12:52 a.m.

Parker cruised the Palisades. Shoreline blackout—night fifteen.

Ocean Avenue was fortified. Sub alert, sniper alert. Sub spotters lined the bluffs. Big searchlights swooped.

That fiend sniper lurked somewhere. Ocean Avenue was triple-manpowered. Thad Brown worked liaison with SaMo PD. The sniper packed a sawed-off carbine. Thad was running gun-sales checks.

Soldiers camped on the bluffs. Pup tents ran from Pico to Wilshire. Sub spotters perched every ten yards. Sub fear was weird juju. It connoted werewolves of the sea.

Wolf fear. Parker thought of Fujio Shudo. Sub fear. Parker thought of Hideo Ashida and the Goleta attack.

He cut east on Wilshire. There was zero traffic. Stop and go lights were cellophane-wrapped. The blackout ran to the L.A. city line. He cruised, aimless. His house was booby-trapped.

His wife nagged him. Phone calls plagued him. He couldn’t sleep. That last call Japped him.

Hideo Ashida called. The truce rumor had spread. Ashida apologized for snitching him. He fawned and came on disingenuous.

He came on brusque. The Dudster had surpassed him as a patron. He told Ashida that. Ashida spieled two phone calls that he’d overheard.

Call-Me-Jack and Fletch Bowron talked. They hatched a “derogatory profile” to scotch his career. Fletch and Brenda Allen talked. Fletch ordered a girl.

Ashida was tizzied. He was playing angles. He threw in with Dudley. It canceled out his rogue actions. It would not cancel out his internment.

Sub fear. Derogatory profile. Parker cruised. Parker recalled Dudley Smith.

“You, with or without Dr. Ashida, may have a grand time searching for white men in purple sweaters, but you may not publicly present evidence that anyone other than Mr. Shudo killed the Watanabe family.”

Parker turned north and parked. It was cold. He idled the engine and ran the heat.

He read Teletypes. Traffic deaths were up. The escaped Japs were Japped-in north of Monrovia. Cops swarmed the hillsides. The Hearst Rifle Team prowled.

Derogatory profile. Moral boomerang. His profile of Claire De Haven. God now indicts him.

Parker drove to SaMo Canyon. Larkin’s bungalow was still there. The street was still still.

He grabbed his crowbar and a carton of fish food. He walked up and shouldered the door in.

He closed it behind him. He tapped the lights and got light. PG&E was swamped. Dead men got free utilities.

The living room koi stream sparkled. The koi darted to the surface and peered up at him. He sprinkled half the fish food on the water. The koi gobbled it.

Who is the white man in the purple sweater?

Parker walked into the bedroom. He tapped the lights and saw the koi pond outside. He opened the terrace door. The pond sparkled. The koi peered up at him.

He fed them. He emptied the container. The koi swarmed and chowed.

The toss was a long shot. Hidey-holes were rare. The Watanabes had a hidey-hole. Ashida’s confession described it.

Who is the white man in the purple sweater?

Parker walked through the house.

He opened cabinets. He looked in drawers. He tapped the walls and listened for thunks.

He got angry. He got impatient. He told the koi that he’d build them a nice pond in his backyard. He’d keep them safe from dogs and cats.

All right, then.

He walked to the middle of the living room. He grabbed his crowbar and hurled it down at the floor.

He splintered the boards. It killed his arms. He saw nothing but dirt underneath.

He did it again.

He did it again.

He did it again.

He threw crowbar shots at the living room floor and the living room walls. He stopped at forty-three. He saw nothing but gypsum board and dirt. He worked his way back to the bedroom. He ran his body numb. He wheeled into the bedroom and destroyed it.

He threw crowbar shots at the bedroom floor and the bedroom walls. He saw nothing but gypsum board and dirt. He tore his hands bloody. He cracked the boards around the bed and put the bed down in the dirt.

He soaked himself black wet and ran his body numb. He smashed his way up to the terrace. He smashed the walls through to empty spaces and the floors through to wood chips and dust.

He saw dawn break. It meant shit-all-zero. He hit the floor, he smashed the floor, he fucking Japped the floor. He counted crowbar shots. He went to 286.

And there’s a binder. It’s flat in the dirt. It looks like that first binder. He was here with Ashida. They found it.

Parker picked it up and went through it. The writing was in Japanese.