But investigation was what drew him. He spent at most three or four hours a day on his columns. He spent most of his time rooting around, trying to uncover things. And he never forgot the cover-ups that had brought him back to the Bay, even if he dug into other things for awhile.

He did not forget Dr. Mizuno, old Dr. Yawada's forlorn love, and her connection with Dr. Chiba, and the web of connections that led from there to the Kensington mansion, which was now quite publicly known as the refuge chosen by the wife of the biggest druglord in the country--a man who hadn't been seen in public since the year began. But it wasn't seen on the news often--the Kensington police did not issue permits to film near it; none of the residents gave interviews; rogue photographers were not only vigorously pursued by lawyers; they were liable to have their equipment broken. While the neighbors were not happy to have unwanted publicity, the mansion was a focus for the neighborhood, and the people there had friends.

Dr. Alvarson, the owner, had a very low profile for such a wealthy man. But he did answer his e-mail, if you waited long enough, and he had provided Crawford with concise, believable answers about his involvement. He was fond of the mansion, but it was really useless as an ordinary residence. While it would make a wonderful bed-and-breakfast, zoning and location ruled that out. It was basically a perk now for the Tsukino family, and to a lesser extent the Kumadas and the Mercurius founders, who all spent time there. The others--they were guests of the guests, but he was offering them his hospitality.

Dr. Mizuno was now a resident most of the time; she had decided to do her residency at Highland, in Surgery. Dr. Chiba was now on staff there, and Dr. Carmen Gonsoles, sister of the miracle girl. They were beginning to be names in Trauma surgery. They were getting lots of practice. The drug war was still raging, and Highland was getting critical cases from as far away as Auburn.

The murder of Louis Spotts was a closed case: the killer was a kid younger than himself, the motive revenge, and the had killer finished dying before Spotts. How the killer had gotten into exactly the right spot was something the OPD would not say . . . it was "under investigation."

The death of Luther Ponds so long ago was a forgotten case, except by Crawford, and even he was losing track. But near the end of March, and the possible return of tolerable weather, he spotted the rumpled form of officer Shaw attacking a plate of hash and eggs, and he went into the diner to talk.

After swapping stories for awhile, Shaw brought up the forgotten Ponds. "I finally got a line on him for you. Hard as hell to dig it out; I was just lucky."

"What was it? Something big?" asked Crawford.

Shaw said, "No, but it makes me mad. It seems the late lamented Mr. Ponds had a very special friend in the DA's office. Mr. Ponds turned on some of his friends, and his new friend made his problems go away. He was smart enough to make Ponds get out of the county, but I bet Mr. Ponds didn't become a model citizen in Santa Clara County."

"I have heard rumors to that effect. But what's special about that?" Crawford asked.

Shaw said, "What's special is the problems that went away for Mr. Ponds. Luther not only sold drugs; he had a hobby. Rape. He had a partner for some of them, but he was looking good for a half-dozen solos, including one that died. But he was gold to our bright young prosecutor who wanted a breakout case."

Crawford said, "That stinks high enough. But why wasn't Ponds in witness protection?"

Shaw said, "Because someone killed off the guy our bright young DA was going after. Ponds was worthless after that. But our bright boy had already made the deal, already sent up the partner for all the rapes. So he let go of Luther and told him to shut up and get out of town."

"Where is our bright young lawyer today?" asked Crawford.

"He's our bright young State Attorney General now," said Shaw.

"How was he able to bury it?" Crawford asked.

"Easy. Ponds was a minor then. All this stuff is in his sealed record." Shaw mopped up the last of the hash and egg yolk with his toast. "That's all I have on him. But I bet if you go through the blotters around Palo Alto, you'll find some rapes that look the same." He took a small notebook out, flipped through it, and tore out part of a page. "Those are the victims, and that was his partner."

"Partner still around?" asked Crawford.

Shaw said, "I don't know. He got a new trial and beat the rap. But he just disappeared a little while later. Probably dead; he just wasn't smart enough to hide out, and didn't know enough to get into witness protection. Or maybe he's doing time under another name. But officially he's a missing person. I guess his mother loves him."

Crawford needed another two weeks to assemble the basic facts, the ones which were in the public record, but buried by indifference.

Ponds had partnered with Eugene Parris, a young man who definitely was not the brains of the pair. Parris could barely write his own name. He was big and strong, though. But he was also fat, not the sort of boy who could manage on well on a bicycle, which was used in some of the rapes. Luther Ponds, on the other hand, was a wiry, long-legged chap who could get just about anywhere on a mountain bike.

The rapes they had done together were all done using a car. They showed guns, and the girls who got in the car were taken away and raped.

Sure enough, a series of rapes occured in Palo Alto and the cities around it--particularly Ravenswood, the poor, rough town where Ponds and then Parris usually lived. Parris was actually arrested with Ponds a couple of times for other offenses; their friendship seemed to have survived a timely betrayal. Or maybe Parris was so stupid he believed whatever story Ponds had made up.

Rapes of women in lonely areas by a man on a bicycle started being reported after Ponds moved in. And gunpoint abductions started being reported when Parris showed up.

Parris disappeared first, and the gunpoint abductions stopped. Ponds had died about a year and a half later, and the bicycle rapist disappeared with him.

There was no great mystery why Parris had not been caught; all his abductions had been in Ravenswood. He was smart enough to make credible threats. Ravenswood could not afford a lot of protection. Most people assumed that Parris had been killed by an angry father or brother, or by one of the gangs for being a nuisance.

Ponds had a better rep in Ravenswood. But the bicycle rapist had only one reported victim in that town. Crawford didn't really get much further with the matter of Ponds, except to become even more certain the local PDs were covering up an enormous embarassment in letting him run free in exchange for his inside information.

But by digging around in Ravenswood another two weeks, he found out something very interesting about Mr. Parris. He found the man who had stolen his car. Ronald Tarkington's car-stealing days were gone with the use of his legs; he'd got himself shot. With the statute of limitations now covering all of his crimes, he was happy to talk.

Ronald Tarkington was telling the story. "I saw him driving the car. He was doggin' this girl--blonde girl, with two long ponytails. In a school uniform, I remember, but nothin' like what I've seen around here. I saw him stop, and drop down below the windows--goin' over to the other side the car, to open the door. The girl talked to him some, and started gettin' closer."

"What happened next?" prompted Crawford.

Tarkington said, "I don't know, I thought I saw a cop car, down the other street."

"So you ran from the police?" asked Crawford.

Tarkington said, "No, I ran to get the cop. But he gone. Anyway, I came back to look again, and Eugene's car was just sittin' there. Keys in it, the door still open, engine runnin'. So I took it. Man, that Eugene was a P-I-G pig! There was so much dirt in that car, you could plant greens, you wanted to."

"What about the girl?" asked Crawford.

"Passed her on the street a little ways later. She didn't pay me no mind. Pretty thing. I don't know how she got away from old Eugene, but she was just walkin' along, eatin' some fries." The former thief shook his head. "We both walkin' then."

"Both? What do you mean?" Crawford asked.

Tarkington said, "Oh, I sees her once in awhile. Down at the hospital, or at the college, or in town. She in a chair like me, now."

"Do you know her?"

Tarkington said, "No . . . but I know her name. Miz Sheba. She married to this doctor used to be at the free clinic all the time. He still show up sometimes."

There it was. Parris and Ponds. Mamoru Chiba reported finding Ponds. And his old partner Parris vanished right after he was seen stalking the then future Mrs. Chiba. Chiba might be a Casanova, but he might also have defended his women with deadly force. Who better than a doctor to excise a walking tumor like Parris? And Ponds too, though it was harder to see a personal motive.

Did the cops know?

No, that was fantasy. There were small towns where the murder of the right guy would be overlooked, but not around the Bay. Cops wouldn't even cover for cops all the time; civilians could expect no breaks. No, the cops missed it because they didn't look hard enough, and because Parris and Ponds were found in different jurisdictions--and because Ponds was a snitch, and checking into the death of a snitch might lead to a cop who gave him up.

Report it? Publish?

He had nothing that would hold up in court. Even if the wheelchair-bound ex-car thief would testify against Dr. Chiba or his wife, what he knew meant nothing unless it was fit into the whole pattern.

And Parris and Ponds were definitely the right guys to be dead.

But this still didn't make sense linked up to the anomalies and the angel girls. Except . . .

Except Parris had just disappeared, like the "possible anomalies" on the list. Maybe the angels disappeared them all. The one at the lake had flown carrying Kevin Jones. She could have carried off others, to be quietly disposed of. There had been lots of them at the Angel Nine crash, carrying people to safety--and maybe just going from one place to another. The little ones in the Sauvage tape might have done that.

But if Chiba had made Parris disappear, maybe with some help, why had Chiba reported finding Ponds?

Once again, Crawford had followed a lead to a dead end.

But if the house in Kensington was off-limits to reporters, Highland Hospital wasn't. And he soon had another reason to be there . . .