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the killer’s demeanor: brutally methodical, no hurried escape.”
    “Grampa bad guy,” he said. “Doing her in broad daylight and giving himself less than three hours to get the car cleaned up and back in place is professional? Not to mention driving it back to Beverly Hills in full view?”
    “Where’s the rent-a-car lot?”
    “Alden Drive near Foothill.”
    “B.H. industrial zone,” I said. “Pretty quiet on Sunday morning.”
    “It’s also five minutes from the B.H. Police Department.”
    “But a black Mercedes wouldn’t attract anyone’s attention. Neither would a car
entering
the lot. Any blood in the Benz?”
    “At first glance, no. Let’s see what the lab turns up.”
    “He wiped the knife on the front of his pants, careful not to make a mess. Two and a half hours was enough time to clean the car before he returned it. Maybe he’s got a safe place, somewhere between the crime scene and the drop-off.”
    “That’s half the Westside,” he said. “Think I’m gonna get some media coverage on this one. Geriatric knife man, how many of those can there be?” Forking lobster, chewing, swallowing. “Nervy knife man, doing it in broad daylight.”
    “Maybe in his mind a daytime hit was safer because a night-prowl would’ve meant breaking into her house. Did she have an alarm system?”
    “Dinky. Front and back doors, no windows.”
    “For an old guy, climbing through windows could be a problem,” I said. “He figured that early on Sunday, most people are sleeping. We’re also talking a victim unlikely to put up serious resistance, and a silent weapon. He blitzed her so fast she never had time to scream. If Moskow hadn’t forgotten to take his Ambien last night, the whole thing might’ve gone unnoticed. Any other neighbors have information?”
    He covered his ears with his hands, repeated the gesture with his eyes and mouth.
    “Moskow come up clean?”
    “Spotless.” He pushed his plate away. “Wiping the blade on his pants. What’s
that
all about?”
    “Could be an expression of contempt,” I said.
    “Those arterial wounds, no way he’d avoid leaving some trace in the car.”
    “He cleans up the obvious, the Benz gets steamed by the company, he’s home free.”
    “I’m definitely buying contempt,” he said. “Lotta rage, here. The question is what did a seventy-three-year-old retired schoolteacher do to incite that.”
    “People have secrets.”
    “Well, none of hers have turned up, so far. The house was neat, clean, real grandmotherly.”
    He drew his plate closer, began bolting his food.
    I said, “Hot rage but cool planning. Maybe he wasn’t quite so careful last time.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The stain in the Bentley.”
    “No body associated with the Bentley, Alex. I’m not ready to connect the two.”
    I kept quiet.
    “Yeah, yeah, there are parallels,” he said. “Now give me another homicide that ties it together and explain to me how such a careful guy could leave a stain in full view.”
    “It was dark when he brought the Bentley back and he missed it. Or something made him nervous and he left quickly.”
    “That’s weak, Doctor.”
    “Another possibility is he left it there on purpose.”
    “Another contempt message?”
    “
Look what I got away with.
Maybe the Bentley was a rehearsal for today.”
    “A senior-citizen psychopath who likes to play games.” He drummed the table with his fork. “Or the Bentley has nothing to do with Ella.”
    “Or that.”
    “You don’t believe it.”
    “Do you?”
    He sighed. “I’ve got Records checking violent crime reports during the hours the Bentley was missing. Nothing so far.”
    Spooning lentils into his mouth, he said, “Someone that old. Weird.”
    “You know what they say. Seventy’s the new fifty.”
    He reached for a lobster claw. “And up is down and low is high.”
    I said, “If we are talking some kind of organized crime link, that could mean teamwork. One person steals the car, passes it