HYPOTHESES CONFIRMED:

Ben Dugger used his experiment to pick up women—young blondes. Relinquished his catch when Dad asserted a preference.

Snaring women but acting the "perfect gentleman." Asexual—at least in the beginning. Something off sexually—Monique Lindquist's laughing aside about his not wanting to talk about sex rang in my ears.

So did Cheryl Duke's remark about not wanting to be judged neglectful: definitely worried about losing her kids. The accidental gas leak. Living at the estate as the Duke family called the shots.

Black Suit also bunking down there. Playing tennis. More than just hired help.

Threads of suspicion—a net. But nothing that told me why Lauren and the others had died. Nothing to tell Milo.

As I drove back home I wondered how I'd recount the day to Robin.

Hey, hon, I played frogman and spent most of the afternoon flirting with a much younger woman. Cheryl's private number was wedged in my wallet. There was no reason for her aroma to linger in my nose, but I kept catching whiffs of suntan lotion and good perfume.

I arrived just before five. Spike greeted me at the door with a dismissive snort, but no sign of Robin. He led me into the kitchen and groused until I fed him some leftover brisket, and that's where I found the note: "Taking a nap, alarm set for six-thirty." I checked the answering machine. Four messages, none from Milo. Booting up the computer, I plugged in "Anita Duke," came across the personal website of another woman with the same name—a computer programmer in Nashville—offering the universe a peek into her private life. Why do people do that?

The Anita I was looking for merited a dozen hits, almost all of them citations I'd already pulled up—the transfer of executive power from father to daughter. But down at the bottom of the list, a two-year-old citation from Entertainment News caught my eye:

Duke Magazine Exec Weds: Magazine heavy Anita Duke ties the knot with boyfriend in Malibu ceremony . . .

I downloaded and printed.

In a star-studded, ocean-view ceremony this past weekend, the only daughter of magazine tycoon Marc Anthony Duke was married to her companion of several years. Anita Catherine Duke, 33, a graduate of Wellesley College and Columbia University Business School and newly appointed CEO of Duke Enterprises, was given away this past Saturday by her father and stepmother, Sylvana, as she tied the knot with Kent Irving, 31, former president of M'Lady's Couture, an LA. garment manufacturer, and now Projects Manager for Duke Enterprises. The nuptials took place under a veil of secrecy at the posh Shadowridge Lodge in the hills of Malibu, but sources cite the attendance of several showbiz heavies including

The rest was all famous names and catering details. No mention of a honeymoon. Or of Brother Ben's presence at the happy event.

M'Lady's Couture.

The rag trade. Lauren's turf before Kent Irving had married himself into the Duke family.

Now I did need to talk to my friend the detective.

I got hold of him at the robbery-homicide room.

"Oh, happy days," he said. "Despite my express instructions, Andy Salander has split. I was trying to reach him to see if he knew more than he originally told us about Lauren's schmatte connections—I've spent the bulk of the past two days downtown, dead-ending on that. No one at the Fashion Mart remembers her doing runway work, and none of the modeling agencies ever signed her up. Which probably means another lie—her real gig was hooking, and who's going to admit being involved with that? I did find a couple shirts at discount, but that's about it for productivity."

"Funny thing you should mention the rag trade. Ben Dugger's brother-in-law used to be involved in that. Outfit called M'Lady's Couture."

"Oh," he said. "Well, how about you just borrow my badge and give me a few days off in Palm Springs?"

"You hate the desert."

"I hate this case more. . . . M'Lady's Couture . . . I've got the Mart directory right here, hold on. ... Nope, no listing, let's try the phone book. . . . Uh-uh—zilch."

"No surprise," I said "The story said 'former president.' Irving's moved on to brighter prospects."

"How'd you find this out?"

I thought about telling him of my day at the beach. Said, "Hurtling through cyberspace. The M'Lady connection was cited in Anita Duke's wedding story. It makes me wonder. Irving married Anita two years ago, but they probably dated for a while before that—let's say six months to a year. That's part of the time period Lauren claimed to be working the Mart. I agree, modeling was a cover, she was hooking. But the garment-biz part of it might have been true. If Irving was one of her clients—a big-time regular, throwing around big money—his marrying megamillions would make that an embarrassing bit of biography. What if Lauren tried to profit from that—told Michelle, et cetera, et cetera, and Michelle did the same. Or someone thought she was going to. As in Gretchen Stengel. Who also knew Irving from the good old days and told him. And he had the problem taken care of."

Long silence. "So now you've got a new bad guy."

"Big bucks at stake—an executive type—would fit with the professional hit scenario. As well as leaving the bodies to be found. Warning off others. It would also explain the theft of Lauren's computer records. In addition to Anita's money, Irving's got a top job at Duke Enterprises, and he's part of a group that's developing Paradise Cove. Lots at stake. Any way to find out if his name comes up in Gretchen's case file?"

"And Dr. Dugger? No more sexy secrets?"

"I'm not abandoning him," I said. "Just suggesting an alternative. And even if Dugger wasn't directly involved in the murders, he could've set everything into motion, without intending to. By trying to get something going with Lauren—bringing her to the Duke estate. She and Irving came face-to-face—talk about a blast from the past—and she started leaning on Irving. That could explain Dugger's strong reaction when we told him about Lauren's death. He was surprised. But he's also aware of his role in it—however unintentional. Suspects Irving. He can't say a thing, because he doesn't want to expose his family. So he claims innocence, cooperates up to a point, starts sweating when you get too close to his personal life."

"All this from cyberspace. . . . And where does Shawna Yeager figure into this grand production?"

"That I don't know. Unless Irving had something going with her too."

"This guy gets around."

"Maybe I'm totally off base," I said, "but wouldn't a look at the Gretchen files be a place to start?"

"The Gretchen files," he said, "are a problem. The feds took over from the locals, they're the ones who prosecuted her, they orchestrated the plea bargain. Throughout the whole thing, no customers' names were ever exposed and, believe me, the papers tried to get hold of Gretchen's files. That was the whole point of the deal. Protecting Johns in high places. Gretchen kept her mouth shut in return for a short sentence. I'll call the U.S. attorney, but don't get your hopes up. First, though, I need to find Andy Salander. His rabbit really bugs me. . . ."

"When did he leave?"

"Middle of the night, no notice, a month's rent due, packed all his clothes, left the furniture behind. The landlord is not pleased and neither am I. Salander was the last person to see Lauren alive. With all due respect to your creative mind, wouldn't it be a peach if this comes down to a stinking little roommate thing?"

"You really see Salander overpowering, trussing, and shooting Lauren in the head, then dumping her in the trash?" I said. "Doing the same to Michelle and Lance and burning their bodies?"

"Alex, I've been doing this too long to be surprised by anything. For all we know Michelle and Lance were shot because of something totally unrelated to Lauren."

"And Jane?"

"Mel Abbot shot Jane, friend. That's the way it's going down, and I have nothing to say it shouldn't. What I do have is Salander cutting out after he gave his word that he wouldn't. I was just by The Cloisters. The manager said Salander didn't show up for work yesterday or today, didn't phone, which is a switch—he's always been reliable. Something's definitely not right."

"Maybe he's scared," I said. "Knows something he shouldn't. Jane Abbot's death just hit the news. Maybe Salander figured he could find himself in the same situation and panicked. Because he knows what Jane knew."

"What—Lauren has this big valuable secret and she tells everyone?"

"Lauren was a loner. And lonely. Salander made a point of telling me what a good listener he was. And perhaps Lauren didn't tell him everything, merely hinted around, or gave him a partial story. Now that people are dying, he's worried that's enough."

"Fine," he said. "Maybe. But if he knows something, that's all the more reason for me to go after him ASAP. The manager at the bar says he had an on-again, off-again boyfriend, and that's the lead I'm chasing."

"Could be on-again," I said. "The first time I met Salander, he was waiting for someone to show up, implied it was a former flame, some sort of reconciliation. Who's the boyfriend?"

"Some film agent who works for one of the big outfits. Manager thinks Andy said William Morris. He dropped in at The Cloisters infrequently, drank Singapore slings, schmoozed with Andy, not too friendly with anyone else. Last time was months ago, but I've got a description—forties, dark hair, slim, tiny little eyeglasses, Armani suits—and maybe a name. Manager thinks he heard Andy call this guy Jason or Justin. I'm heading over to Morris right now. Maybe they'll buy my screenplay."

"Didn't know you had one."

"Throw cash at me and I can write one in a couple of days, win an Oscar—have you seen the crap that gets on-screen?"

"What, cop against the odds?"

"Charming genius cop as sensitive soul and savior of the world."

I laughed. "If you dead-end in Beverly Hills, you might try Salander's parents. He had a snapshot of them in his room, taken in—"

"Yeah—Bloomington, Indiana. Called this morning. Salander's mother hasn't spoken with him in nearly a year. Seems Andy Senior has troubles with his only child's lifestyle, Junior left home a year shy of high school graduation, never returned to the Old Homestead. He sends Mommy a Christmas card and she mails him money that she saves from the grocery stash. When I hung up she was crying—I love my job. Anyway, thanks for the Irving info. Feel free to call with additional inspiration."

"Actually ..."

"What?"

"Try to stay calm," I said.

"If I could get calm, I could stay calm. What?"

"I've been traveling through more than cyberspace." I told him about my day at Paradise Cove, the time with Cheryl Duke, meeting Anita and Irving, catching sight of Black Suit in tennis garb.

"So you actually met the guy."

"Just for a few minutes."

Long silence.

"Kayaking?"

"It's good exercise."

"Alex," he said. Then he trailed off. More dead air. Finally: "Mr. Schmatte wears linen and the goombah plays tennis. Summer ............