“I think I can lend a hand,” he said. He had a voice trained in public speaking, full and intimidating.

“Dave, show Mr. Davis to the street. I’ll take the responsibility.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Herbert Davis said.

“Dave, if he gives you trouble, cuff and frisk him and run him down to the station. He shouldn’t be up here in the first place.”

“I’ll be back,” Davis warned. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Joseph Leland. There’s a procedure for making complaints. Dave?”

Schoenstein followed Davis out of the room. The medical examiner turned away to laugh. Curran stared at Leland as if there had been a lapse in his sanity. Public figures were treated with deference at fires and crime scenes. There was too much to do here for that silliness, Leland was sure. The evidence was scant enough, and there was a good chance that things would get worse before they would get better.

“There were reporters downstairs,” the medical examiner said. “You’ve bought it. Your war record may get you off, but he’s still going to make you dangle.”

“Get the reporters, Dan,” Leland said. “They’ll be more interested in this, anyway.”

“Show me the stiff,” the examiner said. “I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

“In the other room.”

Leland told him what he wanted to know.

“Swell,” the examiner said when he saw Leikman. “He’s dead. You can quote me. He didn’t commit suicide, either.”

“The faster you give us the stuff, the faster we’ll get our man,” Leland said.

“Stop kidding yourself. From now on, in Sunday supplements across the country, you’re ‘The Hapless Detective.’”

With Curran and Schoenstein, Leland met the reporters in the hall. “Davis says you’re stumped,” said one. “What about it?”

“We’re in good shape. I’ll give you a quick briefing on what we have, then you can come in and take a few pictures. We’re going to restrict you, but you’ll understand why. The victim is Theodore Leikman, the tenant. Early twenties, white man. He was bludgeoned to death around midnight with a china bookend or bric-a-brac. It would kill anybody. The corpse was found mutilated and nude by a woman in the building, who found the door ajar and the lights on. You can’t talk to her yet. The mutilations are sexual. Although Leikman passed himself off as living alone, he had a roommate, on whom we have a very good fix. The roommate cleared out quite suddenly, and we’re looking for him.”

“How soon on an arrest?”

“Not long.”

“Leikman a homo?”

“He had a secret roommate. That’s all I can tell you for now.”

“What about Herbert Davis? What was he doing here?”

“He came as a representative of the sheriffs office.”

“The sheriff has no jurisdiction here,” a reporter said.

“You have the ball,” Leland said. “Run with it.”

“How soon can we get in the murder room?”

“We have a lot to do. Sorry.”

“What about the mutilations?”