She wouldn't give it to me. She said she'd pass on my message, but she doesn't give out numbers without permission. This was only last night. I'll probably hear from him today.

If she passed on the request.

If Angel called.

If Eisley phoned back with the number.

Jack, have the police contacted you about Angel?

No, uh-uh. Why would they do that?

Listen, I know his aunt is supposed to give him your message, but you mind letting me have her number? I'd like to talk to her.

Unlike Angel's aunt, Eisley didn't mind giving out information. I scratched out her number while turkey jus stained my pad, then drove to my office to make the call. With any luck, I would find Angel Tomaso before the end of the day and crack the case by sundown.

When I reached my building, I left my car in the parking garage and walked up the four flights to my floor.

I liked the building and my office, and had been there for many years. The office next to mine was occupied by an attractive woman who sold wholesale beauty supplies and sunned herself on the adjoining balcony. Across the hall was an insurance agent I rarely saw, though the two women who worked for him showed up every day like clockwork.

Everything about the building was normal until I reached my office and saw the doorjamb was split near the knob. Jambs do not split by themselves.

I leaned close to the door, but heard nothing.

I stepped across the hall and looked at my door from a different angle. A woman's voice came from the insurance office, but it sounded normal. No one was screaming for help. No one was talking about the terrible noise she had heard from the private eye's office across the hall.

I went back to my door, listened again, then pushed the door open.

Papers, files, and office supplies were scattered over the floor like trash blown by the wind. The couch was slashed along its length. My desk chair and the director's chairs were upended, and the glass in both French doors had been kicked out, leaving jagged teeth in the frame. My computer, answering machine, and Mickey Mouse phone were part of the debris. Mickey's left ear was broken. Everything that was on my desk the night before had been swept to the floor.

I started at the mess until I heard tocking. The Pinocchio clock was still on the wall, smiling its oblivious smile. His eyes tocked side to side, sightless, but reassuring.

I wish you could talk.

I went behind my desk to right my chair, but the chair was wet and smelled of urine. I left it in place. The file I had on Lionel Byrd was scattered on the floor with everything else. I gathered it together, then went down to the car for my camera and took pictures for the insurance. After the pictures, I called Lou Poitras, who told me he would send a radio car. I had to use my cell, what with Mickey being broken.