bartender vaguely, medium-sized and kind of thin. And he always ordered bourbon, straight.
The other bartender worked at a place on Main. It wasn't quite down into Skid Row, but on the fringes; and he was a tough customer, who didn't much care for cops and was reluctant to open up with any information. Landers had persuaded him, finally, to come out with what he knew. And that wasn't much either, but again, something. There was this old bat, he said, kind of a regular-probably a setup, also a lush. He wasn't admitting that she was working out of his bar, naturally, because he didn't want to lose his license; but that, said Landers, was what it sounded like. Anyway, her name was Rosie-that was all the bartender knew. And the last couple of times she'd been in, she'd paid him with a silver dollar. He gave a vague description of her; no, he'd never heard her last name, and of course he didn't know where she lived-he could do the hell of a lot better than that for himself.
'Well-something, but what?' said Mendoza. 'Put out a call on Rosie. Trace it down, and probably find the customer she got the silver dollars from just blew in from Vegas and has nothing to do with our Slasher. However-”
Nothing had turned up on that search of hotel registers in the downtown area. Mendoza called the city editors of the Times, the Herald, the Hollywood Citizen, and the Glendale News-Press, and requested them to run cuts of that signature they had from the Liverpool Arms register: promised to send over prints. He sent a man down to get the prints and deliver them by hand. The first body had been found the day before he and Alison had left for New York; he hadn't heard many details on it. Now he settled down to reread all the reports on the five victims… He said to Lake, 'That stuff we picked up in the hotel room-is it still around? Lab send it back?'
'I seem to remember it did--probably be in Art's desk.' Lake looked, and brought him a shoe box containing a few odds and ends. 'No prints, nothing suggestive.'
Mendoza looked at it sadly. No guarantee either-the Liverpool Arms being what it was-that any of these things was connected with the Slasher, who had occupied that room such a short time. Found in the room with the body, but ten to one the rooms there weren't so thoroughly cleaned between tenants.
A half-empty packet of matches. A single penny, dark with age. An empty crumpled-up cigarette package, king-size Chesterfields. A dime-store handkerchief, soiled. A crumpled-up paper cup that had held bourbon at some time.
He picked up the matches idly and opened the cover. He looked at the dozen matches left in it and said to himself, '?Y que es esto? Somebody's slipping, either the lab or us. Jimmy!'
'What now?'
'This Mike. The first victim. I suppose you couldn't tell me whether he was left-handed?'
'Nor I don't know what color eyes his grandmother had either. Why the hell?'
'We can probably find out,' said Mendoza. 'He seems to have been known down on the Row. And I'd like to ask Bainbridge his opinion on this one too… Why? Have all of you so-called detectives gone blind? Look at this packet of matches. The ordinary right-handed person, tearing off a match, holds the book in his left hand and naturally reaches for the first match at the extreme right.?Como no? He gradually works his way through the book from right to left. All right. Whoever started to use this book of matches did it just the opposite-all the matches that have been torn out were at the extreme left. If Mike wasn't left-handed, there's a fair probability that these were the Slasher's matches and that he is left-handed.'
'Oh,' said Sergeant Lake. 'That might narrow it down, sure. From about seven million to only two and a half.'
'Well, it's another something,' said Mendoza.
Dwyer came in at five-fifteen, Scarne and Glasser after him; Landers had just finished taking the second bartender's statement. All the people in Nestor's address book looked ordinary-other chiropractors who'd been in his graduating class, men around his own age, salesmen, clerks-some family men, some not. Of the women, a few looked like typical tramps, a few others were married; one of those women, a Mrs. Anita Sheldon, had been scared, said Glasser, and begged him not to drag her name in-nobody knew she'd known Nestor, her husband would kill her if he knew. 'Husband's a truck driver,' Glasser added. 'National moving firm. Those guys are usually pretty hefty.'
There wasn't much there. They'd look harder at the Sheldons.
Dwyer said he'd seen Elger's two associates in their office, and they'd given him names of a couple of others who knew him, another agent and a producer. The consensus was that Elger had the hell of a hot temper, was known to fly off the handle over any little thing. 'The kind who gets mad quick and then cools down fast and it's all over, you know. But everybody seems to like him.'
'Yes. And that kind sometimes cools down fast to find an unintended body around,' said Mendoza. 'Especially when they're as big as Cliff Elger. Well, boys-any of you feel like doing a little more leg work tonight?'
None of them minded.
When he got home Alison met him at the door. 'What's wrong, querida?' he asked, seeing her eyes. He held her close. The hospital was still saying, No change.
'Oh, Luis,' she said shakily. 'Nothing now. But-I didn't tell Angel, I asked the nurse not to. We were at the hospital this afternoon, and the nurse told me. They they thought he was going, this morning. Then his pulse picked up, for no reason, and he-'
Mendoza put his head down on her shoulder for a minute. 'Well, he's still here anyway,' he said. 'Maybe Adam was doing some extra earnest praying about then. I want to talk to Angel. Can she-'
'Yes, of course.'
He went into the living room, where Bast greeted him loudly and El Senor contemplated him evilly through green slits, from the top of the phonograph. The record-cabinet doors were open and El Senor had dragged out four albums. Mendoza said absently, ' Senor Molestial ' and put them away
Mrs. MacTaggart came trotting in with a shot glass and a saucer. 'I heard the car,' she said. 'You'll be needing a drink before dinner, and that unnatural cat giving you no peace unless he has his share.' She set the saucer down for El Senor, who had an unaccountable taste for rye and lapped eagerly. 'And the longer the man hangs on there, the better chance there is, as I needn't be reminding you. Mercy on us, what's-'
Pandemonium broke out in the hall. Mark Christopher staggered in clasping a wildly struggling Sheba around the middle. 'Kitty-kitty!' he was announcing triumphantly. Miss Teresa Ann, still very uncertain on her small feet, staggered after him wailing loudly, and bringing up the procession came Master John Luis on all fours, also wailing.
'Now what is all this indeed? Like banshees the lot of you- Mark, put the kitty down now-' Mrs. MacTaggart hurried to Sheba's rescue.
El Senor finished the rye, thoughtfully licked his whiskers, and looking slightly cross-eyed jumped down to cuff Sheba, who was indignantly smoothing down her coat. She shrieked and spat at him.
'The happy home,' said Mendoza resignedly to his drink. 'Talk about the patter of little feet…'
When Angel came in with Alison he eyed her and said, 'I think you could stand a small drink before dinner too.'
'I'm all right,' said Angel.
'Cocktails all made, waiting,' said Alison with a show of briskness. 'I thought we both could. I'll get them.'
Mendoza sipped rye, looking at Angel. He and Art's nice domestic little wife had never appreciated each other to any extent; he couldn't say he knew her very well. He was rather surprised she wasn't weeping and fainting all over the place. She looked pale, but she'd put on make-up and combed her hair. Just another pretty dark-haired woman: but for the first time he noticed the firmness of her jaw and her steady eyes.
Alison came back with two glasses, and he waited until Angel had taken a sip. 'Now, I expect Alison told you I want to hear every detail you remember, about what he said to you that night.'
'Yes, of course,' said Angel. 'The worst of it is, I wasn't paying too much attention-of course I couldn't know it was important then. And what with coping with Mark pounding the table legs with one of his pull-toys-but I've tried to think back as well as I can. I know definitely he said he was going to see that hotel clerk.' She sipped her cocktail; her voice was steady. 'He was worried about this mass killer, on account of all the fuss the newspapers
