"Yes, Luis. All right"
He wouldn't sleep, because there was Art… Passing the love of women… But he slept, his last conscious thought that it was good to be home, to feel Alison's warmth close, and to feel the warm heavy weight of four cats at the foot of the bed.
He was in his office at eight o'clock Sunday morning, shaved and tidy in gray Italian silk with the newest discreet dark tie, mustache newly trimmed, back to civilization and the job.
The hospital said, No change.
He had read Hackett's notes, and he had read Traffic's official report on the Ford. He was now listening to Palliser, who had found Margaret Corliss in her apartment last night.
"… said she'd been out shopping and visiting friends, and hunting a new job. Maybe natural. But there's something offbeat there, I can't put a finger on it but-"
"You haven't interpreted Art's notes. Maybe we can, with a little cerebration," said Mendoza. "I want to see that office. She said he hadn't been to see her?"
"That's right. She was home alone all that evening, nobody came to see her."
"Really. Poor girl. And she ought to be home alone at this hour too. Jimmy." He got up and went to the door. "Call that Corliss woman, tell her to be home at one-thirty, I'll drop by to see her then… Here's one thing," he added to Palliser. "His wife told Art that about the time Nestor graduated from his chiropractic course he had a legacy. Which he used to fit out his very classy new office. She said to me last night he hadn't any relatives. Suppose you check that out-where'd the legacy come from? Fond godfather maybe? I'd just like to know. I'd also like to know something about Andrea Nestor's background. And the background of that Telfer at the hotel."
"Well, all right," said Palliser. He sounded a little surprised. "My own thought was, if we can find out something definite about who Hackett did see Friday night-"
Mendoza stabbed out a cigarette, his tenth this morning, and laughed sharply. " Eso cae de su peso. Sure. But how do we pin it down for sure? Margaret Corliss says he didn't call on her-so if she's lying, how do we know? Ask the neighbors if they heard her doorbell ring? If they saw a 1957 Ford parked on the block?"
"Well, hell, I know, but-"
"We've committed ourselves," said Mendoza, "to the premise that he got something very definite on somebody-real evidence. Enough for an arrest right then, maybe. On the Slasher, or on the Nestor thing. And that X knew it and took steps right then to stop him passing it on. All right. Nobody involved is going to hand us the information for the asking. Anybody who says right away, ‘Why, yes, he was here'-like Mrs. Nestor-ten to one hadn't a thing to do with it. But we don't know how many places he'd been, because we don't know for certain what time he went over the cliff-or how long he'd been tied up before. ?Como no? The only definite thing we're going to get is by following both of these up hard and heavy-get the Slasher, find out all about Nestor's taking off-and then we can put the finger on who sent Art over that cliff and why. And don't tell me it's the long way round. We'll be looking everywhere, but that's how it looks to me right now."
"Sense," said Dwyer laconically; he had just come in. "What chores do I get?"
"You work through the rest of Nestor's address book. Split it with Glasser-Nestor knew the hell of a lot of people. John, you look for the legacy. I'll be seeing Corliss and the Elgers. Who's on day shift? Let Galeano check into Telfer. And why in hell didn't somebody spot the one clue on the Slasher you were handed free gratis? Jimmy can check that out-"
"What? What clue?" asked Palliser blankly.
"?Porvida! ” said Mendoza. "I caught that one as soon as I read the statements! I'm surprised Art didn't pick it up. Estupidos -the silver dollar! That bar where, evidently, the Slasher got talking to Number Three-Theodore Simms. He had two straight whiskeys and paid with a silver dollar and two dimes. How recently have any of you seen a silver dollar?"
"My God," said Palliser. "I never thought- Of course you don't much any more. Only-"
"Only!" said Mendoza. "Exactly. All this Goddamned inflation. We'd all be a damned sight smarter to feel like that, hard money or nothing. But the fact remains, where do you see silver dollars these days? Can any of you smart detectives tell me?" Glasser and Scarne had come in now, were listening silently.
"God's sake," said Dwyer. "Vegas. For the high-priced one-arm bandits."
"All right," said Mendoza. "Where else? I'll tell you. Up north. Through the gold country-anywhere from Sacramento down through the San Joaquin-inland. All those conservative rural types who like the feel of the hard money. So let's find out if any more bars down around Second and Third have taken in any silver dollars lately, and if anybody remembers anything about the fellow handed them over, if so. And let's also send out some inquiries in the direction of Vegas and up north."
"On what?" asked Glasser. "I don't see--"
"?Ignorante! " said Mendoza irritably. "Art saw that. It's in the cards our Slasher hasn't gone off the rails so sudden. That our Number One in that hotel wasn't his Number One. Let's ask, anyway. Whether Vegas, or any place up north, has had some mysterious knifings-lately, or last year, or any time. Just for fun."
"Oh," said Palliser. "Yes, I see that. But-"
"?Largo de aqui! Let's get busy and work this thing! Jimmy, get busy on all that-"8
"Will do," said Sergeant Lake.
"And the rest of you, out! John, where's Nestor's appointment book?"
"Far as I know, still in his office, why?"
"I want you to look at it. Meet me at Federico's at twelve-thirty for lunch." Mendoza got up, reached for his hat, and was out of the office ahead of them.
EIGHT
He stopped to have a few words with the captain-Wiley, who had got that desk when Holmes retired last year. Wiley was always a little on the defensive with Mendoza; he thought it should have been Mendoza's promotion; Wiley had been a fixture in the Forgery office for years. As a matter of fact Mendoza had been as pleased to stay where he was; as captain he'd have had an even more sedentary job, and he always hated to delegate authority.
"I hated like hell to call you back," said Wiley, "but I knew you'd want to come anyway when you heard about Hackett-the hell of a thing-and, damn it, I'm a delegate to this Peace Officers' convention in Denver, flying out tonight." He turned the whole mess over to Mendoza with undisguised relief.
Mendoza went to look at Frank Nestor's office. Hackett, the trained and experienced man, was also by nature a careful man. He remembered lessons and precedents. Unlike some others, he had it always at the back of his mind that through accident or some other cause another man might be taking over a case he was working; and sometimes you got asked tricky questions in court, too. Hackett took carefully detailed notes, not just cryptic jottings as self-reminders.
Sitting at Frank Nestor's desk, Mendoza opened Hackett's notebook again and reread two filled pages. He found the appointment book on the desk and looked through it thoughtfully. Quite an artistic job, he thought. He put it in his pocket and made a tour of the office.
The whole place had been searched, and the boys were usually thorough; but that was before Art had been sent over the cliff-maybe in connection with this thing. If they were doing it over now, they might take the place apart a bit more. Just in case, Mendoza looked. He upended the soiled-clothes hamper in the lavatory and was rewarded with a white smock that had a smear of old dried blood down its front.
He rather liked that, so he looked further. Stuck to the bottom of the metal wastebasket in the rear examination room he found a tiny scrap of paper with the two letters MO printed on it. It wasn't much, but he put that carefully away too.