Skip: fourteen skips. When the subject had left the area covered by the field agent — literally, “skipped out” — he became the responsibility of the inside skip-tracers (usually girls) who worked the files by phone. The field agent held these files in abeyance until new leads had been developed.
Contingent: Heslip had been carrying only seven contingent files. The DKA fee (setup, time-and-mileage, and skip-tracing charges) was paid on contingent cases only when — and if — the case was successfully closed. These were worked only sporadically by the field agents and skip-tracers.
Of these sixty-eight files, they had been unable to find assignment sheets in Heslip’s briefcase for fifteen. With the Willets case included, that tallied with what Heslip had said on the radio the night before — which was maybe the only hopeful thing in the whole setup. Because it could be a damned obscure motive connected with any of those sixteen cases.
At eight o’clock, after an indigestible sandwich at a coffee shop, Ballard leaned back in his chair and groaned. His coat had been discarded long ago, and his tie. He could smell himself. Man, for a shower and ten hours of sleep! But eighteen of his seventy-two hours were gone, and he hadn’t even been out of the office yet. Hadn’t called the hospital again, either.
He dialed, got the reception desk, and was switched up to the floor desk. Whitaker was gone for the night, so he asked if Miss Corinne Jones was in Heslip’s room.
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t leave the desk.”
It was ten paces from the desk to the door of Bart’s room. Ten paces. What the hell had ever happened to Florence Nightingale?
“Could you tell me the condition of the patient in room three-eight-two?”
That she could do. After a pause, the depersonalized voice came back on. “The patient is still in coma, sir.”
Just beautiful. Dark and silent in there, all systems shut down. Not Bart. The systems had to start up again, the quick smile had to light the dark features, the teeth gleam, the muscular boxer’s hand slap the thigh, the voice laugh, “You an’ me, baby, we cool!”
Find the son of a bitch. At least you can do that much. Before Kearny takes you off the search; only fifty-four hours left. Can’t let that happen. So, have to be cold and steady. Here for one thing, to find the son of a bitch. No, not even that. To find the subject. That was it, find the subject, eliminate those cases one by one, coldly, efficiently, until only one was left.
And that would be the right one.
Ten o’clock, sixteen had been reduced to six. On eight of them, the reports had indicated there just was none of the passion or hatred or fear one associates with attempted murder. And thirty minutes before, at 9:30, Kearny had dropped in on his way home and had promptly eliminated two of the eight Ballard was then considering.
“Forget the three we know were repo’d last night. No subject is going to come down here and beat Heslip over the head, grab his assignment sheets — and then leave his own car here.”
“Bart said on the radio that Willets had given him a hard time because he was black.”
Kearny nodded thoughtfully. “He might have come after Bart, not to get his car back, but because he wanted to whup a nigger?”
“Yeah.”
“Why take the assignment sheets without taking his own?”
“He could have just not seen it in the gutter. Hell, I didn’t — and I wasn’t scared and excited like whoever slugged Bart probably was.”
“If anybody did,” said Kearny flatly. “Okay, leave Willets in as a possible until you can check his movements last night.”
Which left six.
Of course he still could be wrong, Ballard knew. He might have missed or misread something in the files, it might really be none of these. But at least he had a starting point. And Giselle and Kearny would be coming through the files behind him to check his conclusions. Which reminded him to type up the list of “possibles” and leave it on Kearny’s desk.
1. Harold J. Willets, 1972 Mercury Montego. Residence address, 736 Seventh Avenue, San Francisco. Age, 44; 3 dependents; white.
Ballard regarded this a moment, then added Reason Why Included: SUBJECT HATES BLACKS.
2. Joyce Leonard Tiger, 1972 Cadillac Coupe de Ville. Last known address, 1600 Fell Street, San Francisco. Age, 28; single; white. Reason Why Included: SUBJECT PROBABLY IS A WHORE.
3. Charles M. Griffin, 1972 Ford Thunderbird. Last known address, 3877 Castro Valley Blvd., Castro Valley. Age, 41; single; white. Reason Why Included: SUBJECT MAY BE AN EMBEZZLER.
4. Fred Chambers, 1971 Buick Skylark. Residence address, unknown. Work address, The Freaks Bar, Clement and Tenth Avenue, San Francisco. Age, 22; single; white. Reason Why Included: UNIT WAS REPOSSESSED IN BAKERSFIELD BY CLIENT TWO MONTHS AGO. SUBJECT STOLE IT BACK AFTER CLIPPING CLIENT’S MAN WITH A TIRE IRON.
5. Timothy Ryan, 1956 Chevrolet sedan. Residence address, 11 Justin Drive, San Francisco. Age, 21; married; white. Reason Why Included: SUBJECT THREATENED CLIENT’S REPRESENTATIVE WITH A MACHETE WHEN RECOVERY OF UNIT WAS ATTEMPTED.
6. Kenneth Hemovich, 1970 Plymouth Roadrunner. Residence address, 191 Stillings Avenue, San Francisco. Age, 19; single; white. Reason Why Included: SUBJECT LIVING WITH 32-YEAR-OLD WOMAN WHO IS TRYING TO GET HER THREE KIDS FROM THE HUSBAND.
There they were, the six of them. Was the attempted murderer among them? He had to be. There wasn’t enough time to find him if he wasn’t one of these six. In each case there was a history of or a motive for violence. A black-hater. A whore whose pimp would be oriented toward violence as a problem-solver. An embezzler; tracked down for his car, he would also go to jail. A rock-group leader at a hip bar who had stolen the car back once, had attacked a man to do so. A young man with an old car (hence, probably rodding it up, hence, probably a car-lover) who had threatened violence to retain his vehicle. And a nineteen-year-old kid living with an older married woman — an always explosive situation, especially with small children involved.
Before leaving, Ballard typed up duplicate assignment sheets for himself on each case, and stapled to the back of them the spare gold-colored copy of all reports and memos in each file. Before leaving, also, he set up his swing.
New men with DKA usually would start with one file and work every address in it until they found something. It was the way it was done in detective stories. But experience soon taught them to arrange their field work by address. Thus, the swing: a loop or circle through the city or that portion of it where there were addresses to work. Since Ballard was trying to discover why Heslip had gotten a busted head, he was trying to retrace Heslip’s probable movements the day before. Which meant reworking all leads, no matter how basic. This rearranged the cases by address:
1. Joyce Leonard Tiger — 1600 Fell Street.
2. Harold J. Willets — 736 Seventh Avenue.
3. Fred Chambers — The Freaks, Clement at Tenth Avenue.
That took care of the Western Addition and the Richmond District. After that he would cross Golden Gate Park and head out through the Sunset District, south toward the San Mateo County line. Doing that would add:
4. Kenneth Hemovich — 191 Stillings Avenue.
5. Timothy Ryan — 11 Justin Drive.
Very often, of course, you were led off on tangents by something hot you learned at one of the addresses. But at least you started out with a game plan. His, tonight, left him with one case on which he could do nothing until the next day.
6. Charles M. Griffin — 3877 Castro Valley Blvd., Castro Valley.