"What time did you leave the hospital?" asked Mendoza. "Was anyone else with your brother then?"
"Well, as I recall we left together. Bill and I and Randy. Mary's expecting a baby and she hasn't been feeling too good, the doctor says she has to take it easy, that's Randy's wife-so she didn't come. It was about a quarter past four, and they like all the visitors to be out by around four-thirty, they bring the dinners around a little after five. I think we left together. No, I'm wrong, but it came to the same thing-Randy left his cigarettes in Carl's room and went back to get them, and we all went down to the elevator together. Randy's all broken up about Carl. He was Carl's favorite nephew. They thought a lot of each other."
"Your brother didn't have any family of his own?"
"No, he and Annie never had any children. They were sorry about it. It was a shame because Carl did a little better than the rest of us, in a money way I mean. Not that he was awfully rich, but he built that drugstore into a good business, he was a pharmacist, you know, and I guess he had a nice savings account. He was always a great one to save and watch the pennies. Oh, dear God," she said suddenly. "We knew he was dying-he was the oldest of the family-the first to go. But to have it happen such a way-"
She told them where to find her son Randy. He worked at a big tax-accountant's office in Glendale. There they talked to him at his desk in a big communal office on the third floor of a new high-rise building. He was a good-looking dark young man about thirty, and he said wretchedly, "I feel terrible about Uncle Carl. I nearly didn't come to work. And when Dad called about noon-Oh, hell, I couldn't believe it-to think of-Well, that's right, I guess Mother and Dad and I were the last ones to leave. I went back after my cigarettes and came back out and-no, I didn't notice anybody in particular near the door. There were quite a few people in the hall, the elevator was crowded. Yes, Uncle Carl was alone in the room then, except for the other two patients."
What with all the driving, they'd spent the whole day finding out that much and it still looked shapeless. Anybody could have gone into that hospital room between four-fifteen and five o'clock when Alisio was found dead. They drove back downtown to Parker Center nearly in silence. When they came into the office, only Hackett was there, and he was on the phone. He was looking amused, and when he put the phone down minutes later he said, "The things that happen. That was that Peabody woman from the Social Services Department. You'll be interested to hear that when the Health Department went to look at Ben Leach's house they found a hundred and four thousand dollars in cash hidden away at the back of a closet."
" Maravilloso," said Mendoza. "So the county won't be paying for his board at a nursing home."
"The court will appoint a conservator and it'll probably take care of him the rest of his life. It's funny," said Hackett, starting to laugh again. "People-those young Davies. There doesn't seem to be any happy medium between the ones who throw it away and the misers. What have you picked up?"
"We've sorted out who saw him last," said Mendoza. "And damn it, it's still all up in the air. My next thought, we take a good look at the hospital staff-at backgrounds-something suggestive may show. Hell, there must be a couple of hundred people on that staff-more-and anybody in a uniform could saunter down that hall without anybody paying any attention-and we haven't talked to those nurses on this shift again. Damnation. We'll be doing some overtime tonight."
THE OFFBEAT 0NE at the hospital took up time. There were a lot of people to talk to, to question. Palliser was off on Monday, Grace on Tuesday. Even with Glasser back they were shorthanded. And with all the answers they got, it was still a shapeless thing. All the comings and goings-anybody at all could have gone in and smothered the old man. Nobody had seen anything, anybody out of the ordinary. It was just a lot of tiresome legwork for nothing.
Galeano and Higgins landed back at the office about three o'clock on Tuesday afternoon and found that the autopsy report on Rose Eberhart had just come in, and also a report from the lab. Galeano looked them over. She had, of course, died of a fractured skull, between six and midnight Friday night. They kicked it around a little and looked at the photographs.
"That table by the door," said Galeano. "There was just a smidgen of blood on it. She wouldn't have bled much when she fell."
"Got knocked down," amended Higgins. "By these shots, she was a good-sized woman and she must've hit with some force to do herself that much damage, Nick. What it adds up to is, with the open door, she was talking to somebody in the hall, somebody she wasn't going to let in, and the somebody knocked her over backwards. A sudden violent argument over something? And the only thing you've turned up about any little trouble she'd had lately was-"
"This Arvin woman. Not sounding like much of anything," said Galeano. "Some woman she'd worked with. Hadn't seen in a while, and ran into at the corner market."
"And no lead on locating her," said Higgins.
"Well, I had a thought or two," said Galeano. "Jase always saying he's got a simple mind. I've got a fairly simple mind, too, and I thought of the phone book first. But if Eberhart hadn't seen her in a while and then met her again just recently, it could say that the woman had just moved into that area recently, too. A corner market, not a big supermart. It sounds like a place they'd both walk to. A local independent store-handy to where they both lived. And if she'd just moved, she wouldn't be in the phone book. She could also have an unlisted number. A lot of women living alone do."
"True," said Higgins. He massaged his jaw thoughtfully. "We can give it a try."
"That's what I thought," said Galeano. He looked in the phone book for Central L.A. and there were only five Arvins-four more who spelled it with a y. None lived any closer to the Echo Park area than Alhambra, City Terrace, Monterey Park, Lincoln Heights. He dialed the information operator, introduced himself, invited her to call back to verify that she was really talking to police.
"I'm looking for an Arvin- I'm not sure just how it's spelled. Somewhere in the downtown area. The number may have just been changed to that name or it may be unlisted. No, I don't have any first name."
"You don't want the ones listed in the Central book, sir?"
She sounded like an intelligent girl..
"Anything else you've got, please."
"Just a moment sir. There's an unlisted number, Linda Arvin, on Cadillac Avenue."
"I don't think that's it."
"A J. Arvin, Durango Avenue. Oliver Arvin, Langford Street-that's just been listed."
"Keep going," said Galeano.
"Myra Arvin, Santa Ynez Street-that's a new listing too. There's a D. Arvin on-"
"O.K., thanks. If I want that I'll get back to you." Galeano put the phone down.
"Bingo, maybe," he said told Higgins. "Santa Ynez. That's right in the middle of that area. Let's go take a look."
They took his Ford and after a little hunt found the address. Santa Ynez was an old narrow street in that old residential area, and the address was a small apartment house dating back to the twenties. In the little uncarpeted lobby, they found Myra Arvin listed, by the mailbox, in apartment 4-B, upstairs. They climbed worn old wooden stairs and found the door. It was the right front apartment. Galeano pushed the bell. In a moment the door was opened by a short stout woman with suspiciously black hair and snapping black eyes, a sallow complexion, innocent of any makeup. She was wearing a flowered cotton houserobe and ancient bedroom slippers. Galeano showed her the badge and she stared at it.
"And what would the police want with me?" she asked sharply.
"Do you know Mrs. Rose Eberhart, Mrs. Arvin?" asked Higgins.