As we hit the level of the lower hall Victor Talento’s door opened, and he emerged and spoke. “The District Attorney’s office phoned. Are you through with me? They want me down there.”
“We’re through,” Purley rumbled. “We can run you down.”
Talento said that would be fine and he would be ready in a minute. Purley told Loftus to give me Bootsy, and he handed me the leash.
“I am willing,” I said helpfully, “to give you a detailed analysis of the dog’s conduct. It will take about a week.”
“Go to hell,” Purley growled, “and take the goddam dog along.”
I departed. Outside the morning was still fine. The presence of two PD cars in front of the scene of a murder had attracted a small gathering, and Bootsy and I were objects of interest as we appeared and started off. We both ignored the stares. We moseyed along, in no hurry, stopping now and then to give Bootsy a chance to inspect something if he felt inclined. At the fourth or fifth stop, more than a block away, I saw the quartet leaving number 29. Stebbins and Talento took one car and Loftus and the colleague the other, and they rolled off.
I shortened up on Bootsy a little, walked him west until an empty taxi appeared, stopped it and got in, took a five-dollar bill from my wallet, and handed it to the hackie.
“Thanks,” he said with feeling. “For what, down payment on the cab?”
“You’ll earn it, brother,” I assured him. “Is there somewhere within a block or so of Arbor and Court where you can park for anywhere from thirty minutes to three hours?”
“Not three hours for a finif.”