Chapter 9

           IcalledPrescottfromthecar.Herfacelookedmildlyirritatedasitscribbledintofocusonthedustylittlescreensetintothedashboard.

           "Kovacs.Didyoufindwhatyouwerelookingfor?"

           "Stilldon’treallyknowwhatI’mlookingfor,"Isaidcheerfully."YouthinkBancrofteverdoesthebiocabins?"

           Shepulledaface."Oh,please."

           "Allright,here’sanotherone.DidLeilaBegineverworkbiocabinjoints?"

           "Ireallyhavenoidea,Kovacs."

           "Well,lookitupthen.I’llhold."Myvoicecameoutstony.Prescott’swell-breddistastewasn’tsittingtoowellbesideVictorElliott’sanguishforhisdaughter.

           Idrummedmyfingersonthewheelwhilethelawyerwentoff-screenandfoundmyselfmutteringaMillsportfisherman’sraptotherhythm.Outsidethecoastslidbyinthenight,butthescentsandsoundsoftheseaweresuddenlyallwrong.Toomuted,notatraceofbelaweedonthewind.

           "Hereweare."Prescottsettledherselfbackwithinrangeofthephonescanner,lookingslightlyuncomfortable."Begin’sOaklandrecordsshowtwostintsinbiocabins,beforeshegottenureinoneoftheSanDiegoHouses.Shemusthavehadanentrée,unlessitwasatalentscoutthatspottedher."

           Bancroftwouldhavebeenquiteanentréetoanywhere.Iresistedthetemptationtosayit.