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n the floor； measured it and traced the sole treads onto a sheet of transparent paper。
Next it was fingerprints。
I dusted every touch； grab and press surface in the room； I dusted the few smooth spines and glossy pages in the books on the floor。 The books yielded only streaks； the other surfaces brought up smudges； glove marks and two separate and distinct sets of latents。 Finishing； I took a pen and circled the smaller digits on the door； doorjamb and wall molding by the mattress headboard。 Then I got out my magnifying glass and Betty Short's print blow…up and made parisons。
One identical point；
Two；
Three…enough for a courtroom。
Four； five； six； my hands shaking because this was unimpeachably where the Black Dahlia was butchered； shaking so hard I couldn't transfer the other set of latents to plates。 I hacked a four…digit spread off the door with my knife and wrapped it in tissue…forensic amateur night。 I packed up my kit； tremble…walked outside； saw the running water and knew that was where the killer drained the body。 Then a strange flash of color by some rocks next to the stream caught my eye。
A baseball bat…the business end stained dark maroon。
I walked to the car thinking of Betty alive； happy； in love with some guy who'd never cheat on her。 Passing through the park； I looked up at Mount Lee。 The sign now read just Hollywood； the band was playing； 〃There's No Business Like Show Business。〃
* * *
I drove downtown。 The LA city personnel office and the office of the Immigration and Naturalization Service were closed for the day。 I called R&I and got goose egg on Scotland…born George Tildens…and I knew I'd go crazy if I waited overnight to make the print confirmation。 It came down to calling in a superior officer； breaking and entering or bribery。
Remembering a janitor cleaning up outside the personnel office； I tried number three。 The old man heard my phony story out； accepted my double…sawbuck； unlocked the door and led me to a bank of filing cabinets。 I opened a drawer marked CITY PROPERTY CUSTODIAL…PART…TIME； got out my magnifying glass and powder…dusted piece of wood…and held my breath。
Tilden； George Redmond； born Aberdeen； Scotland； 3/4/1896。 5 foot 11； 185 pounds； brown hair； green eyes。 No address； listed as 〃Transient…contact for work thru E。 Sprague； WE4391。〃 California Driver's license # LA 68224； vehicle： 1939 Ford pickup； license 6B119A； rubbish…hauling territory Manchester to Jefferson； La Brea to Hoover…39th and Norton right in the middle of it。 Left… and right…hand fingerprints at the bottom of the page； one； two； three； four； five； six； seven； eight； nine matching parison points…three for a conviction； six more for a one…way to the gas chamber。 Hello； Elizabeth。
I closed the drawer； gave the janitor an extra ten…spot to keep him quiet； packed up the evidence kit and walked outside。 I pinpointed the moment： 8：10 P。M。； Wednesday； June 29； 1949； the night a flunky harness bull cracked the most famous unsolved homicide in California history。 I touched the grass to see if it felt different； waved at office workers passing by； pictured myself breaking the news to the padre and Thad Green and Chief Horrall。 I saw myself back at the Bureau； a lieutenant inside of a year； Mr。 Ice exceeding the wildest Fire and Ice expectations。 I saw my name in the headlines； Kay ing back to me。 I saw the Spragues squeezed dry； disgraced by their plicity in the killing； all their money useless。 And that was what kiboshed my reverie： there was no way for me to make the arrest without admitting I suppressed evidence on Madeleine and Linda Martin back in '47。 It was either anonymous glory or public disaster。
Or back…door justice。
I drove to Hancock Park。 Ramona's Cadillac and Martha's Lincoln were gone from the circular driveway； Emmett's Chrysler and Madeleine's Packard remained。 I parked my lackluster Chevy crossways next to them； the rear tires sunk into the gardener's rose bush border。 The front door looked impregnable； but a side window was open。 I hoisted myself up and into the living room。
Balto the stuffed dog was there by the fireplace； guarding a score of packing crates lined up on the floor。 I checked them out； they were filled to the top with clothes； silverware and ritzy bone china。 A cardbox box at the end of the row was overflowing with cheap cocktail dresses…a weird anomaly。 A sketch pad； the top sheet covered with drawings of women's faces； was wedged into one corner。 I thought of merical artist Martha； then heard voices upstairs。
I went to them； my 。45 out； the silencer screwed on tight。 They were ing from the master bedroom： Emmett's burr； Madeleine's pout。 I pressed myself to the hallway wall； eased down to the doorway and listened。
〃。 。 。 besides； one of my foremen said the goddamn pipes are spewing gas。 There'll be hell to pay； lassie。 Health and safety code violations at the very least。 It's time for me to show the three of you Scotland； and let our Jew friend Mickey C。 utilize his talent for public relations。 He'll put the onus on old Mack or the pinkos or some convenient stiff； trust me he will。 And when things are kosher again； we'll e home。〃
〃But I don't want to go to Europe； Daddy。 Oh God； Scotland。 You've never been able to talk about it without saying how dreadful and provincial it is。〃
〃Is it your toothy chum you think you'll be missing？ Ahh； I suspect it is。 Well； let me put your heart to rest。 Aberdeen's got strapping plowboys who'll put that piss…poor excuse for a man to shame。 Less inquisitive； lads who know their place。 You'll not lack for sturdy cocksmen； let me assure you。 Bleichert served his purpose to us a long time ago； and it's just the danger…loving part of you that took him back in。 An injudicious part； I might add。〃
〃Oh Daddy； I don't…〃
I wheeled and stepped into the bedroom。 Emmett and Madeleine were lying on the big canopied bed； clothed； her head on his lap； his rough carpenter's hands massaging her shoulders。 The father…lover noticed me first； Madeleine pouted when Daddy's caresses stopped。 My shadow hit the bed； she screamed。
Emmett silenced her； a whip…fast hand glinting with gemstones over her mouth。 He said； 〃This isn't a cuckold； lad。 It's just affection； and we've a dispensation for it。〃
The man's reflexes and dinner table tone were pure style。 I aped his calm： 〃Georgie Tilden killed Elizabeth Short。 She called here on January twelfth； and one of you fixed her up with Georgie。 She took the Wilshire bus out here to meet him。 Now you fill the rest of it in。〃
Madeleine； eyes wide； trembled under her father's hand。 Emmett looked at the none too steady gun aimed at him。 〃I don't dispute that statement and I don't dispute your somewhat belated desire to see justice done。 Shall I tell you where George can be found？〃
〃No。 First you tell me about you two； then you tell me about your dispensation。〃
〃It's not germane； lad。 I'll congratulate you on your detective work and tell you where Georgie can be found； and we'll leave it at that。 Neither of us wants to see Maddy hurt； and discussing dour old family matters would affect her adversely。〃
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