Kingsley Drive never made the front page. It wasn’t that kind of street. Even the Armenians who had moved in to the neighborhood didn’t pay it much mind.
Nick found her apartment just off Sunset. It overlooked the drowsy street from the ground floor of a small but dignified building from the nineteen thirties. On the front steps, hand painted tiles of azure and amber glistened with tentative hopes of better days ahead.
He wasn’t thrilled with a stakeout. But he didn’t have enough to go on, not enough to avoid an unknown number of hours in the parking lot behind the Shakey’s Pizza.
Nick had decided he needed to be there on Kingsley Drive when the Cypriot detective showed up to visit his daughter.
