The Night Crew

except on the job.’’
    Harper was looking at her skeptically, and Anna said, ‘‘Look, Jason was a part-timer. He worked maybe once or twice a month, when he came up with something.’’
    ‘‘Dope stuff?’’
    ‘‘No. Usually UCLA stuff. The night your son died, that was the last time we saw him. He had the inside track on a college animal rights group that raided the medical labs at UCLA . . .’’
    ‘‘I saw it on TV, the pig thing,’’ Harper said. ‘‘How’d that connect with my kid?’’
    Creek said, ‘‘It didn’t. The raid was college kids, and your son was at a high-school party. The only connection was that they were a few blocks apart about the same time, and we happened to catch them both.’’
    Harper rubbed his chin, looking at Creek: ‘‘You’re sure?’’
    ‘‘Work it out yourself.’’
    Harper looked away, into the middle distance, then back, and nodded. ‘‘All right. But my kid’s dead, your friend’s dead, they shared a dealer, and now a dealer’s dead—and Anna’s name is carved on his chest. Something ’s going on.’’
    ‘‘Did you see any of those dot things in there—the wizards?’’ Anna asked.
    ‘‘How’d you know about the wizards?’’ Harper asked sharply.
    ‘‘Wyatt told me. He told me about you so I wouldn’t report that I was mugged.’’
    ‘‘Okay.’’ He looked at his shoes. ‘‘Sorry about the thing at the apartment. I didn’t know who it was, I was in there illegally, sort of. Not a good place to be caught messing with an apartment . . .’’
    ‘‘So how’d you track this guy down?’’ Anna asked, looking at the house.
    ‘‘Got Wyatt to check Jason on the computer, found the arrest, got MacAllister’s name, checked with the phone company and got an address. No problem.’’
    ‘‘You keep stepping into shit like this, it’s gonna be a problem,’’ Creek said. ‘‘Leave it to the cops.’’
    ‘‘I can’t.’’ Harper shook his head: ‘‘I’ve got a slightly different agenda than the cops.’’
    ‘‘What? Revenge?’’ Anna asked.
    ‘‘Nah,’’ Harper said. He looked back at the house, as Anna had. ‘‘But I’d like a little justice.’’
    ‘‘Leave it to the cops,’’ Creek said again.
    ‘‘You don’t get justice from cops,’’ Harper said. ‘‘You get procedure. Sometimes you get arrests. Occasionally you get convictions. You never get justice.’’
    ‘‘So what do we do here?’’ Creek asked.
    Anna took out her phone. ‘‘Make a call.’’
    They called Wyatt at home, hoping for a charitable referral to the local Burbank cops.
    ‘‘What?’’ Wyatt grumbled into the mouthpiece. His voice was thickened by sleep.
    Anna identified herself and told him about the man on the bed.
    ‘‘Stay out of the house, don’t touch anything,’’ Wyatt said. He was awake now, and unhappy. ‘‘I’m gonna call L.A.’’
    ‘‘I think we’re in Burbank,’’ she said.
    ‘‘All right, I’ll call Burbank. You wait.’’
    ‘‘We’re in the street right outside the house,’’ Anna said, glancing at Harper. ‘‘It’s a little complicated. I’d better let you talk to your friend Jake.’’
    ‘‘Jake? What’s he doing there?’’ Wyatt asked, even more unhappy.
    ‘‘I’ll let him tell you,’’ Anna said, and she handed the phone to Harper.
    Louis stuck his head out of the truck: ‘‘We’ve got a fire in Hollywood Hills, the girlfriend of somebody big, the way the fire guys are talking.’’
    ‘‘Forget it,’’ Anna said, cutting him off. ‘‘We’ve got problems.’’ The first cop car arrived five minutes after Harper got off the phone: not Burbank, but North Hollywood. Burbank was two blocks away. The cops talked to Harper, briefly, a little chilly, and started the murder routine: cops around the house, neighbors on lawns, yellow crime scene tape, medical examiners, L.A. homicide detectives and, eventually, Wyatt. He nodded wordlessly as he passed them, flashed a badge at a cop outside the door and went in. Five minutes later, he was back out.
    ‘‘What a mess,’’ he said.
    ‘‘Yeah,’’ Anna said. ‘‘And we had a prowler at my house this morning. He had a gun . . .’’
    ‘‘I hope you called someone,’’ Wyatt said.
    ‘‘I live in Venice. The neighbors chased him off, the cops came over and had a Coke.’’
    ‘‘Might not be you,’’ Wyatt said. ‘‘I mean, on the guy’s chest.’’
    She got a quick mental flash of