“Do you have a phone number for the landlord?” Hicks asked.

“Carl Eddard. Scum Lord I call him,” Mavis Whitaker said. “I do indeed. Come next door and I’ll get it for you.”

Mavis Whitaker’s home was identical in style to the one Ballencoa had lived in, but her yard was cute and tidy, and showed the fruits of her green thumb. Iceberg rosebushes loaded with big fat white blooms encircled the property inside the low black iron fence. Flower beds flanked the sidewalk and made a colorful border around the house itself.

A bell jingled as she let them in the gate. There were bars on her front door and grates over the windows. Ms. Whitaker did not leave her security to chance. And if an assailant made it past the first line of defense, she had Ol’ Hick’ry for her backup.

The house was immaculate and smelled of lemon furniture polish. The décor was a mix of antique pieces draped in doilies, shelves loaded with knickknacks, and a seventies plaid sofa and chair from a discount furniture mart. Two big brown tabby cats sat in an open window, taking in the sun.

“I’ve got it here in my address book,” Mavis said, going to a little writing desk in her dining room. “I even filed it under Scum Lord so I wouldn’t have to tax m’self sayin’ his name.”

She put her ax handle down on the dining room table, then turned to the desk and picked up the address book from beside her telephone.

“He’s a rude one, I’ll tell you,” she went on. “No regard for anyone but his banker. I said to him, what if this perv comes over in the night and attacks me. He says, considering what an old bitch I am, I shouldn’t have to worry ’bout anyone wanting to lay a hand on me.

“Can you imagine?” she said, offended.

“That’s uncalled for,” Hicks said. “Some people have no manners.”

“None whatsoever,” she said, perching reading glasses on her nose. “I told him he could kiss my puckered old arse. Here it is. Scum Lord Eddard.”

Mendez jotted down the number and name in his spiral notebook.

“He said it weren’t his job to keep an eye on Ballencoa. That was up to the police.”

“Were they around much?” Mendez asked. “The police?”

“At first they came ’round, but then the perv threatened to sue, and that was the end of that. Never mind if he makes off with some young lady from the high school or kills his cranky old neighbor. God forbid he should sue the city.

“It’s a sad day when the criminals have more rights than the rest of us,” she said.

“But as far as you know, Mr. Ballencoa never got into any trouble?” Hicks asked.