All the other bottles in that box were labeled identically. The next box yielded an assortment, and so did all the others.

Chlorpromazine, thioridazine, haloperidol, clozapine, di-azepam, alprazolam, lithium carbonate.

"Candy sampler for a junkie," said Milo. "Uppers, downers, all-arounders."

He inspected the bottom of the box. "Starkweather stamp's still on here."

"Uncut pharmaceuticals," I said. "It ups the price." Then I thought of something.

Milo was looking the other way, but I must have made a sound, because he said, "What?"

"I should've figured it out a long time ago. The missing dog, Buddy. He was sticking in my head because I've seen him before. That day in the park, a tall man in black came by walking a Rottweiler mix. Passed right by where we were sitting with Heidi. Heidi was aware of him. She watched him.

He was her roommate. The one she'd claimed was sleeping. Their little joke. They were playing with us right from the beginning. So much for powers of observation. Lot of good it does us now."

"Hey," he said, recording the drug inventory in his notepad. "I'm the so-called detective, and I never noticed the dog."

"Crimmins stole him from Mrs. Leiber. Taking what he wanted. Because he could. For him, it's all about power."

He stopped writing. "No sign of any dog here," he said. "No food or bowl anywhere in the house."

"Exactly."

"Heidi," he said, suddenly sounding tired. "It casts a whole new light on her story,"

I said. "Peake's prophecy. Peake's supposed prophecy."

His hand tightened around his pen. He stared at me. "Another scam."

"Has to be. The only evidence we ever had was Heidi's account."

" 'Bad eyes in a box.' 'Choo choo bang bang.' "

"The tape, too," I said. I led him back to the larger bedroom. Pointed at the stack of Sonys. "The tape was nothing but mumbles. Unrecognizable mumbles, could've been anyone. But we know who it was."

"Crimmins."

"Dubbing the soundtrack," I said. "George Welles Orson. Like I said, he's an auteur: produces, directs, acts." He cursed violently.