I kicked my door closed and picked up the phone. Sara-son at vehicle registration wasn't in, but Grace Smull was.
"Price is up, Peters," she said. "Five bucks. And I haven't got much time."
"Victor Spelling," I said.
I gave her the address. I could hear voices in the vehicleregistration office, but I couldn't make out the words. Grace Smull was back on in about two minutes.
"You have my home address?" she asked.
"In my notebook," I said.
"Read it back to me," she said.
I dug my notebook out of my pocket, flipped through the pages, and found her name right under Ida Sarason. „"Five bucks," she said. "Cash. In the mail today or drop it off."
"I understand," I said.
"First, your Victor Spelling's address is the Carlton Arms Hotel," she said. "Second, he has a nineteen thirty-eight Ford business coupe registered to nun, license plate four-zero-three-eight."
"I hate to ask, Grace, but could you check on registrations for any other Spellings?"
"Five bucks more," she said.
"Five bucks more," I agreed.
"There are four Spellings with motor vehicles registered in Los Angeles County," she said.
"That was fast."
"I anticipated," she said. "You want to hear? You want to complain? Cost you no more to listen. Cost you another five to complain."
"I'm listening."
She gave me the names of the four Spellings on her list and their addresses. She even gave me the year and model of their cars.
"Thanks, Grace," I said. Tell Sarason I said hello."
"Tell her yourself," said Grace. "I tell her and she expects a finder's fee."
"You're all heart, Grace," I said.
"It's a hard world out there, Peters. And I'm alone with a sick mother and a teenager to feed. I save my heart for them. Ten dollars. Cash. In the mail."
She hung up and I took out my wallet, found two fives, dug around for an envelope, and had the payment ready to go in about two minutes. I made a note of the expense in my book and got up to leave. Then I remembered Jeremy's call.
I found Gable's number and called. It rang eight times before Jeremy answered.
"It's Toby," I said. "What's up?"
"He called here," Jeremy said. "Your madman."
"His name, maybe even his real name, is Spelling," I said. "What did he want?"
"He insisted on talking to Gable. Told him that he had killed K.G. and said the puzzle was complete. I'm afraid you were right to be concerned, Toby. It is my conclusion that he plans to murder Mr. Gable."
Then I heard a familiar voice saying, "Let me have that thing." Then Gable was on the phone. "Peters. I want that maniac found and I want to be there when he is. I want to wring his neck with my bare hands."
"I've got some…" I tried, but he was going strong.
"He said things about my… things. The crazy son of a bitch thinks I was responsible for doing something to his father. I have no idea who his father is or was. I want nun, Peters. Now, what, if anything, do you know?"
I told him. About Gouda, Alice and Jeremy's solution to the killer's puzzle, the killer's name-real or not-and his giving the Carlton Arms as his home address for his vehicle registration. I also told him about my meeting with Phil.
"I don't like sitting around here," Gable said. "And I don't want him killing any more people and holding me responsible. You're telling me that the crazy son of a bitch is killing people simply because their initials spell my name?"
"Looks that way," I said.
"Find him, Peters."
"I'm working on it," I said.
"Work fast, Peters. For God's sake, work fast."
He hung up and so did 1.1 wasn't through making calls. I tried Wally Hospodar's number in Calabasas. After five or six rings, a woman answered.
"My name's Peters," I said. "Can I speak to Wally?"
"He doesn' live here anymore," the woman said in a decidedly Spanish accent.
"I'm a friend," I said. "I have to reach him. If…"
"Tell you the same thing I told the other one," she said wearily. "He lives someplace downtown L.A. in a bottle of Scotch. Spends his life and his pension in bars."
"Any bars hi particular?"
"Melody Lounge or Gardens. Something like that," she said.
"I know the place. You said someone else called looking for Wally?"
"Yesterday. Day before," she said.
"Thanks," I said.
"You see Wally you tell him something for me?"
"Sure."
"Tell him Angelina loves him and he should not come home."
"I'll tell bun," I promised and the phone went dead.
When I got back into Shelly's office, he was putting his drawings in a neat stack as he searched for some uncluttered place to put them.
"Spelling owes me money for the cleaning," Shelly said. "You think he'll pay his bill?"
"I wouldn't count on it, Shel," I said.
"Dentistry is a risky business," he said, depositing the drawings back on the dental seat.
"Riskier with Violet Gonsenelli sitting in the reception room," I said. "I've gotta go, Shel. I'm going to pick up a couple of tacos at Manny's and I don't think I'll be back today. I'll call you for messages."
"At least when Violet's here, I won't have to take messages," he grumbled.
"Good-bye, Shel," I said, opening the door.
"Wait," Shelly called, peeling off his smock. "I'll take a lunch break."
I noticed two things when we got to Manny's. First, the Dishwasher Wanted sign was gone. Second, the place was crowded. Manny's wasn't that big to start with. Four booths and a counter with a dozen red leatherette swivel stools. Two cops were just getting up from the counter. Shelly and I slid in past them and took their places.
A hand came out and started removing the dirty dishes. I looked up. It was Elmo, strands of hair in place, face shaved, my pullover shirt under his white apron.
"That was fast," I said.
"No time to change my mind," Elmo said, working away. "Job's easy. Keep it clear. Clean it up. You want your two bits back? I can't watch your car and work a job."
"Forget it," I said.
Elmo hurried away with the dishes, and Manny, a lump of a man with a weary look on his face, leaned over to us, his newspaper open to the crossword puzzle.
"I read the papers every day," he said with the rasp of a child of the teens doomed to the results of a bad tonsillec-tomy. "But… thirty-two across, 'Inhabitants of Europe's underbelly,' twenty-seven across, 'New leader of the House of Commons.' Wait. This one I can get, 'Preacher McPher-son.' Aimee Semple. Second wife and me, her name was Ernestina, used to go to the Four Square Gospel Church over on Glendale Boulevard near Sunset, Echo Park. Thousand, maybe two thousand packed in. I remember Sister Aimee saying, 'Where there's sin there's salvation. Ernestina took her to heart. Never got through to me though. Got no imagination. Third and present wife's got no imagination either. Works out better that way."
"How's Elmo working out?" I asked.
"Too soon to tell," said Manny. "Says he's your friend."
"Says right," I said.
"Too soon to tell," Manny said again. "What happened to your head?"
"Patient of Shelly's tried to kill me."
"Java, Manny," a woman called from the end of the counter.
"Comin' up," Manny called back and then to us, seriously, "R.A.F.'s pounding the Nazis in France, Netherlands. You see the Times?' "Not today," I said.
Til have the three-taco special and coffee," said Shelly.
"British stopped Rommel in North Africa," Manny went on, ignoring Shelly. "And Montgomery is counterattacking. Looks good in Africa, Europe, and the Russians aren't doing so good today."
"Java, Manny," called the woman.
"Customers," Manny said and eased away. He hadn't taken my order. Didn't need to. Unless I told him otherwise, he brought me a Pepsi and a pair of tacos.