LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Cecil Pode,” Marge said, reading off of a page. “He’s fifty-two—a self-employed photographer with a studio in Culver City. Stable little bugger. Same business for over twenty years. Ran him through NCIC. No wants, no warrants, no priors.”

      Decker frowned.

      “Yeah, it would have been nice if he’d have come back a scumbag,” she said.

      “He’s a scumbag,” Decker said. “Nice guys don’t snap Polaroids of young girls smothered in spunk.”

      “Well, then he’s a legally clean scumbag,” she answered. “I’ll dig a little deeper. Talk to a few of my ears. I’ll see what I come up with. Hollander will do the same.”

      Decker nodded.

      “What’s with the tooth lady in the porno shots?” Marge asked.

      “I’m going to see the dentist about her now. Want to come?”

      “Gonna have to pass,” said Marge. “I’ve got a court date with a weenie wagger.”

      Decker pulled out the porno photo and laid it in front of Hennon. The peg-toothed girl had brought a man to ejaculation and his penis was spurting into her mouth. She was covered with semen. But Hennon zeroed right in on the teeth without glancing at the action. A real pro.

      She smiled broadly. “These look like Hutchinson’s incisors to me. What an eye!”

      “Take a gander at this, Annie.” He showed her the blowup of the ear and the hearing device.

      “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

      He grinned. “What do you think?”

      “There’s potential here. I want to fool around with the photos and compare them to the X rays of Doe Two’s skull and teeth. I’ve got a darkroom. Give me about twenty minutes.”

      “Fine,” he said. “I’ll eat my lunch.”

      She left, and he opened his paper sack and pulled out foil-wrapped packages. Rina had prepared him a piece of cold poached salmon, cucumbers in sour cream smothered with fresh dill, and a square of noodle kugel with raisins, pineapple, and pecans. No doubt about it, if they ever married, he’d turn into a blimp. Reaching into the bag again, he took out a Bert-and-Ernie thermos. He’d asked her before not to pack it, but she was insistent that it was the only way to keep drinks cold. If he wanted an adult thermos, go out and buy one. But of course he never got around to it, and she kept using the kiddie one.

      He unscrewed the top and poured the liquid into the white plastic top. It looked like carbonated apple juice, but to his surprise it turned out to be beer—Dos Equis. He laughed. Before knowing him, Rina had never bought a six-pack. Although he never drank while on duty, he felt impelled to take a sip. A toast in her honor. He ate heartily and took another swig of beer at the end of the meal. He had just finished a cigarette when Hennon reappeared.

      “You have the luck of the Irish, Pete.”

      “It’s a match?”

      “I wouldn’t swear in court based on what you’ve given me, but let me show you something. I’ve superimposed Jean’s craniofacial skeleton onto the picture you gave me. Look how everything lines up. The eye sockets, the antrum or maxillary air sinus, the nasal sinus, and of course, the upper teeth. A case could be made for positive identification just based on photography, but I’m conservative. Go ahead and find out the identity of this girl. Then we’ll get the dental records, if she has them, and confirm what we already think.”

      “Super. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

      “Good.”

      “Good.”

      They stared at each other. For some reason, he couldn’t avert his eyes. She licked her lips. He felt a wave of heat and knew he’d had enough.

      “Whew,” he said, wiping his forehead with a napkin. “Is it hot in here or is it my imagination?”

      “I feel fine,” she said with an impish grin.

      “I’d better leave.” Decker picked up the empty sack with the Bert-and-Ernie thermos inside.

      He headed for the door.

      “Pete,” said Hennon, “do you want your pictures back?”

      He laughed.

      “Yes, I do, thank you.”

      “Anytime, Sergeant.”

      After checking out Truscott again, Decker headed for the Teriyaki Dog. It was a ramshackle fast-food stand on Sunset across the street from Children’s Hospital. This part of Hollywood wasn’t hooker turf and Decker suspected that was why Kiki had picked out the spot; she didn’t want to be seen with a cop in front of her peers. But if that was her rationale, the girl wasn’t too bright. The stand was open and visible from the boulevard.

      She was wolfing down a conconction of hot dog, chili and Chinese vegetables, and the mixture of smells was potent. He sat down beside her at a splintered picnic table. Placing his elbows on the table top, he noticed it was sticky with crusted food. He raised his coat sleeve and grimaced.

      “Wanna bite?” she offered.

      “No thanks.” He frowned. “One arm is enough.”

      She looked puzzled, then broke into a laugh and punched him on the shoulder—his good one.

      “You’re a kidder, huh?”

      “What do you have for me?” he asked.

      “Slow down,” she said, talking with her mouth full. “What’s the hurry?”

      “I’m busy, Kiki. Put up—”

      “Or shut up, I know.” She stopped eating, wiped her hands on a napkin, and took out a small scrap of paper. “These two guys specialize in younger meat and they’re both bad dudes.”

      Decker looked at the names: Wilmington Johnson. Clementine.

      “Clementine have a last name?” he asked.

      “Just Clementine,” she answered licking her fingers.

      As in “Oh my darlin.”

      “Black? White?” he asked.

      “Both are niggers. Clementine is pretty light from what I hear. I’ve never seen him.”

      She picked up her food and took another bite. “Can you get me a Coke?”

      He handed her a twenty. “Buy your own.”

      “You’re a real big-timer, Decker.” She pouted. Then she broke into a smile. “So I did all right, huh?”

      “Not bad. Where’d you get the names from?”

      “Here and there. You check out Pode yet?”

      “No. Tell me about him.”

      “Don’t know anything other than what I told you,” she said. “Just that he takes fuck pictures on the side—young kids—boys as well as girls. Lots of chicken hawks out here.”

      Decker pulled out the snapshot of Doe Two—Joan.

      “Ever seen this girl, Kiki?”

      The adolescent’s eyes widened.

      “Yeah.”

      It was Decker’s turn to grin.

      “Who is she?”

      “Countess Dracula. They call her that because of her teeth. She’s kinky, Decker, real kinky.”

      “Tell me about her.”

      “I don’t know anything really. Just talk on the streets. They say stay away from her. I haven’t heard about her in a while.”

      “That’s

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