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asked.
    â€œChen had me leave it in his office. Come get it at your leisure. Why are you calling?”
    â€œI was hoping to touch base with him.”
    â€œI wouldn’t. He’s less than thrilled with you. He seems to think this is a habit of yours.”
    â€œWhat is.”
    â€œBailing.”
    â€œIt wasn’t my choice,” he said.
    â€œHey, I don’t care. I mean, I
care
. You used to brighten my day, Lev.”
    â€œYou’d be the first to say so,” he said.
    Marcia laughed. “Where are you headed?”
    â€œCaught a case.”
    â€œWhat kind?”
    â€œHomicide.”
    â€œ
Re
-ally. I thought you were finished with that.”
    â€œYou know how it goes.”
    â€œI don’t. Anthony’s been trying to move from Central Burglary to Van Nuys Homicide for a year and a half so he doesn’t have to commute like a maniac. No go. Total freeze. Tell me how you swung it and I’ll be your best friend.”
    For a moment he considered asking if her husband was circumcised. With a name like Sangiovanni, though, it was probably a moot point. “Not my choice.”
    â€œWe didn’t bore you enough with our puny little vehicular mishaps?”
    â€œI miss them already,” he said.
    â€œThen I’ll expect to see you back here as soon as you’re done.”
    â€œYour mouth to God’s ears,” he said.
    He did another outdoor search, taking his time, finding nothing.
    Overhead movement against the two o’clock sun caught his attention.
    The bird was back, circling to Jacob’s south, descending gradually.
    Do your thing. Show me what you’re after.
    As if responding, it swooped. Flattened its descent, speeding diagonally.
    Aiming directly at Jacob.
    When it was about forty feet above the ground, it pulled up and began turning loops. Big and black and shiny—not a raptor. A raven? He squinted, unable to get a bead on it. It was moving fast and the sun was strong. Not a raven, either: the wings were too stubby, and the body oddly flat.
    For nearly a minute it traced haloes far above him. He waited for it to touch down. Instead it shot off into the eastern sky, over the deep canyons. He tried to follow its trajectory. No cloud cover, nowhere to hide. Even so, it vanished.

CHAPTER SIX
    T he Crown Vic was parked outside his building, Subach and Schott in the front seat. Jacob nodded to them as he eased into the carport, and they met him at the door to his apartment, each man carrying a cardboard box.
    â€œMerry Christmas,” Schott said. “Can we come in?”
    They set the boxes down in the living room and—without obtaining consent or announcing their intentions—began rearranging the furniture.
    â€œFeel free,” Jacob said. “Really, don’t hold back.”
    â€œI do feel free,” Schott said. “It’s the defining feature of humankind.”
    â€œThat and the capacity for speech,” Subach said. He lifted Jacob’s coffee table with one paw. “Otherwise we’re no better’n a buncha animals.”
    They disconnected the television and DVR, stacking the media console atop the couch, which they had shoved into the corner. That left a low bookcase, its shelves home to a collection of wooden-handled tools, oiled and polished. Wire brushes, scrapers, styluses, knives, loop-end trimmers.
    Jacob transferred them, two by two, to his bureau. Schott bent to admire them.
    â€œNice. You a woodworker?”
    â€œMy mother’s,” Jacob said.
    â€œShe’s a woodworker?”
    â€œWas. A sculptor,” Jacob said.
    â€œTalented family,” Schott said.
    Subach appeared, carrying the denuded bookcase. “Where do you want this?”
    â€œWhere it was,” Jacob said.
    â€œWhat’s your second choice?”
    Jacob waved vaguely in the direction of his closet.
    While Schott returned to the car for another box, Subach pried open a flat-packed