I did the same. “What are you doing out here?”

“Same thing you are. You want company?”

“As long as I don’t slow you down.”

“Not a problem. I was hoping to talk to you anyway.”

He turned so the two of us were headed in the same direction, jogging in tandem until we reached the recreation center. We did an about-face and retraced our steps, he taking care to match my pace with his.

I said, “I don’t remember seeing you down here. Is this your regular run?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been off with a hamstring pull and I’m just getting back into a routine. My doc made me swear I’d take it easy, so I’m sticking to the flats.”

“You live close by?”

“Other side of the freeway. A little subdivision off Olive Tree Lane. What about you?”

“I’m on Albanil. I’m out here five mornings a week unless I want to feel especially virtuous by throwing in a Saturday or Sunday.”

His footsteps were a ragged, off-tempo echo of mine, and I could tell he was reining in his natural tendency to lope. I wasn’t accustomed to chatting while I jogged and I was quickly winded. I raised a hand. “I gotta catch my breath.” I came to a stop and bent forward, resting my hands on my knees. “Shit. I thought I was in good shape.”

“You’re in great shape. I pushed you without meaning to. Why don’t we find a place to sit?”

We continued at a fast walk and finally perched side by side on the low wall that separated the sidewalk from a kid-size jungle gym planted in a bed of sand. Behind us, on the far side of a chain-link fence, was the kiddie pool, which was usually open from Memorial Day to Labor Day. This year, it would remain closed in the interest of conservation.

The smell of salt water was strong, the air saturated with the pungent perfume of yesterday’s catch: spiny lobster, ridgeback shrimp, sea bass, halibut, and albacore.

He said, “I was going to call you this morning.”

“Hey, me too. This is perfect.”

He loosened his long-sleeved shirt and mopped his sweaty face before he pulled it over his head. I was cooling down rapidly, already longing for a shower despite the two-minute hosing off I’d allowed myself the night before. Henry would look askance if he knew I was taking two showers back-to-back. If the water meter spiked, would I lie to him?

Nash rested his elbows on his oversize knees, his hands loosely clasped in front of him, face turned to me. “So what was the deal with Hallie Bettancourt?”

“For starters, it turns out Christian Satterfield was waiting for a woman named Kim Bass. It threw me for a loop at first. I’d run into her earlier at Montebello Luxury Properties, but I had no idea she and Christian knew each other. It seemed an odd mix.”

I gave him the short version of my round-trip to Beverly Hills, including the fact that the pair I followed had been joined by “Hallie Bettancourt” at the Rodeo-Wilshire Hotel. “Her real name is Teddy Xanakis. Theodora,” I amended.

He frowned in puzzlement. “Are you sure about that?”

“Positive. I can tell you what she had for breakfast Thursday morning if you’re interested.”

“You know who she is,” he said, as though confirming the fact.

“No clue. My landlord said the name was familiar, but he was drawing a blank.”

“She was married to a guy named Ari Xanakis. The two moved to Montebello six or seven years ago. They dominated the social scene until their high-profile divorce. That was a regular knock-down-drag-out fight.”

“Still doesn’t ring a bell. What’s he do?”

“Shipping company. Excellent Portage, only it’s spelled X-L-N-T. There’s XLNT International Shipping. XLNT Courier. Maybe half a dozen other businesses.”

“I see those trucks everywhere,” I said. I thought about the notion of Teddy Xanakis married to a shipping magnate. “You still think she might have been involved in that art-for-ransom scheme? I take it the victim wasn’t her ex.”

“Nope. Someone else, though from what I’ve heard, she’d have enjoyed sticking it to him.”

“Seems unlikely a woman of her social status would steal anything,” I said.

“Let’s not forget she paid you with marked bills.”

“But if she came up with the ransom scheme, why would she sit on the cash for two years?”

“She might have figured it was finally safe to put the money in circulation. Or she might have been hard up for cash.”