It’s astonishing I haven’t been arrested yet. Frankly, a number of law enforcement agencies are falling down on the job. When a person is wandering around city hall, police headquarters, the department of transportation, a federal building and several courthouses drawing maps and making notes, you’d think someone would be nervous. Turns out, not so much. Fortunately, I’m harmless. I’m just doing book research.

And when it comes to research, I’m a crazy person. I’ve acted out fight scenes to ensure their possibility (if not probability), learned all about lettuce farming, car fires and gynecological care in the late 1960s. (Thank your lucky stars it’s no longer the late 1960s.) I’ve driven neighborhoods from Santa Barbara to San Diego, spent hours reading up on blast freezer installation and even longer trying to come up with a name for a fictitious burger restaurant that isn’t already slapped on the side of building in Hoboken. There is no person in Southern California, no matter how remotely connected, who has ever been involved in the business of homicide that hasn’t gotten a call from me.

But I have never, ever come across a nut so hard to crack as this. With a title like “Suzy Q. Paparazzi,” you’ve got to figure my latest book is going to feature a shutter bug or two. And you’d be right. Now, there are dozens of reliable, well-researched articles and reports on the business of celebrity photography. All of which I read. All of which make it very possible to write an intelligent, well-reasoned work of fiction. But what I really, really wanted was a real-life paparazzo of my very own.

No worries, I thought, and went to work. I tracked down every photo agency in town. I found a security company that specializes in “paparazzi abatement” for celebrities. I called in every favor I could think of. I called in favors not even owed yet. I got a friend of mine (whose identity I’ll protect here) who works in the entertainment business to hand out my business cards to paparazzi she happened upon during her work day.

No one, and I mean no one, would talk to me. The mob is easier to infiltrate. (One guy said, “They’re very closed as a group.” He also said some other things that weren’t as nice.) And the thing is I’m not out to smear them. My fictitious photographers are likeable if not downright sympathetic. And if you ask me, the profession could use a little good publicity. I’ve tried explaining this. It hasn’t helped.

Probably they think this will deter me. Probably they think I’ll just go away. Certainly they are wrong.

Operation Shoe Leather has begun. While they’re following David Beckham, I’ll be following them. I’ll eat where they eat. Skulk where they skulk. I’m coming. I’m bringing a notebook. And I’m very persistent. Watch out.