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Millard laughed。 〃Bright penny； are you calling your own boss an evidence suppressor？〃
I thought of myself as the same thing。 〃Yeah； and a shitbrained； grandstanding son of bitch。〃
Millard said； 〃Touché；〃 and handed me a piece of paper。 〃Betty sightings…restaurants and bars in Wilshire Division。 You can work it single or with Blanchard； I don't care。〃
〃I'd rather canvass around the Biltmore。〃
〃I know you would； but I want foot beat men who know the area to work there； and I need smart pennies to eliminate the phonies from the tip list。〃
〃What are you going to be doing？〃
Millard smiled sadly。 〃Keeping an eye on the evidence suppressor shit…brained son of a bitch and his minions to make sure they don't try to coerce a confession out of that innocent man in the holding tank。〃
* * *
I couldn't find Lee anywhere around the station； so I checked out the tip list as a single…o。 The canvassing territory was centered in the Wilshire District； restaurant bars and juke joints on Western； Normandie and 3rd Street。 The people I talked to were mostly barflies； daytime juicers eager to suck up to authority or gab with someone other than the usual boon acquaintances they found in gin mills。 Pressing for facts； I got sincere fantasy…virtually every person had Betty Short giving them a long spiel taken from the papers and radio when she was really down in Dago with Red Manley or somewhere getting tortured to death。 The longer I listened the more they talked about themselves； interweaving their sad tales with the story of the Black Dahlia； who they actually believed to be a glamorous siren headed for Hollywood stardom。 It was as if they would have traded their own lives for a juicy front…page death。 I included questions on Linda Martin/Lorna Martilkova； Junior Nash and Madeleine Cathcart Sprague and her snow…white Packard； but all it got me was stuporous deadpans。 I decided that my FI report would consist of two words： 〃All bullshit。〃
I finished shortly after dark； and drove to the house to grab dinner。
Pulling up； I saw Kay storming out the door and down the steps； hurling an armful of paper onto the lawn； then storming back while Lee stormed beside her； shouting and waving his arms。 I walked over and knelt beside the discarded pile； the papers were carbons of LAPD report forms。 Sifting through them； I saw FIs； evidence indexes； questioning reports； tip lists and a plete autopsy protocol…all with 〃E。 Short； W。F。 D。O。D。 1/15/47〃 typed at the top。 They were obviously bootlegged from University Station…and the very possession of them was enough to guarantee Lee a suspension from duty。
Kay came back with another load； shouting； 〃After all that's happened； all that might happen； how can you do this？ It's sick and it's insane！〃 She dumped the papers beside the other pile； 39th and Norton glossies glinted up at me。 Lee grabbed her by the arms and held her while she squirmed。 〃Goddamnit； you know what this is to me。 You know。 Now I'll rent a room to keep the stuff in； but babe； you stick by me on this。 It's mine； and I need you 。 。 。 and you know。〃
They noticed me then。 Lee said； 〃Bucky； you tell her。 You reason with her。〃
It was the funniest Dahlia circus line I'd heard so far。 〃Kay's right。 You've pulled at least three misdemeanors on this thing； and it's getting out…〃 I stopped； thinking of what I'd pulled； and where I was going at midnight。 Looking at Kay； I shifted gears。 〃I promised him a week on it。 That means four more days。 On Wednesday it's over。〃
Kay sighed； 〃Dwight； you can be so gutless sometimes；〃 then walked into the house。 Lee opened his mouth to say something funny。 I kicked a path through official LAPD paper to my car。
* * *
The snow…white Packard was in the same spot as last night。 I staked it out from my car； parked directly in back of it。 Huddled low in the front seat； I spent angry hours watching foot traffic enter and leave the three bars on the block… daggers； femmes and obvious sheriff's dicks with that edgy look indigenous to bagmen。 Midnight came and went； the foot traffic picked up…mostly lezzies headed for the hot sheet motels across the street。 Then she walked out the door of La Verne's Hideaway alone； a showstopper in a green silk dress。
I slid out the passenger side door just as she stepped off the curb； giving me a sidelong glance。 〃Slumming； Miss Sprague？〃
Madeleine Sprague stopped； I closed the distance between us。 She dug in her purse； pulling out car keys and a fat wad of cash。 〃So Daddy's spying again。 He's on one of his little Calvinist crusades； and he said you shouldn't be subtle。〃 She switched to a deft imitation of a Scotchman's burr： 〃Maddy girl； ye should not be congregating in such unsuitable places。 It would not do to have ye seen by the wrong people there； lassie。〃
My legs were trembling； like they did while I waited for the first…round bell。 I said； 〃I'm a police officer。〃
Madeleine Sprague went back to her normal voice。 〃Oh？ Daddy's buying policemen now？〃
〃He didn't buy me。〃
She held out the cash and looked me over。 〃No； probably not。 You'd be dressing better if you worked for him。 So let's try the West Valley Sheriffs。 You're already extorting La Verne； so you thought you'd try extorting her patrons。〃
I took the money； counted over a hundred dollars； then handed it back。 〃Let's try LAPD Homicide。 Let's try Elizabeth Short and Linda Martin。〃
Madeleine Sprague's brassy act died fast。 Her face scrunched up with worry； and I saw that her resemblance to Betty/Beth was more hairdo and makeup than anything else； on the whole her features were less refined than the Dahlia's； and only superficially similar。 I studied that face： panicky hazel eyes caught by streetlight glow； forehead creased； like her brain was working overtime。 Her hands were shaking； so I grabbed the car keys and money； stuffed them into her purse and tossed it on the hood of the Packard。 Knowing I might have a major lead by the short hairs； I said； 〃You can talk to me here or downtown； Miss Sprague。 Just don't lie。 I know you knew her； so if you jerk me off on that it's the station and a lot of publicity you don't want。〃
The brass girl finally posed herself。 I repeated； 〃Here or downtown？〃 She opened the Packard's passenger door and got in； sliding over behind the wheel。 I joined her； flicking on a dashboard light so I could read her face。 The smell of leather upholstery and stale perfume hit me； I said； 〃Tell me how long you knew Betty Short。〃
Madeleine Sprague fidgeted under the light。 〃How did you know I knew her？〃
〃You rabbited last night when I was questioning the barmaid。 What about Linda Martin？ Do you know her？〃
Madeleine ran long red fingertips over the wheel。 〃This is all a fluke。 I met Betty and Linda at La Verne's last fall。 Betty said it was her first time there。 I think I talked to her one time after that。 Linda I talked to several times； just cocktail lounge chitchat。〃
〃When last fall？〃
〃November； I think。〃
〃Did you sleep with either of them？〃
Madeleine flinched。 〃No。〃
〃Why not？ That's what that dive is all about； right？〃
〃Not entir