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reason. With the Meyers case, she wanted to be the one who clapped the cuffs on the slime who had offed his ex-wife. With the others, she wanted to finish them. To connect the dots herself.
    “Good. What are you pursuing yourself? What’s Mech doing?”
    “As you saw in the report, two of the five lupi at Club Hell are alibied. Mech’s checking those alibis, then he’ll talk to Fuentes’s boss and coworkers. The beat cops are handling the door-to-door near the scene. I’ll be in touch with them. This afternoon I’ll talk to the widow. She was too distraught to get much from her last night. I plan to speak with the neighbors, too. And Turner’s neighbors. The timing’s going to be important on this one.”
    He nodded. “If Turner’s guilty, you’ll want to make sure he can’t wiggle out with some trumped-up alibi. The closer you can pin down Fuentes’s and Turner’s movements, the better.”
    “Yes, sir. I also want to check out the church where Fuentes was supposed to have been rehearsing with the choir. The Church of the Faithful, it’s called.”
    Randall raised his eyebrows.
    “Yes, sir. Bit ironic, under the circumstances. It sounds like more of a cult. They worship some goddess, call themselves the Azá.”
    “The Azá. I’ve heard of them. Got a temple or something like that up in L.A. There was some kind of trouble with a group of fundamentalists, can’t remember the details.”
    Lily nodded, making a mental note to find out more.
    “What about this morning?”
    “I’ll be using my contacts in the paranormal community,” she said, straight-faced.
    Humor flickered in Randall’s eyes. “You do that, Detective.” He picked up her report and tapped the pages into tidiness, signaling the end of the discussion. “Reporters’ll be all over you like fleas on a dog with this one. Refer them upstairs. Don’t give any interviews yourself.”
    “I . . . wasn’t planning to.”
    “Good. Your report’s thin,” he said. “But it will do, under the circumstances. Keep in mind that all your reports will be shared with the Feds.”
    Was he warning her not to put everything in writing? But she never referred to her less respectable abilities in a report. She never quite mentioned them out loud. Neither did he. Don’t ask, don’t tell. So what did he mean?
    There was something here she wasn’t getting. “Yes, sir. Ah, is there something I should know about the MCD agents?”
    “Pair of glory hounds. Especially Croft. He’s the kind who likes to go in with guns blazing. He’ll try to pump you for information. Don’t let him. Here,” he said, passing her a form. “You’ll need to requisition special rounds and restraints. The pencil pushers insist I sign off on them—pretty pricey, with the amount of silver required. Now go make Lauren’s day.” He waved her out.
     
     
    LILY frowned at the folder she’d just closed. Lots of interest in the dossier the MCD agents had given her, but one fact clung to her mind like a burr.
    Rule Turner had a child. An eight-year-old son. Technically the boy’s mother had custody, but the woman was a reporter, off on assignment all the time. Years ago she’d dumped him with her mother to raise.
    It wasn’t an unusual story these days. Mom’s too busy to be a mom, and dad has better things to do, too. Like attend Hollywood parties and hang out at Club Hell.
    Ridiculous to be upset, she told herself as she stood and moved to the tallest file cabinet. What was it to her if Turner’s interests didn’t include his son? She might think that made him a scumbag, but he was hardly the only man with serious failings in that area. He’d taken some responsibility, she admitted as she yanked open a drawer. He paid support, and the boy spent summers at the Nokolai enclave, where presumably he got to see his father now and then.
    It wasn’t enough.
    She shook her head, impatient with herself. She had better things to do than waste time deploring Turner’s flaws.