Sanchez. The lab's saying he screwed up both samples, that he's incompetent. He's furious."

He turned to face her. "We have two problems: how do we stop it and what do we tell the Modesto cops tomorrow?"

She looked surprised. "What do you mean 'we'? You want me to go with you to the meeting tomorrow?"

His face reddened. "Well ... yes ... I would like it if you continued to work on this with me. I need someone I can trust, someone I can talk to who won't think I'm nuts."

"Whoa. I never said I didn't think you were nuts. You trip out on me again like you did today and I might just push you into the canal and let the monster have you."

He knew she was joking, at least partly, but he was serious. "My life was in your hands today and it will probably be in your hands again before this is all over. I don't know why but I can't imagine trusting my life to anyone but you. Thank you for taking care of me when I wasn't here."

She made a face. "You're too serious, Lawless. You need to lighten up."

"I'll lighten up later. Right now we need to do some brainstorming."

She found two pads of paper and they sat at her dining table.

"Hold on," she said, getting up. "I'm out of wine. You want some more?"

"Do you have any red wine?"

"No, I don't have any red wine. You get white or you get Coors Light."

"White's good."

She got the wine and returned to the table.

"What did we learn today? Anything?" he asked, getting started.

"I learned not to take you to the park."

"Funny. Really, what did we learn?"

She thought. "Something that's different today is, it killed twice." Then, "So far. I guess the day's not over."

"Right. It's accelerating its feeding pattern. When I was with it, that's something I got. Its hunger is growing."

"That doesn't really help us with anything," she said. "In fact, it's kind of scary to think it's going to be killing more people."

"I know, but it's something we learned and right now we're just trying to get everything on paper. We can analyze it later."

She frowned. "We need to get some dinner. I've been hungry all afternoon."

"Well, yeah. You emptied your stomach in the canal, remember? Can't you wait a little? What about a snack?"

She thought, then went and made microwave popcorn. The smell of the popcorn kindled Lawless's appetite; he devoured over half the bowl while finishing his glass of wine, then relented about dinner.

She changed and they went to his place. He came out of his room wearing something she didn't like.

"Don't you have anything ... younger?"

"What're you talking about, 'younger?' This makes me look old?"

"Don't get upset, but no one wears Dockers anymore."

"I wear Dockers."

"Yeah well, they make you look old. What else do you have?"

She poked around in his closet, pulled out a pair of black jeans and a gray pullover knit shirt. "Here, put these on. Black's slimming." Then, with a twinkle in her eye, "You think you can find some shoes to go with it?"

"I'll try." He pulled out a pair of Clarks and Rockports to mull over. Picking the Rockports, he said, "So you think I need to wear slimming clothes?"

"When was the last time you used your department-issued gym pass?"

"When was the last time you had that overbite looked at?"

"Most guys think my overbite is cute."

" 'Most?' How many are we talking about here? Twenty? Thirty?"

They grinned as she checked out his new outfit. "Not bad. The shoes go good."

"Don't tell me about the shoes."

They picked Mexican, went to a place they knew and ordered tamales and a pitcher of margaritas.

They ate and chatted. He found out she grew up in Ceres, a small town near Modesto, and she learned he was raised in the Bay Area by a single mom. He said he didn't know anything about his father, which was close to the truth. Her parents had been married for twenty-five years and she claimed to be the only one in her high school group not screwed up about marriage. She had two brothers and a sister. He was an only child. He didn't play any sports, no surprise for her there, and she had never been a cheerleader.

Back at her apartment, after parking, Lawless got his CD wallet out of the trunk.

"What kind of music do you listen to?" she asked as they walked to her apartment.

"Opera. It helps me think."

"Opera? You listen to opera?"

"Yeah. Don't you?"

"I can't believe you're going to make me listen to opera."

"It won't be on very loud. You might find you like it, if you give it a chance."

She stopped in the doorway, kissed him on the mouth and said, "I like being with you. You're a fun guy. But I don't know about this opera stuff. I have my reputation to think about, you know. If my neighbors hear opera coming from my apartment ..."

He smiled and realized how natural it felt, being with her all evening.

"That's not the reputation you should be worried about," he said, putting a CD into her stereo.

"Oh, that's real funny, Lawless. Wanna hear what they say about you at the office?"

"No."

He adjusted the volume low. She made a face and rolled her eyes.

With full stomachs and Italian opera playing, they went to the table and got back to work. They talked and discussed for an hour, until her head started hurting. They had a page of notes on what they would tell the Modesto cops tomorrow, but the page titled "PLANS FOR KILLING THE MONSTER" was blank.

He put that page on top and said, "Okay. Let's move on to how we're going to kill it."

She sighed, put her face in her hands and said, "I can't take any more of this right now. Between the opera and all this talk about monsters and death, I feel like my head's going to explode. I need a break."

"You don't like the opera? You should have said something. We can change it."

"You're the one doing most of the thinking so if it helps you, I can live with it. I need a break, though," she repeated.

"Why don't we finish this first? Then we can rest."

"Screw that. Let's go to a club."

"Club? Modesto has clubs?"

"Lawless, you're so old."

Chapter 8.

Modesto did indeed have clubs; four, five if you counted the cowboy bar on 8th Street. All were downtown, part of a redevelopment plan that began in the mid-1990s.

Phase one was a new state-of-the-art theatre, and, across from the theatre, a city government building dubbed "City Center." Next, north of the theatre, a thirteen-story DoubleTree Inn, by far the tallest structure in Modesto. After that, a convention center that shared walls with the Inn, a gamble the city hoped would attract out-of-town dollars. It eventually did, but not until the redevelopment plan was well into its advanced stages.

Redevelopment fever spread from the City Center block outwards, more west and south than north and east. One-by-one, street-by-street, down went the old, up went the new. Most old downtown businesses either closed their doors or moved north to the mall, and beyond, to shopping centers anchored by Costco and Target. Replacing them were restaurants, a cigar room, the four clubs, attorneys, more restaurants, more attorneys, and assorted other businesses. The only old business that stayed was a pawn shop.

Jensen took Lawless to Big City, the biggest and most successful club in town. The experience would be, for him, comparable to taking someone from rural China and plopping them into the middle of Times Square on New Year's Eve. After entering the club and looking around, he estimated he could have issued a hundred citations for indecent exposure.

Jensen took him by the hand, dragged him to a bar and ordered.

"Here," she said, handing him his drink. "No one drinks wine here. It's beer or mixed drinks."

"Okay," he grumbled. He hadn't wanted to come, felt guilty for taking time off when they both knew the monster was going to strike again, soon, and that someone would lose their life. He argued on the way to the club that they should be preparing for tomorrow, looking at maps or taking target practice at the department's shooting range.

"It would be a shame if we got a chance to shoot it and missed," he had reasoned.

"We've been preparing all day," she countered. "And besides, too much work and no play dulls the senses and slows the reflexes."

"I don't see how drinking and dancing will sharpen our senses or improve our reflexes."

But he gave up, seeing her point about having some diversion time. After all, they didn't know where the creature was or where it would strike next, and they couldn't possibly patrol all two hundred and fifty miles of canals.

He took a drink - it tasted like it looked: sweet and fruity - and watched in silent awe a part of his culture he had never experienced. Women with huge breasts and tiny waists paraded by, wearing pants that barely covered their pubic bones and tops that clung like a second skin. He stared, not with lust but in disbelief.

Jensen saw him looking and said, shouting over the thumping music, "They're fake, you know, so don't get too impressed."

"How can you tell?" he asked, watching a redhead strut by.

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "You think it's natural for a woman who's five-five and weighs one-fifteen to have breasts the size of cantaloupes?"

"I don't know. I never thought about it."

"You've never thought about big breasts?"

"I never thought about the ideal ratio between height, weight, and breast size."

She shook her head and looked out into the sea of writhing dancers, starting to feel the music.

A minute later, a busty but fuller-figured young woman passed, chasing a tall guy with earrings.

"What about her?" Lawless asked, nodding toward the young woman.

"Fake." Jensen said, starting to move.

"I don't get it. Hers were more in proportion to her body."

"They were perfectly round and exactly the same size, and they barely moved when she walked."

"So?"

"So natural boobs don't look like that." She couldn't believe he didn't know all this.

"Why not?"

She tuned him out and started snapping her fingers.

Lawless drained his glass. Jensen grabbed it and went back to the bar to get more.

He returned to the parading females, with new eyes.

She came back with something different, not so fruity, and suggested they find somewhere to sit where it wasn't so loud; her lecture on breast implants had been shouted and her throat was sore. They found a table by a wall.