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with the Dahlia； didn't you； girlie？ Tell me where you were during her lost days。〃 Then the finale hit： Fritzie and Johnny Vogel whispering on the ride out to the Valley。
〃I proved I'm not no nancy boy。 Homos couldn't do what I did。〃
〃Be still； damn you！〃
I ran out to the hall； fed the pay phone a nickel and dialed Russ Millard's number at the Bureau。
〃Central Homicide； Lieutenant Millard。〃
〃Russ； it's Bucky。〃
〃Something wrong； bright penny？ You sound shaky。〃
〃Russ； I think I've got something。 I can't tell you now； but I need two favors。〃
〃This is about Elizabeth？〃
〃Yes。 Goddamnit； Russ…〃
〃Hush； and tell me。〃
〃I need you to get me the Ad Vice file for Charles Michael Issler。 He's got three pimping priors； so I know he'll have one。〃
〃And？〃
I dry swallowed。 〃I want you to check on Fritz Vogel's and John Vogel's whereabouts January tenth through fifteenth。〃
〃Are you telling me…〃
〃I'm telling you maybe。 I'm telling you maybe real strong。〃
There was a long silence； then： 〃Where are you？〃
〃The El Nido。〃
〃Stay there。 I'll call you back inside of half an hour。〃
I hung up and waited； thinking of a sweet package of glory and revenge。 Seventeen minutes later the phone rang； I pounced on it。 〃Russ； what…〃
〃The file's missing。 I checked the 'I's' myself。 They were all put back unevenly； so my guess is that it was snatched recently。 On the other； Fritzie was on duty at the Bureau straight through those days； racking up overtime on old cases； and Johnny was on vacation leave； where I don't know。 Now； will you explain all this？〃
I got an idea。 〃Not now。 Meet me here tonight。 Late。 If I'm not here； wait for me。〃
〃Bucky…〃
〃Later； padre。〃
* * *
I called in sick that afternoon； that night I mitted two felony B & E's。
My first victim was working swingwatch； I called Personnel Division and impersonated a city payroll clerk to get his home address and phone number。 The catching officer kicked loose； at dusk I parked across the street and eyeballed the apartment house that John Vogel called home。
It was a stucco four flat on Mentone near the LA…Culver City border； a salmon…pink structure flanked by identical buildings painted light green and tan。 There was a pay phone at the corner； I used it to dial Bad Breath Johnny's number； an extra precaution to make sure the bastard wasn't in。 Twenty rings went unanswered。 I walked calmly over； found a bottom floor door with 〃Vogel〃 on the mail slot； worked a double…over hairpin into the keyhole and let myself in。
Inside； I held my breath； half expecting a killer dog to leap at me。 I checked the luminous dial on my watch； decided ten minutes was tops and squinted for a light to turn on。
My eyes caught a floor lamp。 I moved to it and pulled the cord； lighting up a tidy living room。 There was a tidy bargain basement sofa with matching chairs； an imitation fireplace； cheesecake glossies of Rita Hayworth； Betty Grable and Ann Sheridan Scotch taped to the walls； what looked like a genuine captured Jap flag draped over the coffee table。 The phone was on the floor by the sofa； with an address book next to it； I allotted half my time right there。
I checked every page。 There was no Betty Short or Charles Issler； and none of the names listed were repeats from the master file or the names in Betty's 〃little black book。〃 Five minutes down； five to go。
A kitchen； dinette and bedroom adjoined the living room。 I turned off the lamp； moved in darkness to the half…open bedroom doorway and patted the inside wall for a light switch。 Finding one； I flipped it on。
An unmade bed； four walls festooned with Jap flags and a big； scuffed chest of drawers were revealed。 I opened the top drawer； saw three German Lugers； spare clips and a scattering of loose shells…and laughed at the taste of Axis Johnny。 Then I opened the middle one； and a tingling was all over me。
Black leather harnesses； chains； whips； studded dog collars； Tijuana condoms that gave you a bludgeon…headed extra six inches。 Smut books with pictures of naked women getting whipped by other women while they sucked harness…clad guys with big dicks。 Close…up photos that captured fat； needle marks； chipped nail polish and dope…glazed eyes。 No Betty Short； no Lorna Martilkova； no Slave Girls from Hell Egyptian backdrop or tie…in to Duke Wellington； but a parlay…whips to the coroner's 〃light lash marks〃…that was enough to nail Johnny Vogel as Dahlia suspect number one。
I shut the drawers； flicked off the light； tingle walked into the living room and turned on the lamp； then reached for the address book。 〃Daddy & Mom's〃 number was GRanite…9401； if I got a no answer； B & E number two was a ten…minute drive away。
I dialed； Fritz Vogel's phone rang twenty…five times。 I turned off the light and hauled ass。
Vogel Senior's small wood frame house was totally dark when I pulled up across from it。 I sat behind the wheel remembering the layout from my previous visit； recalling two bedrooms off a long hallway； the kitchen； a rear service porch and a closed door across the hall from the bathroom。 If Fritzie had a private den； that had to be it。
I took the driveway to the back of the house。 The screen door to the service porch was open； I tiptoed past a washing machine to the barrier to the house proper。 That door was solid wood； but feeling at the jamb I found it connected to the wall with a simple hook and eyelet。 I shook the knob and felt plenty of give； if I could pop the little piece of metal； I was in。
I got down on my knees and patted the floor； stopping when my hand hit a skinny piece of metal。 Pawing at it like a blind man； I realized I'd found an oil gauge dipstick。 I smiled at my luck； stood up and popped the door open。
Thinking fifteen minutes tops； I moved through the kitchen； over to the hallway and down it； my hands in front of me to deflect unseen obstacles。 A nightlight glowed inside the bathroom doorway…pointing me straight across to what I hoped was Fritzie's hideaway。 I tried the knob…and the door opened。
The little room was pitch dark。 I banged along the walls； hitting picture frames； feeling iceberg spooky until my leg grazed a tall wobbly object。 It was about to topple when I snapped that it was a gooseneck lamp； reached for the top part and flipped the switch。
Light。
The pictures were photographs of Fritzie in uniform； in plainclothes； standing at attention with the rest of his 1925 Academy class。 There was a desk positioned against the back wall； facing a window covered with a velvet curtain； a swivel chair and a filing cabinet。
I slid the top partment open and fingered through manila folders stamped 〃Intelligence Rpt…Bunco Division；〃 〃Intelligence Rpt…Burglary Division；〃 〃Intelligence Rpt… Robbery Division〃…all with the names of individuals typed on side tabs。 Wanting some kind of mon denominator； I checked the first sheets of the next three folders I came to…finding only one carbon page in each of them。
But those single pieces of paper were enough。
They were financial accountings； lists of bank balances and other assets； tallies made on