He laughed sharply. "Unfortunately, somebody had already looked at the appointment book and is ready to swear it's been extensively added to since."
"You can't prove that," she said. "You can't make me out-"
"You don't think so?" said Mendoza. He laughed again. "We'll prove it, Corliss! Check out every one of those names in the book-and nine out of ten'll show up as non-existent. What was a chiropractor doing with a bloodstained smock? Some patient had a nosebleed?? A otro perro con ese hueso! We'll prove it, and you'll be spending the next few years in Tehachapi."
Scarne came in from the bedroom. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing even unusual."
"I didn't expect it," said Mendoza without taking his eyes off the woman. "Corliss is a little too smart to keep incriminating evidence around, isn't she? Or thinks she is. What did you do with Doctor's records, Corliss? And all the rest of it? You might have got rid of the tools, but I think you'd hang onto the records. I think maybe you had the same bright little idea Doctor had about that, didn't you? Did you stash them away in a safe-deposit box maybe? If and when we charge you, I can get an order to open one of those, you know… Well, don't just stand there!" he added to Scarne. "Go down and look at her car."
He picked up the bulging handbag lying on the table near the door. "Keys probably in here."
"You leave my things alone! You-"
"Search warrant, Corliss," said Mendoza. "All nice and legal!" He took a step and stood over her close. "No, you couldn't do anything about those damning files-files showing just the few legitimate patients he had. You told the big sergeant one very damn silly story about that, but it was really all you could say, wasn't it?-that a lot of file cards were missing, had been taken out. You could point to the appointment book, all righteous, and say that showed how many patients he had-but it wasn't quite the same thing, was it?"
"You've certainly got a nasty imagination," she said shrilly. "Not one word of that-you can't prove-"
"Sooner or later somebody might have begun to wonder," said Mendoza tautly. He bent a little closer to her. "Look at me! You know something, Corliss? Somebody had begun to wonder about it. That big tough sergeant, Corliss. He didn't like you, he was wondering hard about you. He wanted to see you again, rake you over the coals a little. Did he, Corliss?"
"I don't know what you-" Suddenly her eyes showed a little fright, at his nakedly savage tone.
"Did he? Last Friday night- And did you, maybe, give yourself away somehow? So that you knew if the sergeant passed that on you'd be in one hell of a mess anyway?
And was, maybe, your gentleman friend here to lend you a hand at-"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said rapidly, nervously. "What if Larry was here Friday night? That cop never- I don't know what you mean-"
But her dark expressionless eyes shifted at last, once, and her tight mouth worked convulsively.
"?Perro negra! " said Mendoza violently-and Palliser moved. He saw Mendoza's eyes, and he took one step, between them, to seize Mendoza's upraised arm.
For an instant they stood breast to breast, and Palliser was the taller man but he wondered if he could hold him. He said quietly, "You haven't been haled up to I.A. the last couple of years, sir, you don't want to break your record."
Mendoza drew a long breath. "No. No. All right, boy."
Palliser felt the violence of effort as he regained control. He let go of him and stepped back.
"-sue you for slander!" she was saying breathlessly. "That's right, try to hit a defenseless woman! Of all things, I never heard of- All lies! You'll never prove-"
"You're wasting breath and effort, Corliss," said Mendoza. "We'll prove it on you. Larry who?"
"I don't have to tell you that," she said haughtily. "To drag him in. I never heard-”
"Are you a registered nurse? Where'd you train?"
"I don't have to tell you-"
Scarne came back, letting himself in with her key, and said, "The car's clean, Lieutenant."
"Yes," said Mendoza. "Just don't try to run, Corliss. We're watching you, and we'll get enough for a warrant sooner or later."
She was still sitting there, stolid and defiant, when they went out.
Dwyer dropped behind with Palliser. "Brother," he said sotto voce , "you took a chance there. I've seen him like that a few times. He might just as easy have knocked you into the middle of next week. For all he's not outsize, when he's in the mood he can be a tough one to take."
"Better me than a female citizen there's no evidence on," said Palliser tersely.
In the street Mendoza stopped beside the long black elegance of the Ferrari. He took off his hat and put a hand to his head as if it ached, and summoned a smile for the three of them. He said, "So we go the long way round. With the lab boys working overtime. A tail on her twenty-four hours a day, from now on. She knows we'll get there in the end. Somebody'll have to go through that appointment book, check out all the names. Get that set up, one of you, will you? Bert-you chase back to the office and start that. And when you and Scarne have finished checking your bit of Nestor's address book, I could bear to know the hell of a lot more about one Cliff Elger. Go talk to people about him. I'1l see you back at the office at six."
"O.K.," said Dwyer casually. He and Scarne walked on toward Dwyer's car down the block.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," said Palliser. "It was just-I mean, I know how you felt, that damn woman, but I couldn't let you--”
Mendoza tossed his hat in the open window of the Ferrari. He didn't say anything; he reached for a cigarette, lit it.
"I mean, my God, you know-the headlines," said Palliser. "That juvenile thing last year-all blown up out of nothing, but the chief is so damn scrupulous about that kind of thing, and Internal Affairs--"
"I know," said Mendoza. "Thanks very much, John. Make a fool of myself--that never accomplishes anything. We'll drop on Corliss, with any luck. That doesn't say. Let's talk this over a little." He got into the car.
Palliser got in after him. "Yes, sir."
"Build it for me," said Mendoza. "The way you see it, on Art. How did it happen?"
"Well, I don't see that we can-"
"From what we know. Construe,” said Mendoza.
Palliser considered. "One thing did occur to me. What was the last thing he wrote in his notebook?"
"You think, don't you?" Mendoza brought out Hackett's notebook. "But it's not much help… "
TEN
It wasn't much help because Hackett didn't keep consecutive notes; he had used separate sections of the notebook for separate inquiries and people. There wasn't any way to know what he'd last written down. In the section on Andrea Nestor, the last thing he'd written was, "Any overheard quarrels with husband? Ask neighbors?" There wasn't anything about the Elgers at all.
"But of course," said Palliser, "wherever he was attacked, whoever did it, if we're right he probably wouldn't have had a chance to write any notes about that interview."
Mendoza agreed. It was always better not to produce a notebook at the actual interview with a witness, if you could avoid it, but to write your notes afterward; that would be what Hackett would have done.
"The only other thing that struck me," said Palliser, "is that it would have been a lot easier to set up that fake accident if there were two people involved. Because that canyon road's pretty long and winding. The site was about a mile up from where the road starts, above the end of Bronson. It's steep, too. When X had sent the car over, he'd be on foot, unless somebody had driven another car along to pick him up. And look, how would he know that the crash wouldn't be heard right away, bring people swarming around? How's he going to explain himself, there on foot? I think there must-"