"I have the picture," Braddock said. "But isn't Del Mar out of your jurisdiction?"

"Technically, sure. But we got called in for routine consultation and ... well... look, Tim, if Bolan is operating anywhere between Tijuana and L.A., don't talk to me about police jurisdictions."

Braddock chuckled drily and said, "Well said, John. And welcome to the club."

The San Diego cop was becoming flustered. He growled, "Let me lay this out for you, will you? Now look, half the Winters property is secure from trespassers by the cliff. Okay. The other half is double-fenced and a pair of Doberman man-eaters roam a no-man's-land between those fence-rows. Those guys are mean as hell — a couple of very unhappy sheriffs deputies will attest to that — and there simply is no way past them without calling the house and getting an escort through the fang zone.

"Okay, this is getting interesting," Braddock commented.

"Yeah. Just wait. Miss Winters says that there were no callers last night. That is, no visitors. She doubles as a girl-Friday, housekeeper, chief-bottle-washer and all the rest for the general. She — "

"How much rest?" Braddock wanted to know.

"What? Oh, nothing like that, Tim. It was more like a father-daughter relationship. Winters raised the girl. Parents died when she was a tot. Army brat. He dragged her around the world with him. I checked her out thoroughly. She's clean."

"Okay. Go on. What about Bolan?"

"Where was I? Okay, no official visitors. She went to bed at eleven o'clock or thereabouts. The dogs were on station. The general was working in his study. At a little past midnight, she was awakened by a disturbance outside. The dogs were snarling and carrying on. There also may have been a gunshot. She's not sure on that point. She ran downstairs and found her uncle slumped in a chair near the fireplace, half of his head blown away. Claims that she fainted, doesn't know how long she was out. Her story comes confused along in here. When she came around again, she says, the dogs were still at it. Suddenly they got quiet. A minute later, this man walks into the study. Are you ready?"

Braddock growled, "I'm ready. Hit me."

'This was a tall man, well built, athletic. She says he walked in like a cat. He was wearing a black combat outfit. Hands and face smeared with some black cosmetic. She further describes him as quote, guns and things strapped all over him, unquote."

Braddock found himself leaning tensely forward in his chair. He said, "Now wait a minute, John."

"No, hear it all first. She — "

"This was after she'd found her uncle dead?"

"Like I said, it's confused. But that's what she says. The guy walks in, looks at the dead man, gathers up a sheaf of papers from the desk-memoirs, she says — puts them in the fireplace, and sets fire to them. Then he simply walks out."

"Bullshit," Braddock growled.

"That's her story, and we can't shake it."

"Did he leave a marksman's medal at the scene?"

"No."

"Then he didn't kill the man," Braddock declared.

"How can you leap to a conclusion like that?"

"Look, you called me as a Bolan expert, right? I'll leap to any damn conclusion I wish. When Bolan kills he leaves no doubt that he was there."

"Okay, forget that angle for a moment. Maybe Bolan didn't actually kill Winters. Maybe it was a suicide, just as all the evidence indicates. Other than that, Tim ... does this sound like Bolan?"

"Here and there," Braddock growled. "Did you have the woman look at mugs?"

"Sure. Nothing positive. She said it could be the same man. Kept talking about his eyes."

Braddock sighed. He said, softly, "Shit."

"Does that mean I've got the problem of the century in my town?"

"First, let me straighten this out. Is the woman saying that the guy was in the house all the while? That he could have been there when Winters died?"

Tatum replied, "No, I didn't get that from her statement. She's apparently convinced that Winters did indeed kill himself. Even said that she had lately been concerned that something like this may happen. Said her uncle had been severely depressed, moody — obviously under some great strain."

"Maybe he knew that Bolan was stalking him," Braddock mused. "Would that be a valid theory?"

"Nothing official," the San Diego cop replied, "but I've heard a few whispers about Winco Industries. They were under investigation once — the federal boys — but apparently nothing came of it."

"You said the dogs were still alive and active when your men got there?"

"Yeah. Very much so. So you tell me, Tim. Is Bolan good enough to climb a hundred feet of sheer rock?"

"He's no fly," Braddock replied thoughtfully. "Did you test the dogs?"

"For what?"

"Drugs."

The line between L.A. and San Diego hummed through a brief silence, then the embarrassed voice from the south admitted, "No. But I'll get a pathologist out there right away."

"That's how he'd do it," Braddock was thoughtfully deciding. "If it were Bolan, he'd know the dogs were there long before he started his move against the place. And he'd come prepared for them. You ... uh ... already know, I suppose, about the old connection between Bolan and Winters."

Another embarrassed silence, then: "What connection?"

"We ran a total make on Bolan while he was in our town," Braddock explained. "I talked to Winters myself, part of the routine. He was Bolan's combat C.O. in Vietnam for awhile."

The silence became oppressive. Finally the man in San Diego said, "You never cleared that with me, Tim."

"Sorry, there was no time for niceties. Winters wasn't suspected of any involvement with Bolan at the time. I was just looking for background on the guy. I set up the meet at the Del Mar country club. We had a drink; he told me what he knew about Bolan, supposedly; I thanked him and left. Had a hell of a hot war storming through my own town at the time, you may remember."

"Yeah," came the sour reply. "And now it's an odds-on favorite that I've got one coming up in my town."

"Could be. But don't push the theory too far, John. The impression I got from Winters, I recall, was that he was holding out on me. The height-weight-serial number routine. He gave me very damned little. Later I discovered via other sources that he and Bolan had been very close friends, forget the difference in rank."

The San Diego cop sighed heavily. He said, quietly, "How about giving me the benefit of your mistakes. If you had it to do over again, how would you have handled your Bolan invasion?"

Braddock replied, "Okay, I accept the dig. But I wouldn't change anything. Except maybe I'd move a bit faster than I did against the mob. I suggest you do that. Hit 'em with anything you can think of, but get them behind bars. And keep them there until the guy gets tired of waiting and drifts on out."

"That's a cop-out."

"Call it what you like. Just remember, Bolan doesn't stay long in one place. Part of his survival M.O. Hit quick and get out. Disappears for awhile, pops up again far away for another quick hit and git."

"You know how long I can keep these boys behind bars, Tim? Just as long as it takes their damned lawyers to hit me with a briefcase full of legal papers."

"Sure, I know that. So you turn them loose and grab them again as they're climbing into their cars. For spitting on the sidewalk, for making an obscene gesture, for sweating. And you keep it up until — "

"Yeah I know the routine," Tatum declared wearily.

"I don't know what else to tell you, John."

"You told me precisely what I did not want you to tell me, Tim."

Braddock said, "Maybe the Winters girl is more confused than you think. I'll say this much: it doesn't sound like the usual Bolan thing. I mean, when the guy hits your town, you seldom have to wonder if he's really there."