"I'm feeling ever so much better," she said.

I was beginning to feel like a pinball, bouncing back and forth between Poodle Springs and L.A. I came in through the Valley this time and drove in on Cahuenga. Hollywood Boulevard looked like it always did in the morning, like a hooker with her make-up off.

I parked on Hollywood near Wilton and walked back to Western. I had Sondra Lee's picture in my pocket. It was time to talk with Larry/Les.

The old fat geezer was still at his desk in the real estate office when I went in. The stairs still smelled of old dampness and sour lives as I went up. Victor's office door was unlocked and I went in. He wasn't there, but something was.

She was in his swivel chair, tilted back, her head back, her arms hanging stiffly down. There was a small hole in the middle of her forehead with the flesh around it puffy a little and discolored. I couldn't see the blood, but I could smell it. Dried, probably, in a black stain on the floor behind her. Her mouth was open and her stiffened lips were curved with the harsh rictus smile I'd seen too often.

I could feel my stomach clench. Under the dried blood smell I could still detect the lingering odor of cordite. I closed the office door behind me and walked closer and looked down at the dead woman's face. I'd seen it before but it took me a minute to place where. She was the blonde who had argued with Larry Victor in Reno's cafe. I touched her cheek. The skin was cold. I moved one of her arms. It was stiff. There was a puddle of dried blood on the floor behind her chair.

I knew what I would have to do eventually, but first I went to the file cabinet and opened it. The pictures were gone. I looked over the rest of the office. Nothing else seemed to be missing. I looked again at the blonde's dead face. Took in a deep breath, and dialed the cops.

The first to arrive were a couple of deputies from the West Hollywood sheriff's station on San Vicente. They came in wearing the usual wary expressions behind the usual sunglasses. One of them knelt to check the body, the other one talked to me.

"You touch anything?" he said. His voice was hard.

"The phone," I said.

"How come?" in a voice that sounded like I'd better have a good reason.

"To call you," I said.

He nodded. The other one stood up. "Been dead awhile," he said.

The first one grunted. "What's your story?" he said to me.

"I'm a private cop," I said. "I came here to see Larry Victor."

"A PI? How 'bout that, Harry. Are we lucky? We get a squeal and there's a PI at the other end."

"Lucky," Harry said.

"What did you come to see Victor about?" the first cop said.

"Case I'm working on," I said.

"You got some ID?"

"Sure," I said. I got out my wallet and showed him. The address on my license was still my old one in L.A.

"What's the case?" Harry said.

I shook my head. "No point to that," I said. "I'll have to go through it for the detectives. Why make me go through it twice?"

"You'll go through it as many times as we think you should, shoo-fly," the first cop said. "What's the case you're on?"

"Right now there's nothing here that tells me my case has anything to do with your case. If it does, then I'll have to tell you. But right now, I don't."

"Listen, Smart Guy," the first cop said. "You don't decide what's related to our case. We do."

"We?" I said. "You guys are baby-sitters. As soon as homicide shows up you'll be out in the black and white logging meter violations."

"Okay, Big Mouth," Harry said, "hands behind the back."

At which point Bernie Ohls came in smoking one of his toy cigars and looking like a man who had breakfasted well, and got plenty of exercise. He was the D.A.'s chief investigator.

"Annoying the prowl car boys again, Marlowe?" he said.

The two Sheriff's Deputies didn't exactly stand to attention, but they straightened up visibly. Harry stopped with the handcuffs half off his belt.

"Ohls," Bernie said. "D.A.'s office."

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant, we know," the first cop said.

Bernie smiled without any meaning and nodded toward the door. "We've got it now," he said, and the two deputies went out of the office. Ohls walked over and looked down at the dead woman. He was a medium-sized guy with blond hair and stiff white eyebrows. His teeth were even and white and his pale blue eyes were very calm. He spoke in a pleasant, cop-smart voice that was always a hair too casual to trust. There were two other county employees with him, both in plain clothes. They didn't pay any attention to me at all.

"Close up," Ohls said as he looked down at the body, "small-caliber gun, probably hot-loaded, made a much bigger hole going out, I'd say, than going in."

One of the county employees said, "M.E. will be here in a minute, Lieutenant."

Ohls nodded absently. "Know her?" he said to me.

"No," I said.

Ohls looked up and hard at me. "You being cute?" he said.

"Not yet," I said.

He nodded again. The M.E. appeared, a short fat guy wearing a suit and a vest, with a large cigar tucked into the right corner of his mouth. Two lab guys came in behind him and began to dust for fingerprints.

"Come on," Ohls said to me and we went out into the tight hallway.

"Tell me your story," Ohls said. He took in a little cigar smoke and let it out softly in the dim hallway.

"Missing person job out of the Springs," I said. "Trail led here. I talked to the guy in the office, he said he couldn't help me. Said he knew my guy, but my guy was off somewhere and wasn't coming back. I went away, looked around some more, found some things that didn't make sense and came back to talk to this guy again. The door was open. I walked in and found her."

"Guy's name Larry Victor?" Ohls said.

"That's the name on the door," I said.

"You know where he is now?"

"No," I said.

"Anything else you can tell me, might help?" Ohls said.

"No."

"I suppose if I asked you the name of your client you wouldn't tell me," Ohls said.

"Guy in my line, Bernie, doesn't get ahead telling the cops who he's working for if he doesn't have to," I said.

"And who decides if he has to?" Ohls said.

I shrugged. "We work it out," I said.

"Sure we do," Ohls said. He took the toy cigar out of his mouth and looked at it quietly for a moment, then dropped it on the floor and ground it out with his foot.

"Stay in touch," Ohls said and turned and went back into the office. I looked after him for a minute and couldn't see any space in there for me. So I left.

I went down Western and west on Santa Monica Boulevard with my foot heavy on the gas pedal. It wouldn't take the buttons very long to find out where Larry Victor lived, and then somebody would cruise down there and pick him up. I wanted to get there first, and I wasn't sure exactly why. I made it to Venice Beach in 25 minutes and my right leg was a little shaky when I finally took it off the gas pedal and climbed out of the Olds behind Victor's beachfront house. There was no squad car in sight. I went around in front of the beach house and in through the patio and knocked on the sliding glass door. The dark-haired young woman I'd seen with Victor before came to the door and slid it a short way open.

"Yes?"

"Marlowe," I said. "I need to see Larry Victor quick."

She smiled and slid the door wider.

"Come in, Mr. Marlowe," she said. "Larry's fixing us drinks in the kitchen. Would you like one?"

"In a minute we'll all need one," I said. "Tell Larry it's urgent."

As I spoke Victor came out of the kitchen with a pitcher and two glasses. He looked at me.