Half past one made it four-thirty in New York. I got the number for NYU's med school and asked for the department of psychiatry. After a couple of minutes on hold, I was informed that there was no Dr. Harvey Rosenblatt on either the permanent or the part-time clinical staff.

"We do have a Leonard Rosenblatt," said the secretary. "His office is out in New Rochelle- and a Shirley Rosenblatt in Manhattan, on East Sixty-fifth Street."

"Is Shirley an M.D. or a Ph.D.?"

"Um- one second- a Ph.D. She's a clinical psychologist."

"But no Harvey?"

"No, sir."

"Do you have any old rosters on hand? Lists of staff members who've retired?"

"There may be something like that somewhere, sir, but I really don't have the time to search. Now if you'll-"

"Could I have Dr. Shirley Rosenblatt's number please?"

"One moment."

I copied it down, called Manhattan information for a listing on Harvey Rosenblatt, M.D., learned there was none, and dialed Shirley, Ph.D.'s exchange.

A soft, female voice with Brooklyn overtones said, "This is Dr. Shirley Rosenblatt. I'm in session or out of the office, and can't come to the phone. If your call is a true emergency, please press one. If not, please press two, wait for the beep, and leave your message. Thank you and have a lovely day."

Mozart in the background… beep.

"Dr. Rosenblatt, this is Dr. Alex Delaware, from Los Angeles. I'm not sure if you're married to Dr. Harvey Rosenblatt or even know him, but I met him several years ago at a conference out here and wanted to touch base with him on something- for research purposes. If you can help me reach him, I'd appreciate your passing along my number."

I recited the ten digits and put the phone back in its cradle. The mail came a half hour later. Nothing out of the ordinary, but when I heard it drop into the bin, my hands had clenched.

I went down to feed the fish, and when I got back the phone was ringing.

The operator at my service said, "This is Joan, Dr. Delaware, are you free? There's someone on the line about a dog, sounds like a kid."

"Sure."

A second later a thin, young voice said, "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Dr. Delaware."

"Um… this is Karen Alnord. My dog got lost and you said in the paper that you found a bulldog?"

"Yes, I did. He's a little French bulldog."

"Oh… mine's a boxer." Dejected.

"Sorry. This one's not a boxer, Karen."

"Oh… I just thought- you know, sometimes people think they're bulldogs."

"I can see the resemblance," I said. "The flat face-"

"Yeah."

"But the one I've found's much smaller than a boxer."

"Mine's a puppy," she said. "He's not too big yet."

I put her age at between nine and eleven.

"This one's definitely full-grown, Karen. I know because I took him to the veterinarian."

"Oh… um… okay. Thank you, sir."

"Where'd you lose your dog, Karen?"

"Near my house. We have a gate, but somebody left it open and he got out."

"I'm really sorry. Hope you find him."

"I will," she said, in a breaking voice. "I've got an ad, too, and I'm calling all the other ads, even though my mom says none of them are probably the right one. I'm paying a reward, too- twenty dollars, so if you do find him you can get it. His name's Bo and there's a bone-shaped tag on his collar that says Bo and my phone number."

"I'll keep an eye out, Karen. Whereabouts do you live?"

"Reseda. On Cohasset between Sherman Way and Saticoy. His ears haven't been cropped. If you find him, here's my phone number."

I wrote it down, even though Reseda was over the hill to the north, fifteen or twenty miles away.

"Good luck, Karen."

"Thank you, sir. I hope your bulldog finds his owner."

That reminded me that I hadn't yet called the Kennel Club. Information gave me the number in New York and another one in North Carolina. Both answered with recorded messages and told me business hours were over.

"Tomorrow," I told the bulldog.

He'd been observing me, maintaining that curious, cocked head stance. The fact that someone was probably grieving for him bothered me, but I didn't know what else to do other than take good care of him.

That meant food, water, shelter. A walk, when it got cool enough.

A walk meant a leash.

He and I took a drive to a pet store in south Westwood and I bought a lead, more dog food, biscuits in various flavors, and a couple of nylon bones the salesman assured me were excellent for chewing. When we returned, it seemed temperate enough for a stroll if we stayed in the shade. The dog stood still, tail wagging rapidly, while I put the leash on. The two of us explored the Glen for half an hour, hugging the brush, walking against traffic. Like regular guys.

When I got back, I called my service. Joan said, "There's just one, from a Mrs. Rodriguez- hold on, that's your board… there's someone ringing in right now."

I waited a moment, and then she said, "I've got a Mr. Silk on the line, says he wants to make an appointment."

"Thanks, put him on."

Click.

"Dr. Delaware."

Silence.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

"Mr. Silk?"

No answer. Just as I was about to hang up and redial the service, a low sound came through the receiver. Mumbles- no. Laughter.

A deep, throaty giggle.

"Huh huh huh."

"Who is this?" I said.

"Huh huh huh." Gloating.

I said nothing.

"Huh huh huh."

The line went dead.

I got the operator back on the line.

"Joan, that guy who just called. Did he leave anything other than his name?"

"No, he just asked if you treated adults as well as children and I said he'd have to speak to you about that."

"And his name was Silk? As in the fabric?"

"That's what I heard. Why, doctor, is something wrong?"

"He didn't say anything, just laughed."

"Well that's kind of crazy, but that's your business, isn't it, doctor?"

• • •

Evelyn Rodriguez answered on the first ring. When she heard my voice, hers went dead.

"How's everything?" I said.

"Fine."

"I know it's a hassle for you, but I would like to see the girls."

"Yeah, it's a hassle," she said. "Driving all the way out there."

"How about if I come out to you?"

No answer.

"Mrs. Rodriguez?"

"You'd do that?"

"I would."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch, I'd just like to make this whole thing as easy as possible for you."

"Why?"

To show Donald Dell Wallace I can't be intimidated. "To help the girls."

"Uh-huh… they're paying for your time, right? His… bunch a heathens."

"The judge made Donald Dell responsible for the costs of the evaluation, Mrs. Rodriguez, but as we talked about the first time, that doesn't obligate me to him in any way."

"Uh-huh."

"Has that been a problem for you?" I said. "The fact that he's paying?"

She said nothing for a moment, then: "Bet you're charging plenty."

"I'm charging my usual fee," I said, realizing I sounded like a Watergate witness.

"Bet it includes your driving time and all. Door to door, just like the lawyers."

"Yes, it does."

"Good," she said, stretching the word. "Then you can drive instead of me- drive slow. Keep your meter running and make them devils pay."

Angry laughter.

I said, "When can I come out?"

"How 'bout right now? They're running around like wild Injuns, maybe you can settle ' em down. How about you drive out here right this minute and see 'em? You ready for that?"

"I can probably be there in forty-five minutes."

"Whenever. We'll be right here. We're not taking any vacations to Hono-lulu."

She hung up before I could ask for directions. I looked up her address in my case file- the ten thousand block of McVine Terrace in Sunland- and matched it to my Thomas map. Setting the dog up with water, food, and a bone, I left, not at all unhappy about running up the Iron Priests' tab.