Terminal

By Marshall Karp

"Lomax and Biggs are back, and this is my good friend and co-writer Marshall Karp at his funniest—while also fashioning a very tight and surprising mystery."
—James Patterson, author of the Alex Cross novels

How much would it cost to get you to kill?

Marshall Karp,co-creator and coauthor of the #1 bestselling NYPD Red series, sets this fast-moving Mike Lomax and Terry Biggs mystery in the heart of Los Angeles, where someone is recruiting terminally ill cancer patients to commit one final act before they die... MURDER.

Hollywood homicide Detective Mike Lomax is at a routine medical appointment when an assailant with a shotgun kills a respected Los Angeles fertility doctor and then himself. But the murder makes no sense. The killer and the victim don't know one another.

When a traffic accident turns out to be a second murder, and again the killer and victim are strangers, Lomax and his partner Terry Biggs have to connect the dots to uncover the shocking motive behind the killings. Laced with twists, turns, and Karp’s trademark biting cop humor, readers may start rooting for the killers: terminally ill patients willing to kill to earn a half million dollars for the loved ones they will leave behind.

The trail of bloodshed leads to a ringleader with a taste for Friedrich Nietzsche, Carl Jung, Ayn Rand, and Nancy Drew; victims being dropped to their deaths from a helicopter; and the powerful and malevolent forces of Big Pharma. As the body count mounts Lomax and Biggs realize that they are uncovering a plot that leads to the corporate boardroom and maybe to a cabinet secretary.

Detective Lomax, at the same time, faces a personal health scare, life-changing decisions regarding his girlfriend Diana and their foster daughter Sophie, and, as always, his well-meaning but meddling father Big Jim.

Let Marshall Karp take you on a bloody tour of Los Angeles as detectives Mike Lomax and Terry Biggs untangle a web of murder, conspiracy, and mystery. Once your adrenaline is pumping and your appetite whetted don't hesitate to move onto the rest of the fast-paced Lomax and Biggs mystery series: The Rabbit Factory; Bloodthirsty; Flipping Out; and Cut, Paste, Kill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marshall Karp
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736379295

Marshall Karp

Marshall Karp cocreated and coauthored the first six books in the #1 bestselling NYPD Red series with James Patterson. Starting with NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority, Marshall became the sole author of the series, which features Detectives Kylie MacDonald and Zach Jordan as members of an of an elite squad sworn to “protect and serve New York’s rich and famous.” Marshall is also the author of five books in the critically acclaimed Lomax and Biggs mystery series, featuring LAPD Detectives Mike Lomax and Terry Biggs, who work homicide out of the famed Los Angeles Hollywood Division. For over twenty years Marshall has worked closely with the international charity Vitamin Angels, providing tens of millions of mothers and children around the globe with lifesaving vitamins and nutrients. More at www.KarpKills.com.

Book preview

TERMINAL

A Lomax and Biggs Mystery

MARSHALL KARP

Copyright © 2016 by Mesa Films, Inc.

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form

ISBN: 9781736379295

Jacket design by Dennis Woloch

Book design by Kathleen Otis

Author photo by Fran Gormley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

For information, email [e-mail].

PRAISE FOR THE #1 BESTSELLING NYPD RED SERIES COAUTHORED BY MARSHALL KARP AND JAMES PATTERSON

"NYPD Red 2, like its forebear, stands out due to Karp’s unmistakable style. Karp, already one of my favorite authors because of his wonderful Lomax and Biggs mysteries, gets a chance in the mega-selling spotlight with this terrific series, and he soars with the opportunity." —SCOTT COFFMAN, LOUISVILLE COURIER-JOURNAL

"In the case of NYPD Red, there is simply too much fun—in the form of inventive murder, sex, chemistry, investigation, more murder, more sex, and the like. Though the book is complete in itself, there are plenty of interesting characters who could carry this as a series for as long as Patterson and Karp will want it to go." —BOOKREPORTER.COM

Patterson and Karp spare no plot twist in this page- turning thriller...Love triangles, mafia ties, and political entanglements abound, layering this character-driven mystery in such a way that no dull moment ever arises. —HAMPTON SHEET MAGAZINE on NYPD RED 2

Patterson and Karp once again prove that this is one crime series that’s not to be missed—the literary equivalent of your favorite summer blockbuster movie. —NIGHTSANDWEEKENDS.COM ON NYPD RED 2

PRAISE FOR MARSHALL KARP’S SNOWSTORM IN AUGUST

Talk about your killer snowstorm. Don’t flake out, but Marshall Karp has written one stone-cold mystery! —AL ROKER

[An] adrenaline-fueled thriller from bestseller Karp. —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

A compelling plot, with characters you immediately become invested in. Marshall Karp writes with the kind of attention to the details of law enforcement that distinguishes a great book from a good one—a rare find. —MAUREEN MULCAHY, LIEUTENANT SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT, OFFICE OF THE CHIEF OF CRIME CONTROL STRATEGIES NYPD (RET.)

"Snowstorm in August couples the charm of an unflinching true-crime narrative with an ambitious new vision of America’s war on drugs unlike anything you’ve read or watched before. I simply can’t wait to read more stories with the extraordinary characters Karp has debuted in this extremely enthralling and suspenseful smash-hit!" —KASHIF HUSSAIN, BEST THRILLER BOOKS

PRAISE FOR MARSHALL KARP’S LOMAX AND BIGGS MYSTERIES

The comedy never overshadows this smart, many-layered thriller...Lomax, Biggs, and the FBI have their work cut out for them in a clever plot that will keep readers guessing to the very end. Enthusiastic readers will anxiously await the return of detectives Lomax and Biggs. —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY (STARRED REVIEW) on THE RABBIT FACTORY

Karp offers multiple twists that will keep most readers guessing until the end, and balances the grim plot with Biggs’s inexhaustible supply of genuinely humorous one-liners. Kinky Friedman and Carl Hiaasen fans should latch onto this series. —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY (STARRED REVIEW) on CUT, PASTE, KILL

Totally original, a sheer roller coaster ride, packed with waves of humor and a dynamic duo in Lomax and Biggs. Karp shows a master’s touch in his debut. —DAVID BALDACCI on THE RABBIT FACTORY

Read this book and you’ll be grinning the whole way through. Marshall Karp knows how to keep a story running full speed, full time. This one’s a blast. —MICHAEL CONNELLY on FLIPPING OUT

"Irrepressible and often poignant...Like the best of Donald Westlake and Carl Hiaasen, The Rabbit Factory is deftly plotted and deliciously askew." —BOOKLIST (STARRED REVIEW)

Probably the hottest crime caper this year. Lomax and Biggs are fun, fun, fun, page after page, and... the tension never flags for an instant. —BOOK OF THE MONTH, GATEWAYMONTHLY.COM (UK), on THE RABBIT FACTORY

You’re going to love meeting Mike Lomax and Terry Biggs, a pair of hip homicide detectives with the LAPD; unless, of course, you’re the perp. Smart, funny and intuitive, Lomax and Biggs glide through the overlit shoals of Los Angeles like sharks through ginger ale. As up to the minute as they are intensely observant, the guys, this time, prowl the golden muck of the LA real estate bubble to fine effect; an exhilarating read. —DONALD WESTLAKE on FLIPPING OUT

This outstanding fourth chapter in the canon of Detectives Lomax and Biggs provides further proof of the indisputable: Marshall Karp writes the funniest dialogue in the detective genre. If you have not yet read the Lomax and Biggs books, you simply must start. —LOUISVILLE COURIER-JOURNAL on CUT, PASTE, KILL

"Marshall Karp could well be the Carl Hiaasen of Los Angeles—only I think he’s even funnier. The Rabbit Factory will touch your funny bone, and your heart." —JAMES PATTERSON

Brings to mind Robert B. Parker, Janet Evanovich, Dean Koontz, Stuart Woods, and a lot of other fast-paced authors. —JANET MASLIN, NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW, ON THE RABBIT FACTORY

"Better than mostly anything on the market...The Rabbit Factory is, quite simply, stunning... Worth every single second it takes to fly through... 632 pages of unadulterated magic." —CHRIS HIGH, TANGLED WEB AND SHOTS MAGAZINE (UK)

This is a nigh-on flawless first novel—I thoroughly enjoyed both the story and the writing style of the author and I implore you to simply read it! —DEBUT BOOK OF THE MONTH, CRIMESQUAD.COM (UK), on THE RABBIT FACTORY

"Just the right blend of belly laughs and suspense... Karp’s second offering is every bit as funny and fast-paced as The Rabbit Factory." —BOOKLIST (STARRED REVIEW) on BLOODTHIRSTY

Wickedly funny...this quirky, off-kilter novel also has a really big heart...[and] an emotional core that will make readers care about these tough but vulnerable crime fighters and keep them hoping for a sequel. —BOOKREPORTER.COM on THE RABBIT FACTORY

Blending the gritty realism of a Joseph Wambaugh police procedural with the sardonic humor of Janet Evanovich, Karp delivers a treat that’s not only laugh-out-loud funny but also remarkably suspenseful. —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY on FLIPPING OUT

"The Rabbit Factory was a joy to read... [It] has been compared to the work of Carl Hiaasen, but I’m happy to say it’s much better." —THEBOOKBAG.CO.UK

The frenetic plotting and outrageous characterisation are in [Carl Hiassen]’s line... but the anti-establishment humour is reminiscent of another darkly humorous novelist, Joseph Heller. —PUBLISHING NEWS (UK) on THE RABBIT FACTORY

I strongly suspect that Marshall Karp is the secret love child of Raymond Chandler and the Marx Brothers, with some Dorothy Parker around the edges. Karp should be considered a national treasure. —CORNELIA READ, EDGAR NOMINEE FOR BEST FIRST NOVEL, on BLOODTHIRSTY

Unplug the phone, pull up your favorite chair, and settle in for the best mystery novel this year. This strong debut is an often hilarious head-scratcher, and features a smartly drawn cast of characters...A page-turner. —SCOTT COFFMAN, LOUISVILLE COURIER-JOURNAL, ON THE RABBIT FACTORY

Karp craftily engineers a statement on ethical values, both institutional and personal. —KIRKUS REVIEWS on THE RABBIT FACTORY

"Marshall Karp needs a blurb from me like Uma needs a facelift. This guy is the real deal, and Bloodthirsty is a first class, fast, funny, and fabulous read by a terrific writer. Great entertainment, highly recommended to one and all." —JOHN LESCROART, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

Laugh-out-loud funny, realistically portrayed, break-neck-paced, and powered by literally hundreds of hilarious one-liners...Karp has hit the jackpot with Lomax and Biggs. The most endearing and wildly entertaining protagonists to grace the pages of a mystery novel in years. —PAUL GOAT ALLEN on BLOODTHIRSTY

"With this fifth long-awaited book in the Lomax and Biggs series, we see Marshall Karp return in full force with his poignant trademark humour that never seems to leave the room, even under the direst of circumstances. — DAVID BEN EFRAIM, QUICK BOOK REVIEWS, on TERMINAL

"Blending edge of your seat mystery and laugh-out- loud humor in such a way that neither steps on the other’s toes is not easy, yet once again Karp proves himself a master of that delicate operation in Cut, Paste, Kill. So what are you waiting for? Buy, Read, Enjoy!" — ELIZABETH A. WHITE, EDITING BY ELIZABETH

Marshall Karp is the Woody Allen of the murder mystery. He’s up there with Carl Hiaasen and Donald Westlake and Janet Evanovich—smart, fast-paced, clever, and really, really funny. —JOSEPH FINDER, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR, on BLOODTHIRSTY

Nobody writes smart criminals and smarter cops better than Marshall Karp. —NYPD DETECTIVE JOHN CORCORAN (RETIRED)

ALSO BY MARSHALL KARP

DANNY CORCORAN AND THE BALTIC AVENUE GROUP

Snowstorm In August

THE LOMAX AND BIGGS MYSTERIES

Terminal

Cut, Paste, Kill

Flipping Out

Bloodthirsty

The Rabbit Factory

THE NYPD RED SERIES

NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

Co-authored with James Patterson

NYPD Red 6

Red Alert (aka NYPD Red 5)

NYPD Red 4

NYPD Red 3

NYPD Red 2

NYPD Red

STANDALONE

Kill Me If You Can

For details and sample chapters, please visit www.KarpKills.com

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

PRAISE FOR THE #1 BESTSELLING NYPD RED SERIES COAUTHORED BY MARSHALL KARP AND JAMES PATTERSON

PRAISE FOR MARSHALL KARP’S SNOWSTORM IN AUGUST

PRAISE FOR MARSHALL KARP’S LOMAX AND BIGGS MYSTERIES

ALSO BY MARSHALL KARP

AN OVERLY LONG, POSSIBLY OVERWRITTEN DEDICATION

PROLOGUE: AMATEUR HOUR

ONE

TWO

PART ONE: DIAGNOSIS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

PART TWO: BAD PHARMA

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

PART THREE: UP IN THE AIR

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

PART FOUR: C.T.W.

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE BIRTH OF LOMAX AND BIGGS

PREVIEW OF THE RABBIT FACTORY

PART ONE: KILLING RAMBO

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

AN OVERLY LONG, POSSIBLY OVERWRITTEN DEDICATION

This book is dedicated with love and gratitude to every Lomax and Biggs fan on the planet. You may be a few thousand whackos short of a cult following, but you are annoyingly, wonderfully, and magically persistent.

After Cut, Paste, Kill was published in 2010, you waited for Lomax and Biggs 5. But the publishing business is a not-too-subtle balance of art and commerce, and commerce almost always kicks art’s ass.

So like Willie Sutton, my career told me to go where the money was. I co-authored five best sellers with James Patterson, and while most of you understood, you still wanted me to find time for Lomax and Biggs. And you were not shy in your communication. On Facebook, on Twitter, on Goodreads, and of course, email. Lots and lots of email. Sometimes you were gentle. Please, Marshall… But other times you were just a bunch of book junkies jonesing for your next Lomax and Biggs fix.

I knew it would take years, but I couldn’t say no. And when I finally started writing this book, I realized I missed Mike Lomax, Terry Biggs, Big Jim, Diana, Muller, and Kilcullen as much as you did. I also wanted to develop the newest character, Sophie Tan, the seven-year-old who was left in Mike and Diana’s care at the end of Cut, Paste, Kill. In Terminal, Sophie comes into her own—a wise-beyond-her-years force to be reckoned with. I must admit, I’ve fallen in love with this kid, and hope you will too.

Terminal has been a labor of love, and when the time came to think of a dedication, I didn’t have to think twice. I couldn’t name names. The list would go on for pages. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left one out.

But you know who you are. More important, I know who you are.

Thank you.

PROLOGUE

AMATEUR HOUR

ONE

The Prius idled in total silence. The hybrid was so damn quiet that even when it was barreling down the road a pedestrian could barely hear it coming.

Which, of course, was part of the plan.

Bruce Bower angled the driver’s seat so he could lean back and look through the moon roof. Not much moon to be looked at—just a sliver of white that did little to light the quiet suburban LA street. That too was part of the plan.

He stared heavenward and thought about his life—the fifty-one years that had gone by and the four to six weeks Dr. Spang said he had left. He smiled.

What’s so funny? Claire asked.

He adjusted the seat so he could see her face in the faint glow that came through the windshield. Thirty-one years since he fell in love with her, and she was still beautiful, still sexy, still everything he ever desired.

I was just thinking how I spent my entire career dispensing brilliant tax advice, Bruce said, and now your entire financial future rests on where some dog decides to take a crap.

Dogs are creatures of habit, Claire said. Last night was a fluke. Tonight he’ll get it right.

It all hinged on a five-year-old yellow Lab named Maverick.

Bruce and Claire had done three test runs. Every night between ten and eleven, Wade Yancy would open the front door of his house at 476 Comstock Avenue, and Maverick would come bounding out, a flashing blue LED safety light hooked to his collar.

Three out of three times the dog headed for the opposite side of the street, stopped at the bend in the road, and did his business directly in front of somebody else’s four-million-dollar home.

Yancy would follow with a glass of wine in one hand and a pooper-scooper bag in the other. He’d crouch down to pick up the shit, because that’s the kind of thoughtful neighbor Wade Yancy was. But half-drunk and with his back to the oncoming traffic, he was an accident waiting to happen.

All Bruce had to do was put the car in gear, come around the blind turn doing forty, and the deadly silent Prius would do the rest.

Last night was supposed to be the night, but the dog never crossed the street. Maverick had opted to take a quick piss up against a tree on Yancy’s property and went back into the house for the night.

That might be the kind of setback a professional killer could deal with, but not Claire. As soon as Yancy closed his front door, she started to cry. Bruce did his best to comfort her, but in the end, he cried along with her.

They went home, drank wine, made love, and did the only thing they could do. They pushed the murder off another day. Again, not much of a setback for a professional, but Bruce didn’t have that many days left.

It was now twenty-four hours and fifteen minutes since the aborted attempt, and Bruce reached for the pack of Luckies sitting on the dashboard.

Do you think that’s such a good idea? Claire said.

I thought it was, he said, picking up the cigarettes, "but judging by the verbal topspin you put on the words good and idea, you think it’s anything but."

Very perceptive. I’ve got Nicorette gum in my purse. You want some?

Nicorette is for people who are trying to quit smoking. I’ll quit for good soon enough. Until then, I have Dr. Spang’s blessings to smoke like a Chevy Vega. I am no longer a gum chewer, Claire. I’m a Stage IV smoker.

You’re also a Stage IV asshole, Claire said. Do you really think I’m trying to stop you from smoking? I’m only afraid that if you light up, somebody could see us sitting here.

Oh, he said, putting the cigarettes back on the dash.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a square of Nicorette. Chew this. You can smoke all you want when the cops get here.

This reminds me of our third date, he said, chomping down on the mint-flavored wad of nicotine-infused rubber and resting a hand on her thigh.

She covered his hand with hers and kissed his cheek. Don’t get too horny, lover boy, because there are things I could do in the front seat of a car when I was twenty that I can’t do now.

I’m not talking about the sex, he said. Third date was the first time you started bossing the shit out of me, and you haven’t stopped since.

Have I told you lately that you’re an asshole? she said, punching him gently on the shoulder.

Stage IV, he said. He was about to return the kiss when she sat up straight.

The door’s opening, she said.

They watched as the flashing blue light loped across the street and headed for the curve in the road.

Good doggie, Bruce said.

The light stopped moving, and the dog circled, looking for the perfect piece of Holmby Hills real estate to leave his mark.

Poop is now in progress, Claire said in a mock robotic voice.

Bruce had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift. Get your cell phone ready, he said.

Claire removed the phone from her purse, never taking her eyes off the flashing blue light that was the only insurance policy her dying husband had.

The dog finished and scampered off to piss in the bushes, leaving the pile of shit for his multimillionaire owner to deal with.

Mr. Yancy has had a few, Claire said.

More than a few, Bruce said as he watched his prey stumble off the curb and weave his way across the street.

As soon as Yancy squatted down, Bruce put the car in gear and hit the gas.

Be careful you don’t hit the dog, Claire warned.

The dog doesn’t deserve to die, Bruce said as the Prius accelerated from zero to forty in 5.3 seconds. Yancy does.

They had done their research. Thirty was the speed limit on Comstock, but a pedestrian who might survive being hit at thirty would be roadkill at forty.

The headlights were out, but Bruce had no trouble honing in on the two-hundred-fifty-pound target. And then, as if God had decided that Claire and Bruce Bower had waited for closure long enough, Yancy stood up, and the front bumper of the Prius struck him at knee level, pummeling bones, blood vessels, and tissue.

As soon as he heard the thud, Bruce hit the brakes, but the laws of kinetic energy were still in control. The forward motion continued, and the hood of the car connected with Yancy’s pelvis, and his body went airborne, landing on a lawn sixty feet away.

Bruce turned on the headlights before the Prius even came to a stop.

Oh my God, he screamed. Claire, I hit somebody, I hit somebody.

They had decided that scripting a story wasn’t enough. Acting it out and living it in real time would make the lies much more believable.

Claire immediately went into character and dialed 911.

Bruce sat behind the wheel, dazed, numb. I never saw him, he said. He came out of nowhere.

See if he’s okay, Claire yelled. She turned to her phone. My name is Claire Bower. We just hit someone with our car. I don’t know—just a minute. Bruce, where the hell are we?

Comstock Avenue, he yelled. Somewhere between Beverly Glen and Sunset, but closer to Beverly Glen. It wasn’t my fault. He came out of nowhere.

Bruce threw the car door open and ran toward the body yelling, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never saw you. He was immersed in the part now, and by the time the paramedics arrived, he was confident that his blood pressure would be through the roof.

The dog was on all fours, whimpering, nuzzling Yancy’s face, trying to get a response.

Bruce knelt down in the grass next to the body. I’m sorry, he said, first to the broken, bloodied man on the ground, and then again to the dog.

The police will be here in three minutes, Claire yelled, getting out of the car and walking toward him. Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay.

I don’t know, Bruce yelled back. Hold on. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight. Yancy’s eyes were glazed over, locked in the thousand-yard stare.

Bruce made the official pronouncement. He’s dead.

Are you sure? Claire said, real tears streaming down her cheeks. Maybe he’s still breathing.

She dropped to her knees and pressed an ear to the dead man’s chest.

A wet, gurgling moan erupted from Yancy’s throat. Claire bolted backwards and screamed.

Yancy struggled to speak. Call…nine…one…one, he implored.

She didn’t have to. She could already hear the sirens in the distance.

TWO

I can practically hear the wheels turning inside that head of yours, Claire said. What are you thinking about?

I was just doing the math, Bruce said.

They were sitting on the back step of LAFD Rescue Ambulance 71. The paramedics had taken their vitals, determined they were well enough to be detained at the scene, and had run down the road to join the cops and firefighters congregating around Wade Yancy.

Despite the fact that no one could possibly hear her, Claire whispered. The math? Honey, there’s fifty thousand in the bank in the Caymans, and by this time tomorrow, there’ll be another four fifty. Even I can figure that out.

Not that math, Bruce said. I’m trying to calculate what it’s costing the city of Los Angeles to respond to the accident. LAPD sent four patrol units and a T car; LAFD has two engines, an ALS and a BLS rescue ambulance; there’s a team from SID taking pictures, the ME just arrived, plus the DOT has a crew detouring traffic at both ends of Comstock Avenue—all for one simple Vehicle versus Ped.

For God’s sake, Bruce, she said in a harsh whisper. Lose the cop lingo, or somebody will hear you and figure out that you researched every inch of this investigation a week before the accident happened.

He shook his head. This is why I love you. I was sitting here quietly, but you had to know what I was thinking. I tell you, and I get yelled at.

I just don’t want you to screw it up.

I haven’t screwed anything up yet—probably because I did all that research. And just a reminder—you’re the one crashing the party here. You’re not supposed to even know what I’m doing, much less be a part of it. It’s totally against their rules.

"Their rules? What about Thou Shalt Not Kill? They have no problem if you break that rule. What are they going to do if they find out I was with you—ask me for their money back?"

Bruce shrugged. I don’t know what they’ll do, but whatever it is, that’ll be the new guy’s problem.

What new guy?

You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’ll have a nice little nest egg—trust me, there’s going to be a new guy.

I don’t think so, Bruce. Thirty-one years of living on the edge with a wild and crazy high-flying accountant is all the excitement I can handle in one lifetime.

He laughed. Oh yeah—that’s me—the Evel Knievel of CPAs.

That cop is coming back, Claire said. Try to act like you’re in shock.

I am in shock, Bruce said. I can’t believe I earned a half-million dollars for a couple of hours work.

Officer Matt McCormick had stepped out of the circle surrounding Wade Yancy and was walking up the road to the ambulance.

How are you folks holding up? he said gently. He was only three years on the job, but he had a natural gift for bringing calm to the chaos of a sudden and violent traffic accident.

Claire smiled. Thank you, Officer McCormick. We’re doing better.

Mr. Bower, McCormick said, the paramedic told me your BP was high, but that’s normal in situations like this. I’d like you to take me through the accident, but if you don’t feel well, the ambulance can take you to UCLA Med.

I’m okay for now, Bruce said. But EMS has been here awhile, and he’s still lying there, so I guess he’s…

Yes sir, I’m sorry to tell you that the victim has expired. If it’s any consolation, the coroner is pretty sure he never suffered. He died on impact.

On impact, Bruce repeated. I guess that’s some kind of a blessing.

Does he have a family? Claire asked.

A wife and two teenage daughters.

I heard screaming, Claire said.

"That was one of the girls. She’s in shock. They took her back to the house. One of the