it."
"No problem," Higgins said.
"I'd like to keep this just between you and me."
"Got it."
Carr nodded, got up and left.
It was almost 1:00 P.m. and Travis Bailey was alone in the police department's underground parking area. He strolled toward a row of vehicles with grease-penciled notes that read "Hold for Evidence" or "Impound" on their windshields. Lee Sheboygan's Mercedes-Benz was parked at the end of the row next to a Cadillac covered with fingerprint dust.
Bailey approached the passenger door of the car. With some difficulty, he tore the red evidence tape off the lock, inserted a key and opened it. To avoid soiling his sport coat, he took it off, folded it carefully and set it in the backseat.
He snatched an impound sheet off the dashboard. The section marked Comments read: "Owner was suspect/DOA after burg stakeout/Tow to police lot & hold as evidence per Det II Bailey." He set the sheet back on the dashboard. In the glove compartment he found an address book, credit card receipts, matchbooks, a bankbook and some telephone bills. Having scooped out the contents of the cubbyhole onto the floorboard, he searched thoroughly under the seats. He pulled out a sports car magazine, a pamphlet printed by a burglar alarm company and a thick wallet. In the wallet was a stack of credit cards, all bearing Sheboygan's name, a tiny address book (Bailey found his own initials and the Detective Bureau phone number scribbled on the first page), business cards of locksmiths, jewelers, antique dealers, owners of West Side art galleries, Hollywood massage parlors that Bailey knew were whorehouses and three hundred dollars in twenties and fifties.
Travis Bailey removed the cash and stuffed it in his trouser pocket. Having dropped the rest of the items in the pile, he proceeded to the trunk. He unlocked it gently and lifted the lid. Inside was an open metal box and a duffel bag. The metal box was filled with pry bars, key blanks, lock-picks, ratchets of various sizes and other burglar tools. Scattered among the well-used instruments were five or six Polaroid photographs of two-story homes. He removed them and closed the toolbox. Next to the toolbox was a small zippered bag containing a jogging suit and a pair of running shoes. He examined the pockets of the suit carefully and recovered a pawnshop receipt for a diamond ring and a laundry ticket. He shoved these items, along with the photographs from the toolbox, into the duffel bag. After thoroughly searching the rest of the trunk, he removed the toolbox and the duffel bag and set them on the cement floor. He slammed the trunk lid shut.
Kneeling down, he filled the duffel bag with everything from the glove compartment, including the wallet and its contents.
Carrying the bag and the toolbox, he walked across the garage to a smelly room filled with trash receptacles. He shoved the duffel bag deep into a brimming trashcan. Using the stairs rather than the elevator, he proceeded to his office. Before he had a chance to wash his hands, Captain Cleaver stopped by his desk. Bailey noticed that he was wearing a monogrammed shirt.
"Find anything in the car?"
Travis Bailey shook his head. "Just burglar tools," he said as he opened the box and displayed its contents.
"No address books? Nothin' else?"
Bailey shook his head. "The man traveled light."
"Typical hit man."
The phone buzzed. Bailey picked up the receiver. It was for Cleaver.
"Yes, sir," Cleaver said. "Where did it occur? Okay, sir." As Cleaver stood with the receiver an inch or so from his ear, Bailey could hear the sound of a voice coming from the receiver. "Yes, sir," he said finally, "I'll certainly do my best. I'll try to take care of it." He set the receiver down.
"Superman's brother got arrested last night at a pajama party. Superman wants it fixed. He says Screen Confidential magazine hired some private eyes to check out the party because lots of movie people were there. They stiffed a robbery-in-progress call
"No problem," Higgins said.
"I'd like to keep this just between you and me."
"Got it."
Carr nodded, got up and left.
It was almost 1:00 P.m. and Travis Bailey was alone in the police department's underground parking area. He strolled toward a row of vehicles with grease-penciled notes that read "Hold for Evidence" or "Impound" on their windshields. Lee Sheboygan's Mercedes-Benz was parked at the end of the row next to a Cadillac covered with fingerprint dust.
Bailey approached the passenger door of the car. With some difficulty, he tore the red evidence tape off the lock, inserted a key and opened it. To avoid soiling his sport coat, he took it off, folded it carefully and set it in the backseat.
He snatched an impound sheet off the dashboard. The section marked Comments read: "Owner was suspect/DOA after burg stakeout/Tow to police lot & hold as evidence per Det II Bailey." He set the sheet back on the dashboard. In the glove compartment he found an address book, credit card receipts, matchbooks, a bankbook and some telephone bills. Having scooped out the contents of the cubbyhole onto the floorboard, he searched thoroughly under the seats. He pulled out a sports car magazine, a pamphlet printed by a burglar alarm company and a thick wallet. In the wallet was a stack of credit cards, all bearing Sheboygan's name, a tiny address book (Bailey found his own initials and the Detective Bureau phone number scribbled on the first page), business cards of locksmiths, jewelers, antique dealers, owners of West Side art galleries, Hollywood massage parlors that Bailey knew were whorehouses and three hundred dollars in twenties and fifties.
Travis Bailey removed the cash and stuffed it in his trouser pocket. Having dropped the rest of the items in the pile, he proceeded to the trunk. He unlocked it gently and lifted the lid. Inside was an open metal box and a duffel bag. The metal box was filled with pry bars, key blanks, lock-picks, ratchets of various sizes and other burglar tools. Scattered among the well-used instruments were five or six Polaroid photographs of two-story homes. He removed them and closed the toolbox. Next to the toolbox was a small zippered bag containing a jogging suit and a pair of running shoes. He examined the pockets of the suit carefully and recovered a pawnshop receipt for a diamond ring and a laundry ticket. He shoved these items, along with the photographs from the toolbox, into the duffel bag. After thoroughly searching the rest of the trunk, he removed the toolbox and the duffel bag and set them on the cement floor. He slammed the trunk lid shut.
Kneeling down, he filled the duffel bag with everything from the glove compartment, including the wallet and its contents.
Carrying the bag and the toolbox, he walked across the garage to a smelly room filled with trash receptacles. He shoved the duffel bag deep into a brimming trashcan. Using the stairs rather than the elevator, he proceeded to his office. Before he had a chance to wash his hands, Captain Cleaver stopped by his desk. Bailey noticed that he was wearing a monogrammed shirt.
"Find anything in the car?"
Travis Bailey shook his head. "Just burglar tools," he said as he opened the box and displayed its contents.
"No address books? Nothin' else?"
Bailey shook his head. "The man traveled light."
"Typical hit man."
The phone buzzed. Bailey picked up the receiver. It was for Cleaver.
"Yes, sir," Cleaver said. "Where did it occur? Okay, sir." As Cleaver stood with the receiver an inch or so from his ear, Bailey could hear the sound of a voice coming from the receiver. "Yes, sir," he said finally, "I'll certainly do my best. I'll try to take care of it." He set the receiver down.
"Superman's brother got arrested last night at a pajama party. Superman wants it fixed. He says Screen Confidential magazine hired some private eyes to check out the party because lots of movie people were there. They stiffed a robbery-in-progress call
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