Across the room, Schoenstein was telling the same story, that Leikman had come to Port Smith in 1944 for the job at Western Union. Some of his homosexual contacts dated back to 1945, and for a while he had made no attempt to conceal his homosexuality. One of the men questioned last night reported that he had met Leikman at a party in the fall of 1945 and that Leikman had been wearing eye shadow. Two other men admitted having had sexual relations with him in 1946. Leikman had had a girl friend, a Susan Starrett, in Lake Wokoma—no one had seen her yet—and sometime in 1946 he had begun to see women again. The police had seen four of them and one, the sophomore at Jefferson, had said that she had been intimate with him. The others regarded him as a friendly date. One had thought that he had been effeminate, but had not taken it seriously.

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.