She nodded at Alch's observation. "And we will find below--?"
"The late Wilfrid, I am sure of that." Su gathered herself for an official verdict. "I believe that, from this poor animal's death, we will be able to establish the time of the attack upon his mistress, and the time of her death."
Molina nodded, looking at the innocent plot of ground.
"Do you recommend an autopsy ?" Alch asked.
She stared at him in disbelief. "What do you think, man? We owe Grizzly Bahr the autopsy of a career."
They grinned.
"And tell him I want a complete report."
"And the black and white hairs, Lieutenant?" Alch inquired humbly.
"You drink, don't you, Detective?"
"Er, once in a while. Off duty."
"Then I think you owe yourself a good stiff black and white this evening. Off duty. And take Su." Molina turned to leave, then paused. "And, please. No catty stories about this investigation behind my back, right?"
"Absolutely, Lieutenant." Su practically put up her hand in the Girl Scout pledge position.
"Our lips are seal-pointed."
Chapter 51
Dead Reckoning
It's a terrible thing to drive a dump truck full of righteous rage with no place to dump it all day.
Max's suppressed energy level would have fueled a Titan rocket. but there was very little he could do about confronting Molina until he could get her alone.
First he drove by and into the police headquarters parking garage. The challenge shaved off some of his raw edges, and he was pleased to note her repainted Toyota station wagon wedged between a Datsun and a Chevy.
Dreadful car, but nobody would steal it.
His own car for all of a day, a beige Acura, purred as it idled out of the garage. Nothing like mounting a nefarious expedition at the heart of police headquarters for soothing the savage soul.
He then drove home, went to the computer, and pulled up her home address from the police personnel files. He'd never be a world-class hacker, but his tutors in the underground had made him just competent enough to be a danger to other people, and himself, for that matter.
He liked picturing the drama of confronting her at the Blue Dahlia again, maybe even showing up for the evening's musicale and sitting there like a hanging judge through the whole act . . . but there was no guarantee she'd be slipping out as Carmen tonight, and she'd have to stop at home first anyway.
So, since he couldn't predict her working hours, out the place from four PM. on should work.
The notion of waylaying an officer of the law was satisfying. He wasn't really a renegade, but after all his years of working without a net, he had developed a tinge of contempt for the official detective, bound by rule books and Miranda rights. Breaking and entering for a good cause had always been the best part of his odd avocation.
In fact, he could greet her inside the house; that would catch her off guard. No. Temple had been right. Molina was armed and dangerous, and for all his risky history, he had rarely gone armed; better not to aggravate the dragon inside her cave, where he had less room to maneuver.
He called up a street map of Las Vegas to confirm her house location; very near Our Lady of Guadalupe Church.
Chapter 52
A Nose for News
"Goodness, how absolutely cute!"
I awake, cringing, to these demeaning words.
Daylight has broken to reveal Electra Lark and muumuu standing in the open doorway, looming over us like a Hawaiian moon that has been into the Easter egg dyes.
"Louie and Louise, together again. And who is your little friend?" she croons.
Louise and I disentangle ourselves as swiftly as dignity will allow and leave Nose E. standing alone, like the cheese of song and fable.
He hops to his feet, shakes his disreputable mop and lets his topknot sag over one eye. How absolutely cute.
"Why, it is a little dog! I thought it was a hamster or something. What are you three doing on my doorstep? Do you want to come in? Why, certainly."
Easy as pie (except for being repeatedly insulted in cooing tones), we are in.
"Imagine you using the door. Louie! This is quite the red-letter day. I suppose you and your guests want to visit Temple. Yes, hop in the elevator. I will hit 'two.' You do know enough to get out when the elevator door opens. . . ? Well, thank you very much for the glare, Louie. I was just trying to help."
The doors ease shut on Miss Electra Lark's jolly face.
"We want 'three,' " I point out sourly, "but we can take the stairs the rest of the way."
"You have never been gracious to those who assist you." Miss Louise observes, staring fixedly at the numbers over the door as the lit-up one fades and two begins to glow.
"I prefer the elevators at the Crystal Phoenix. At least the ride lasts fourteen floors."
The doors open and Nose E. is the first to leap over the dark crack plummeting down to the Hitz's hidden basement depths. Louise and I check each other for failing courage. We cats hate to jump elevator gaps, a foolish superstition no doubt, but inbred.
We leap together, to find Nose E. trotting away from the service stairs.
"Wait!" l holler. "We want to go up one more flight."
"Following a trail, following a trail." he carols happily.
So we follow the perky plume of his tail cocked over his back like a horsehair fly-switch.
He disappears down a cul-de-sac near and dear to me.
"That is interesting," Miss Louise observes. "Apparently Mr. Matt visited Miss Temple after he had picked up the murderer's scent. You would have thought she might have noticed something."
"Scents are not her strong point; suspicion is."
Nose E. retraces his steps, nose to carpeting, to veer back down the hall and to the stairs we were supposed to climb in the first place.
The fire door is shut, but Nose E. stops obediently at the barrier. Dogs really are startlingly shy of initiative.
"Back off, l am coming through." With a running leap, I bound into the door, which swings wide.
While Nose E., sits staring at the phenomenon. Miss Midnight Louise encourages him to spring through the temporary opening with one well-aimed swat to the posterior.
A moment later, Nose E. turns with a belated snarl, which dies on his little black lips as he sees the door swoosh shut.
"That could have caught my tail," he whines.
"Not if you move fast enough," I say. "Now, mush upstairs. Follow that trail."
He does, and we do, and shortly after we are standing before the door to Mr. Matt Devine's digs.
After some heavy pawbeats on his door, Mr. Matt Devine opens it to admit Nose E. and me and Miss Louise.
"Hey, Louie. Have you found a friend?"
Stooge is more like it, but I practice my cal smile for the greater good of several species.
"This dog is a purebred."
Yeah? So we cats are not? I am pure black, am I not?
"Hey, little fella! Quit jumping up my leg! Are you wearing Slinkys for shoes, or what? Hey--
!"
When Matt Devine bends down, Nose E. is licking his face like it is a stamp. What a pro!
"You must be lost, a purebred like you."
Like cats cannot be lost because we do not have a pedigree? Please!
Mr. Matt Devine sits down on his long red couch (so like a giant, lolling dog-tongue!), on which I recently reclined to great photogenic effect, and plops Nose E. on his knee. These Lilliputian dogs will stick at nothing to curry favor.
"Let us see, little fella. Do you have a tag?"
Does Nose E. have a tag'? Does Basset have whiskers?
I wait impatiently for the obvious to unfold, while Midnight Louise slinks into place beside me.
" 'Nose E.' Odd," Mr. Matt says. "Someone ought to have come up with a more appropriate name for you than that."
Yeah, and Mr. Matt Devine is such a great expert at naming things?