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I opened the notebook and could see without having to turn it over for handwriting analysis that Ron Grayson’s elaborate, artsy lettering was not a match for the Latin inscription I’d seen on the flyleaf of the book of poetry left on the Malones’ stairs Ron Grayson had a solid alibi, and I had to reluctantly accept that he’d told us the truth But what bothereda s habit, was that he hadn’t asked about the Malones

Was it because he’d lied about knowing them?

Or because he just didn’t care?

“What about my son?”

“He’s all yours,” said Jacobi over his shoulder just before he slammed the screen door on his march out of the house

I said to Grayson, “Ron will be in your custody until he’s arraigned on the coke charge, and we’ll speak to the DA on his behalf like we said we’d do

“But I’d ground Ronnie, if I were you, Mr Grayson He’s breaking the law and doing business with criht for a minute”

Chapter 25

FOR THE NEXT FOUR HOURS, Jacobi and I rang doorbells in the Malones’ neighborhood, badging the rich and richer, scaring them brainless with the questions we asked Rachel Savino, for instance, lived next door to the Malones in a sprawling Mediterranean-style house She was an attractive brunette of about forty, wearing tight slacks, a tighter blouse, the break in the tan line on her ring finger telling me she was a recent divorcée

She wouldn’t let us inside her door

Savino eyed my dusty blue trousers, man-tailored shirt, and blazer, and did a double take when she noticed uess we didn’t look like residents of Presidio Heights So Jacobi and I stood on her terra-cotta steps while her pack of corgis jumped and yelped around us

“Have you ever seen this youngher a Polaroid of Ronald Grayson

“No I don’t think so”

“Have you seen anyone hanging around or driving by who hborhood?” asked Jacobi

“Darwin! Shut up! I don’t think so, no”