Two of the numbers in Leikman’s book had been those of men at work. One, married, had said that he had not given Leikman the number and had had no idea that Leikman had considered him more than a business acquaintance. The other man seemed to have been more involved. He had behaved guiltily, and there was a plainclothesman assigned to him now. Last night he had been to the movies alone. It was such a flimsy alibi that Leland believed it. If the man tried to leave town or his fingerprints at Western Union matched any of those found in the apartment, he would be picked up. From him and the first man they had taken a list of the people who had worked with Leikman but were no longer with the company. There were seven. The forty-nine people still with the company and not in Leikman’s book would be seen on Monday.

In all, they had been able to pinpoint a dozen men with whom Leikman definitely had had homosexual connections. There were three others on whom no decision could be made. Two of the flagrant homosexuals had stated that Leikman had had many, many contacts. One had seen Leikman go off with three different men on three nights in 1945. The other had heard Leikman say in 1946 that he had been with “at least thirty.” Leikman had kept no diaries or records, so there appeared to be no way to trace all these people, and through them, the roommate. Only three people, including Miss Linjak, had had any idea of a roommate. One man had said that Leikman had spoken in November or December of having met “a person with interesting possibilities.” The other, who had known Leikman for years, had met him during Christmas week on Pleasance Street, and Leikman had said, in a conversational, newsy way, that he had a roommate. That was it on the roommate so far. Unless something turned up first, Leland planned to go up to Lake Wokoma tomorrow to see Leikman’s aunt and uncle, by whom Leikman had been raised. Leikman had been on good terms with them, and there was a chance that they had something to lead to the roommate. Leland would decide there if he would see Susan Starrett.

“Okay,” the Commissioner said. “It sounds right. Now, Lieutenant—Joe—there’s a couple of things I have to tell you. You have that little airplane, don’t you?”

“A J-3. That’s right, sir.”

“Under no circumstances are you to use it tomorrow. Take one of the Department cars. I’ll explain why. Now you’ve done a good job with the press. You have your own reputation and popularity helping us all. No matter how this goes, the chances are even we’re going to get our brains beat out. If we wind up holding our asses, it’s guaranteed. Have you guessed why Davis showed up there last night?”

Leland said no.