High society, all right. Hackett put the book down and did some more looking. Wandered down to the examination rooms. This kind of equipment, he thought, was probably damned expensive, and both examination rooms were fitted out the same. Both had tiled sinks. The steel examination tables, with handles to tilt them in various directions, and those gadgets for taking blood pressure, the latest type, attached to the wall. Steel lockers against the wall. Metal tables bearing glass jars of cotton swabs, tongue depressors, a lot of bottles filled with tablets and capsules. He opened the locker in the first room; it was empty. The other one had a padlock on it; he had Nestor's keys, found one that fitted the padlock. Inside the locker was a wrinkled white smock hanging neatly on a hook, and on the little shelf, folded together, a pair of rubber gloves.
Quite expectable, he thought sadly. What the hell was wrong here? Just something a little funny, that he couldn't put a finger on.
Palliser had found an address book in the desk. See what showed up there, but…
And back in the office, with Miss Corliss still telephoning in the background, he thought abruptly that those two examination rooms hadn't been quite the same. He went back to the rear one, next to the office. Near the door stood an electric cabinet, squarish, about three feet high. That hadn't been duplicated in the other room. It was white porcelain, baked enamel, and across its front was a neat metal plaque. Sterilizer.
'I guess that musta been the guy killed Roberto all right,' said Miguel Garcia. He was still half scared, self- important, self-conscious, genuinely awed at his own good luck. 'I guess it was lucky I ran.'
'Maybe it was,' said Palliser, beginning to feel a little hopeful. It was after five; he wondered if Bert or Landers had come up with anything at one of the hotels. He'd taken part of the hotel list himself, had drawn blank, and then started to hunt up all the boys who'd been at that Scout meeting. Miguel was the ninth one he'd talked to; none of the others had known anything. He'd found Miguel in this big schoolyard, pointed out by a couple of other kids, and was talking to him here on a rickety wooden bench in the still hot sun. Of course, he remembered absently, actually it was only a little after four, sun time.
'Tell me exactly what happened, Miguel.' He lit a cigarette. 'Everything you remember.'
'Yes, sir. Excuse me, but nobody's supposed to smoke on the school ground.” Palliser started to say that it didn't matter, it was after school hours and he was grown up, and met Miguel's solemn dark eyes, and stepped on his cigarette. A kid like Miguel, several counts on him already, who unlike some kids down here seemed to have some respect for the rules, and parents who encouraged him to join the Scouts-well, no harm to set an example. He smiled at Miguel, who was small for his fourteen years and a nice-looking boy, if slightly grimy at this end of a day.
'Let's hear all about it.'
'Yes, sir. Gee, it's awful-Roberto getting killed like that. When we heard about it, Danny Lopez was telling about it at lunchtime, gee, I thought right off it musta been that guy-and I better tell somebody about it, I was goin' to ask my dad when he gets home tonight-'
'Well, you tell me now.'
'Yes, sir. See, like I was just tellin' you, I'm the only one went the same way as him, goin' home last night.' A couple of the boys had been called for by a parent, an older brother or sister, but most of them hadn't been. Down here, kids were expected to be self-reliant pretty young. And it wouldn't have been quite dark yet, what with daylight saving-full dark about eight-twenty, in July. Dusk, deepening dusk, as the boys walked along Second Street. 'So we went together, I mean, I kind of I caught up to Roberto, he left first. At the corner of Corto, about there. See, I had a lot further to go, we live on Angelina.'
Palliser produced a city map and made him point out the place. Miguel was unhesitant. 'See, I'd go the other way, up Douglas Street, about a block further along. It was the middle of that block, just before I'd go the other way 'n' Roberto'd be turning up Beverly, see. There was this guy standin' there by the curb-just standin' there's all.' He warmed to his tale now, and his dirty hands flew out in gestures. 'I dunno why he scared me, it was just something about him-way he stood, kind of still, or something. just as we come by, he stepped out nearer an' started to say somethin'-he said something like, ‘Hey, kids'-only then I looked at him, and when I saw his face I was all of a sudden awful scared, and I just went on, kind of fast. But Roberto stopped. An' I-an' I went on faster, up toward the corner, and then I looked back and. Roberto was still talkin' to the guy-I thought I'd call him, tell him come on, but then I didn't. And, well, the light turned green an' I-just ran. But gee, it musta been him. The one did it. That Slasher, like they call him. Why do you suppose he wanted to kill Roberto, anyways?'
'We don't know,' said Palliser. 'Now, what did the man look like, Miguel?'
'Gee,' said the boy regretfully, 'I didn't have much of a look at him, mister. It was funny, what scared me about him, I mean he didn't try to hit me or have a gun or nothing. Kind of the way he stood. I dunno. It was almost dark, you know, and not anywheres near a street light. He-he was kind of tall and thin, I guess-I don't remember nothing about his clothes-except, well, they seemed kind of loose on him, like they didn't fit good. And he had this kind of red face, kind of nasty-lookin'-'
Palliser took him over it again, but nothing else emerged. Miguel couldn't say what kind of face, thin or round, long nose or short, anything definite. The man had had a hat on, he hadn't seen his hair. 'It was just a minute, see-and it was nearly dark-'
It was the most definite information in yet, and what did it amount to? A tall thin man with a red face. And considering Miguel's size, a medium-sized man might look tall to him. And come to think, in the dusk how had the boy seen the red face?
He thanked Miguel and went back to his car. Get a formal statement from the boy tomorrow. Report in, see if they wanted him to stay overtime-if not, might go to see Roberta, if she wasn't busy correcting her fourth-graders' papers. He yawned. He wondered if Hackett had got anything on that chiropractor.
This Slasher. Hell of a thing… 'Manners maketh man,' he thought. If that Reyes kid hadn't been so well brought up, to stop and answer the stranger on the street, he might have been as alive as Miguel Garcia, who had providentially got scared and run.
But this was a little something, from Miguel. Piece by piece you built it up.
He drove back down Vignes to First Street, up to Los Angeles Street, and parked in the big lot behind the solid looming rectangle of the Police Facilities Building. He realized he was hungry. He took the elevator up to the homicide office and asked Lake if Hackett was in.
'No, he just called in. Said for you to call him at home.'
'O.K.” Palliser passed on Miguel's story. 'Not much, but more than we had before. You might circulate that very vague description around.' That was easily said; it would entail a lot of work. Every patrolman had to be briefed, and because you couldn't confine it to just the one area-the Slasher might turn up anywhere next time, God forbid-every precinct station, the sheriff's' boys, and suburban forces. Just in case. They were running an extra car tonight, around that downtown area.
Higgins was on night tour this month; he lounged up to hear about it, and said start the phoning. 'Hackett turn up anything definite on that new case?' asked Palliser.
'I don't think so,' said Lake. 'But he said he doesn't like the way it smells. Could be he's pinch-hitting for our Luis, havin' hunches.'
Palliser yawned. 'In Bermuda about now, I understand,' he said. 'I wish I was in Bermuda. Listening to some nice calypso over, say, a Cuba Libre… ”
F0UR
'You will,' said Angel, standing on tiptoe to kiss him at the door, 'have to learn to curb your language, Art.'
'What? What have I been saying wrong?'
She laughed. 'I scolded Mark for pulling the cat's tail a while ago and he distinctly said, ‘Damn.' '
Hackett grinned. 'Starting young. You all right? You left those trash cans for me to bring in, I trust.'
'I did. Of course I'm all right. Once you get past the morning-sickness bit-I never felt better.'
