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license in her wallet. That didn’t seem to bother Fitzroy. Okay, so maybe she’s camera shy. But what about family, friends? You don’t normally give up things like that unless the alternative is pretty grim. That would be one reason for her not having any ID, or at least one that meant anything. Anyone can take out a savings account under any name.”
    “You think she was hiding from something?”
    “Or somebody. Which could explain why the killer took her along instead of just offing her on the spot.” I got up and crushed what was left of my cigarette beneath my heel. It was seven-thirty and I felt like an open sore.
    Alderdyce said, “I don’t imagine it will do any good to tell you to hang back on this one.”
    “Has it ever?”
    “Why? There’s no percentage in it.”
    “I’ve been hired to do a job. I’ll try to stay out of the cops’ way, for what it’s worth.”
    “The road to hell is smooth as glass, Walker. It doesn’t need your help.” He made out a release order for my car, which had been impounded, and handed it to me.
    I put on my coat and hat. “Just so I can say I asked, did Bingo Jefferson have any enemies besides the Mafia and the steel mills?”
    He hefted the metropolitan telephone directory from his desk, six pounds of paper and ink made flabby with use. “If you’ve got a couple of minutes, I’ll cross out the names that don’t apply.”
    I grinned. “Get some sleep, John. You spend too much time at the station.” I stepped out and got the door shut just as the directory thudded against the pebbled glass.

4
    M Y LITTLE ONE-BEDROOM house in Hamtramck accepted my return with the glum indifference of an old dog that had long since given up on receiving affection. The air was stale, and dust swirled in the sunlight slanting in through the windows. I showered off the smell of cops, fixed myself a drink, and sipped it between scrapes of my razor. It made my hand steadier, so I left the razor soaking while I fixed another. I spent most of the morning wearing toilet paper on my face.
    Robed and carrying my drink, I went into the kitchen, made coffee and a fried egg sandwich, and ate it sitting in the nook as I paged through the morning edition of the News, which I had picked up on my way home. Bingo Jefferson’s misfortune, reported just before press time, was disposed of in three paragraphs on an inside page under the heading MONTANA BODYGUARD FOUND SLAIN . The location was referred to simply as “an apartment on Cass,” and a suspect was reported in custody. Me, though they didn’t use my name. There was no mention of Ann Maringer.
    I was too keyed up to sleep. I grabbed a broom and a dust rag and put my three rooms and bath to rights, then flipped on the tube, where the earlybird movie was just winding up. Background to Danger, with George Raft. A wartime propaganda piece, in which the Americans were the good guys and our battles were fought two thousand miles away by hired men in uniforms that helped you separate friend from enemy. I like old movies; my ex-wife used to say that I liked them more than her. She was right. They’re a yardstick for determining how far we’ve come or how much ground we’ve lost. In this case I couldn’t decide which it was. I turned off the set in the middle of a commercial pitch for the “Hits of the Dave Clark Five” and went to bed.
    After a couple of hours of rest without sleep I got up ahead of the alarm, knocked off a hundred pushups just to prove I could, put on my good suit and a tie I hadn’t got around to wearing yet. If I didn’t feel like a new man I could at least look like one. My heap started with the indignant noises a horse makes when it thinks it deserves a rest, but on the road the mammoth transplanted Cadillac engine took over and conveyed me in satisfactory time to the east side. It was a sunny day and the hookers were in full bloom.
    I touched all the bases. The landlady at the apartment house, black and tart-tongued,