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I walked blindly into a wall and groped along an e God for eht was a phone booth and took twomy pockets for a nickel that was there all the time I shoved it in the slot, dialed

It hile I was dialing Crumley, that the men with the brooms showed up There were two studio vans and an old beat-up Lincoln that swept by on their way to Beachwood Avenue They turned at the corner leading around to Clarence’s apartht of them made me squeeze-sink accordion-wise in the booth The man in the beat-up Lincoln could have been Doc Phillips, but I was so busy hiding, sinking to my knees, I couldn’t tell

“Let uess,” said Crumley’s voice on the line “Someone really die?”

“How’d you know?”

“Calm down When I come there will it be too late, all the evidence destroyed? Where are you?” I told him “There’s an Irish pub down the way Go sit I don’t want you out in the open if things are as bad as you say You okay?”

“I’”

“Don’t! Without you, hoould I fill my days?”

Half an hour later Cruarded me with that look of deep despair and paternal affection that came and went across his face like clouds on a summer landscape

“Well,” he grouched, “where’s the body?”

At the bungalow court we found the door to Clarence’s bungalow ajar, as if someone had left it unlocked on purpose

We pushed

And stood in the middle of Clarence’s apartment

But it was not empty, eviscerated the way Roy’s place had been

All the books were in their cases, the floor clean, no torn letters Even the framed pictures, most of them, were back on their walls

“Okay,” sighed Crumley “Where’s all the junk you said?”