At five o’clock Palliser and Glasser came in with Scarne. "Well, we’ve got Sandra all tied up," said Glasser.
"These stupid jerks-Smith trying to get rid of the body and he couldn’t even do that efficiently-you wouldn’t believe the stuff he overlooked at that house. It’s still empty, luckily, nobody in to mess up the evidence for us. The first thing we found was Sandra’s green plane case. There were prints all over the house-"
"We had the Peacock girl’s and Sandra’s, we’ve sorted out quite a few of both," said Scarne. "Odds and ends of clothes the parents can probably identify, but the prints are solid evidence. He isn’t going to be able to claim that Sandra ran off and met up with some other X, the times are too tight. The other girl could say she was alive at seven, and the autopsy says she was dead between eight and ten."
"Good-solid evidence I always 1ike," said Mendoza.
"And something new just went down; we passed George and Jase going out in a hurry," said Palliser.
Landers had heard what the mechanic had to say about the Corvair without much surprise. The damn thing had been on its last legs for months. "You’d do better to junk it," said the mechanic. "It’s not worth putting money into."
Landers took a look at what they had on the used lot, but nothing looked like a good buy. He walked on down Hollywood Boulevard to the American agency, priced a couple of new models and winced, and went out to the used lot to browse around. Finally he settled on a little Sportabout, the pony-size station wagon, and made a deal for it. It was only three years old, had thirty thousand on it, which wasn’t bad.
But at least the Corvair had been paid for. What with the new payments on top of the rent and everything else, he reflected, Phil would have to stop talking about a house for some time.
Higgins and Grace looked at the new homicide and had the same thought at the same time.
"The Freemans," said Grace, touching his mustache thoughtfully. "Same earmarks, George."
"Such as there are," said Higgins. This was much the same kind of house as the Freemans’, in the same kind of neighborhood: modest middle-class. The householder had been Mrs. Myrtle Hopper, widow, who’d lived alone here since her youngest daughter got married. It was the daughter and her husband who had found her, coming to visit.
The front door wasn’t forced; the back door was locked. Mrs. Hopper was knifed and dead on the livingroom floor, and the place had been ransacked. At the moment the daughter was having hysterics at a neighbor’s house, but eventually they’d ask her what was missing.
"No phone book," said Grace. "Maybe they used another excuse this time. They didn’t get much at the Freemans’, and I don’t suppose they’d have got much here. What we’ve heard about this Benoy, maybe just mean by nature, doing what comes naturally."
"Could be," agreed Higgins. "Could also be, careless about his prints as he seems to be, he’s left some here too."
They’d thought at first the Freemans might have been killed by someone who thought he still had the church collection money, but now the prints had been identified as this Benoy’s, it looked like just the random thing, and this bore the same general appearance.
They called S.I.D. and imagined how the men would be cussing, a new one to work turning up at this end of shift. Higgins and Grace could go home, and hear what the lab had got tomorrow.
The wired prints of Benoy’s sidekick came in from West Virginia; by then there was an A.P.B. out on Benoy. It would be nice to know what he was driving, but there wasn’t a clue about that.
Alison was, she said, definitely better. The doctor had said it was just a question of time, and it didn’t usually last beyond the third month. Cats twined under their feet at the dinner table, and Cedric paced up and down looking for handouts.
Mairi came to summon them to the ceremonial good nights, and for once Terry and Johnny looked and behaved like angels, too tired from a full day for anything else.
"The darlings," said Alison. "I was ready to murder them yesterday, but a settled stomach makes a great difference. And by the way, I found out something very funny today," she added as they went back down the hall. "?Que ocurre? "
"Well, I sent for this brochure," said Alison rather guiltily. She picked it up from her armchair and sat down, not offering to show it to him. "Houses. Bigger houses on, well, some land. If you’re going to have a drink, I’ll have some creme de menthe, amado."
"I wasn’t, but I’ll get it." In the kitchen, he said to El Senor resignedly, "She’s going to move us to a ranch now." El Senor uttered a raucous demand for rye, and Mendoza poured him some in a saucer. When he got back to the living room, the other three cats were all trying to settle in Alison’s lap at once.
"You can’t all fit now, and just wait a couple of months," she said, shooing Sheba and Nefertite off. "Thanks, amado. Well, it’s very funny, you know I said maybe an acre, but come to find out, we’ve got nearly an acre here. It’s forty-five thousand square feet, and I figured it out-we’ve got forty-two here. And we really need more-"
"I didn’t know that," said Mendoza absently.
"Neither did I. Luis, you’re not listening."
"I was wondering whether Carey had had a look at that vacant lot. But of course he did.?Diez millones de demonios desde el imferno! " said Mendoza to his rye. "It’s such a simple little mystery, and yet so vague. What the hell could have happened to the man?"
"Who? Now, I think, it’s been some time since you brought any homework from the office," said Alison. "You haven’t been-mmh-in the exact mood to listen. But if you have any bright ideas about Edwin Fleming, I’d like to hear some." He sat down and told her about it, and she listened interestedly.
"Well, that’s the funniest thing you’ve had in ages," she said when he’d finished with Galeano’s account of today’s interview. "You can think of explanations, and then you see it’s impossible because of his being in the wheelchair. And she couldn’t have- And if I know all you hardheaded cynics, you turned every stone looking for a boyfriend, and there just isn’t one."
" En ninguna parte, " said Mendoza bitterly. "Nowhere."
"Well, all I can say is, I’m sorry for Detective Galeano," said Alison. "She sounds like a very prickly sort of girl. And speaking of sex, by the way, I’ve also been sitting up taking enough notice to think about some names-"
Mendoza uttered a groan. "I haven’t dared ask about that."
"Well, I haven’t decided anything yet."
Conway had wandered around all day Thursday on the Peralta thing, and got nowhere. He and Glasser were off on Friday, and Peralta fell to Landers, Grace and Higgins being busy on the new one, Palliser cleaning up Sandra Moseley and on the phone to Fresno, and Hackett in court: Roy Titus was being arraigned this morning. Wanda, Larsen said she’d like some street experience, and if they came across any of Peralta’s girl friends she might be helpful, so Landers let her come along.
They had turned up some known acquaintances of Peralta, three men he’d been picked up with at various times, all users: Ford Robinson, Joe Ryan, Bob Wooley. That kind tended to drift, and none of them was still at the addresses they’d given on arrest. But Conway had talked to a fellow at one of those places who said Robinson had a pad over a disco on Vermont, The Aquarian. Landers looked up the address and he and Wanda started out in the new-to-him car. It was a nice little job, handled very sweetly; Phil had admired it.
The disco wasn’t open, of course, but there was a rickety stair going up one side of the old stucco building, and they climbed it. At the top was a door painted a violent royal blue, and Landers knocked on it.