The Bughouse Affair: A Carpenter and Quincannon Mystery by Marcia Muller, Bill Pronzini

ever since, exclusively home burglary in recent years. Arrested numerous times and put on the small book by the coppers in San Francisco, Oakland, and other cities. Served two prison terms, the last at Folsom for stealing a pile of green-and-greasy from an East Bay politician. Description: slight of build, thinning brown hair, vulpine features. Known traits: close-mouthed, seldom works with confederates. Known confidantes: Clara Wilds, extortionist, otherwise none. Known habits: a taste for Chinese prostitutes and frequenter of parlor houses that employ same; regular customer of cheap-jack gambling halls and Barbary Coast wine dumps. Current whereabouts unknown.” He lowered the dossier, nodding thoughtfully. “Little enough information, but perhaps enough.”
    Sabina said, “If he recognized you last night, he may have already fenced his swag and gone on the lammas.”
    “I don’t think so,” John said. “It was too dark for him to see my face any more clearly than I saw his. For all he knows, I might have been a neighbor who spotted him skulking or the owner home early. A greedy lad like the Dodger isn’t likely to cut and run when he’s flush and onto a string of profitable marks.”
    “After such a narrow escape, would he be bold enough to try burgling another home on the insurance company’s list?”
    “As like as not. He’s none too bright and as arrogant in his yegg’s fashion as that daft Holmes impostor. It was a bughouse caper that landed him in Folsom prison two years ago. He’s not above another, I’ll wager.”
    “So then you’ll reconnoiter again tonight at another of the residences on Great Western’s list?”
    “Aye, and I’ll put the fear of God into him if he comes. Scruffs like the Dodger can be made to confess their sins.”
    “Strongarm tactics, John?”
    He pretended to be mildly offended at the suggestion. “The threat of violence is often as effective as the use of it,” he said sagely.
    “You intend to avoid Jackson Pollard for the time being, I suppose?”
    John nodded. “Not only cash was stolen last night, but also a valuable necklace the banker’s wife neglected to lock away in their safe. I suggested Truesdale wait before filing a claim with Great Western, but he refused. Pollard won’t take kindly to the claim.”
    “No, he won’t.”
    “If he should call while you’re here, tell him that blasted English impostor is responsible for the night’s fiasco and I’m busy working to atone for his interference.”
    That wouldn’t placate him, Sabina knew. Great Western’s claims adjustor was not a tolerant man. Bungling was bungling, in his view, no matter what the reason or excuse.
    “It’s not likely either of us will have to talk to him today,” she said. “I’ll be leaving shortly and I expect to be gone the rest of the day.”
    “Your pickpocket investigation?”
    “Yes. I spotted the woman at the Chutes yesterday afternoon and followed her to the Ambrosial Path on Kearney Street. She struck again there before I could stop her, and vanished into the crowd.” Sabina added ruefully, “So you’re not the only one who suffered a setback last evening.”
    “Were you able to identify her?”
    “No. She wore a hat and clothing fashioned to obscure her features and conceal the shape of her body. She seemed familiar, though—I did get close enough to determine that. I’ll know her the next time my path crosses hers. And when it does, she won’t get away from me again.”
    “Nor Dodger Brown from me,” John vowed.

 
     
    7
     
    QUINCANNON
     
    Even in daylight hours Quincannon walked soft and wary, and made sure his Navy Colt was fully loaded, when he entered the heart of the nine square blocks that comprised the Barbary Coast.
    The district, named for the coast of North Africa where Arab pirates attacked Mediterranean ships, housed every imaginable type of crime and vice and the thousands of thieves, cutthroats, footpads, swindlers, crooked gamblers,