Chapter 10

The three men left the dark alcove and walked slowly to the brilliantly lighted center of the studio. Pucci pointed to two empty easels in one corner of the room. Then he wandered off to inspect his students' work.

The detectives quietly opened their pads and began to sketch the nude model who was sitting on a stool, in a circle made by the students.

Bishop looked interestedly at the model. She was beautiful and he didn't blame anybody for staring at her, as an artist or as a man. Her firm, pear-shaped breasts jutted out from the thin torso as she sat there with a bored look.

As the detectives glanced around they noticed Tom Swaller, Sally Rosson, and Penny Bruce sketching.

"What do we do now?" Trask asked his chief.

"Just sit here and watch," Bishop said. "I want to see what Sally Rosson does if Steiner shows."

Trask nodded and continued his sketching, stealing glances now and then at Sally. The blonde was dressed fetchingly in a long skintight yellow capri suit.

"I don't say I'm not enjoying this, Mike," the Irishman said, winking at him, "but I don't see what you've got to gain just sitting here and sketching."

Bishop didn't answer. He was not sure himself what he expected to gain. He studied the faces of the men at the easels.

Why did the idea of a sex criminal who used a midget camera keep striking a chord in his mind? The name itself meant nothing. Was he a sex offender under another name, he wondered? Had he read about him somewhere? He couldn't remember, and the suspense was killing him.

He had been sketching about twenty minutes when suddenly he noticed Sally look toward the stairway. Bishop turned to follow her gaze. A tall, thin man in a dark sport shirt and gray slacks and wearing brown-framed glasses was coming down the stairway. Around his neck hung a small camera.

Steiner, he thought. He watched the man move cautiously around the room as he worked at the controls of his precision camera. Trask had noticed the man at the same moment. They looked at Pucci who was standing nearby. He nodded quickly. "Did you ever see him before?" Bishop asked his partner.

Trask scrutinized the tall, thin man carefully. "No. Have you?"

"No, goddamn it, and that's what's bugging me."

The newcomer passed behind Penny Bruce and looked at her sketching, nodded, and moved on to Swaller.

An interesting reaction was taking place in Sally. She had bent over her easel, turning her back to the detectives, and was doing something they could not see.

"What's she up to?" Bishop said.

"I don't know," his sidekick answered. "I can't see. She's blocking it."

A moment later, as Steiner came up to her easel, Sally Rosson opened her palm and raised it closer to his face. He took her hand and looked at it smilingly. Then his whole body went suddenly stiff and he seemed to stop breathing. He put her hand down slowly.

Walking toward the rear of the studio, he seemed to be studying the bulletin board. Then very casually he turned and moved to the rear until he was out of sight.

"Follow him. See where he's going," Bishop said.

Trask went after the departing figure while Bishop moved closer to Sally Rosson.

"What did you say to him?" Bishop growled. "Nothing," she said.

"Was that the man who came by your window today?"

"I don't know," Sally said, unconvincingly.

"What were you showing him when he came up to you?"

"Nothing."

"Let's see your hand!"

Sally clenched her fist and laughed. "What are you doing, reading palms now?"

Bishop grinned. "Yeah, I'm a fortune-teller. Let's see your hand."

She opened her hand slowly. All he could see was a kind of blotched sentence, the only clear word of which was "police." By clenching her fist and rubbing her fingers across the surface of her palm, Sally Rosson had effectively blurred the rest of the message.

Bishop turned his back to her and moved quickly to Penny Bruce. She looked up frightenedly.

"Mrs. Bruce, you saw Steiner. Was that the man who visited you today?"

Penny's lip quivered nervously. "I think so," she said.

Trask returned a moment later and shook his head. "He's gone, Mike. Back door."

Bishop went back to Sally. "I suppose you think you're smart?"

Sally tightened her lips and said nothing.

"Are you sure that he wasn't the guy in your alley? Can you guarantee it?" Bishop asked. "Are you willing to swear to it?"

Sally Rosson glared at him. "What if he was, damn it? He doesn't mean any harm. He may be a little queer but he's harmless. You think I'm going to help you put a man like that through a third degree? No, thanks."

"We don't put people through third degrees."

"You mean you did see him in the alley?" Trask's cool voice asked. "It if as Steiner, wasn't it?"

Sally reddened. She nodded slowly, not looking at Bishop.

"And it wasn't the first time you saw him in the alley?" Trask asked. "That right?"

The blonde hesitated, avoiding his eyes.

"Look, Miss Rosson," Bishop said softly, "we're not sadists. If this man is an idiot, we'll handle him gently."

Sally shook her head miserably. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to be responsible for having the man put away again."

"What about me?" Penny exploded. "Suppose he tries to come back? He's already promised to kill me. You've got to tell them what you know, Sally. For my sake, please."

Sally looked at her and then made her decision. "All right. I'll tell you." She was aware suddenly of the circle of curious faces around her. "Can we go in the rear, please?" she whispered.

Bishop nodded. They moved back to one of the dimly-lit alcoves.

Sally pressed her hand to her eyes. "He's been coming into my alley like this for months. And he told me he goes to other places. He said he liked to watch people living. That's how he put it, people living. He's like a child sometimes. Even though he's been through college, lived in Europe and all. He told me he was drawn to the alley by my beauty. Whenever he wants to see a beautiful woman living, you know, cooking, washing, eating, he peeks into windows." She flushed. "He told me that's why he kept coming back to mine."

"And you just encouraged him," Bishop said, bridging his eyes wearily with his hand. "God save us from amateur psychologists. You ever think he might have come in and strangled you? Even while he watched you-living?"

Trask shook his head sadly. "That wasn't bright, Sally," he said. "You're better off feeding peanuts to a cobra."

"But he didn't do anything. Even when I ask him in, he usually just sits there and stares. Sometimes he cries."

The nagging thought that he knew the man returned to Bishop. "Did he ever give you another name, Miss Rosson?" he asked. "Think hard now."

She pursed her lips and pondered for a moment. Then she shook her head.

Did he ever mention a place where he might have been held against his will? Where they did this thing?"

He turned to Trask. "We'd better check the state hospitals-Camarillo and the others to see if anyone of his description escaped in the last-how long has he been coming down here, Miss Rosson?"

"About a year," she said.

"Did he say anything else about himself?" Sergeant Trask asked. "Anything that might help us identify him?"

"I don't remember much else," Sally said. "He's told me only that he's afraid of the police. That they caught him taking something once, and even though he put it back, they beat him terribly. But he's never said anything more-except he doesn't remember everything that happens. He blacks out sometimes."

"How many times has he come into your alley?" Bishop asked.

"About once or twice a week."

"About what time of the day?"

Sally colored. "Usually early in the afternoon." She stared at Penny and at the detectives. "But he told me he comes then because he likes to take pictures in the best light."

"You've been posing for him?" Bishop said.

Sally nodded without looking at him.

"In the nude?"

She hesitated and then nodded. "Yes. He enters a lot of contests. He showed me newspaper clippings."

"Has he every tried anything?" Bishop asked slowly. "I mean did he ever make a pass or get rough?"

Sally reddened.

"Tell us about it, Miss Rosson," Bishop said. "It might help." He looked at Penny. "Unless you'd prefer to tell us privately."

Sally shook her head. "No, I'll tell you here." She stopped to think. "I think he must have blacked out then because he never did it again."

Bishop said slowly, "Tell us everything he said or did. It may give us a lead."

"How?" Sally asked.

Bishop closed his eyes. "Lady, I've been chasing sex offenders a long time. I know a lot of their mannerisms. You may be dealing with someone I knew, under another name. If you tell me everything, it may ring a bell. Now, do you understand?"

She nodded slowly. "It was one afternoon when he took some pictures on the beach."

"What beach?" Bishop said. "And was this the first time? Does he take beach nudes often?"

"Near the Ventura County line," she said. She clenched her fist. "Oh, God, I don't remember. It was nearly a year ago."

"I don't think it matters," Trask said quickly. "Does it, Mike?"

Bishop's eyes widened as he heard the Irishman. He shrugged.

"What happened? Look, Miss Rosson. I'm not trying to pin you to the wail. But for God's sake, there's a killer loose. Now let's get to your story, huh?"

The pretty blonde girl grimaced. "Look, can't we do this tomorrow? I'm exhausted. I've had a hard day getting fat off of Beverly Hills housewives and that little interview a couple of hours ago wasn't exactly restful. I wish I'd gone to bed."

Trask looked very concerned. "Maybe I can get it in the morning, Mike. She's pretty beat."

Bishop looked at him and smiled. Trask reddened as his boss's grin widened. Nonetheless, the girl's grateful look made him feel warm inside.

"Miss Rosson, I want to know everything I can about this man's habits. His behavior. His speech. It's important. Now please tell me," Bishop said.

Trask listened uncomfortably. His sympathy for Sally was making the scene very painful.

"Jim took me to the beach," Sally said slowly. "I stripped and posed against some rocks. It was Fall so there weren't people around."

"And then?"

"Then he wanted me to pose in some black lace panties."

"Black?" Bishop said quickly.

"Yes. Against the beach sands or running over the edge of the surf in my bare feet."

"Is that what they call sexy these days?" Bishop growled. "Go on. Then what happened, Miss Rosson?"

"Well, we took time out for some beer."

"Did you get dressed?"

"No, it was warm and we were only supposed to take a few minutes. Then Jim acted a little funny."

"How?"

"Well, he began to stare at me in a funny way. Like-like-" The blonde girl colored a delicate pink.

"Like a man who wanted to make love to you?"

"I guess so," she agreed slowly.

"What did you do?" Bishop asked.

"I tried to get him back to the pictures."

"What happened then?"

"He acted-well, very crushed. As if I'd hurt him terribly. Then he started kissing me on my cheek and crying. After that he moved away for a while and looked at me kind of mournfully."

"Then?"

"I fell asleep. I was tired from running and the sun and the beer. We were lying behind some rocks that screened us from the road and I didn't worry about people. I woke up-about ten-fifteen minutes later, I guess. He'd rolled his body on mine and was trying to tear my underwear. I was terrified by the look in his eyes. I thought he was trying to-" She stopped.

"Go on," Bishop said.

"Give her a minute, Mike, for God's sakes," Trask said.

Sally threw him a grateful look and continued. "I started wrestling with him. He broke his hold suddenly, began sobbing, and begged me on his knees not to tell the police. He said he'd lost his head because I was so beautiful. He'd become dizzy and blacked out. He confessed it had happened before."

Bishop turned to Sally. "Try to recall. Did he ever mention any hospital he was in? Camarillo? Los Angeles? Or others out of California?"

She shook her head. "No. But he was terrified that they'd send him away for attacking me. I never saw anyone so broken up. He was never like that again. In fact, he was always the opposite. Always sending me flowers or bringing me food."

"You should have told the police," Bishop said. "The man is probably a dangerous psychotic."

"But he didn't harm me. He didn't do any more than a lot of men do. People who are completely normal. What was I supposed to do? Have him arrested for blacking out a few minutes? I tell you he's a sweet, harmless guy, but I don't think he'd hurt anyone."

Bishop rubbed his hand on his neck. "This guy may be a child with you. With another girl-Penny Bruce, for example-he may be a maddened killer, triggered to murder in five seconds."

Pucci's approach stopped Bishop's next question.

"Call for you, Lieutenant. The alcove to your right."

He picked up the phone. "Lieutenant Bishop."

"Hello, Mike," his wife's voice answered. "Mike, I know who he is." Her voice was excited. "The sex offender who uses a tiny camera."

"Who was it?"

"You remember that case about three years ago where a guy used to go peeping in alleys and take pictures of girls? He used to come in and try to sell these women the pictures he had taken with the camera, and then, when they let him inside, he tried to attack them. Near Hollywood High School."

Bishop swore under his breath. Joe Sanderson! He suddenly remembered the man's name. Sanderson had been put away in a mental home and escaped a year later. "Thanks a million, darling," he told his wife.

He heard Helen snort. "Well, don't think I'm going to do this all the time. I had it on the tip of my tongue and I thought I'd call you. Actually, I knew it an hour after you asked me, but I was still so sore at your missing dinner that I almost didn't call you at all."

Bishop groaned. "Oh, Helen, Helen," he said, "you should have called right away. I didn't know who he was so I didn't hold him. I'll see you later."

"How much later?" she asked cannily.

"I don't know," Bishop retorted angrily. "Maybe 4:00 A.M. How the hell do I know where to find him now? It's a cinch he hasn't gone home if he knows we're looking for him. Why the hell didn't you call me as soon as you knew instead of keeping it to yourself?"

Helen's answer was brief and expressive. She hung up. Bishop stared at the phone. Then, hurriedly, he dialed headquarters. A moment later he told Trask who Steiner was and turned to Pucci to get his address.

The big Italian grinned helplessly. "I can't help you, Lieutenant. All I know is he lives over in the Silver Creek Lake district. He never gave an address."

"Does anybody here know where he lives?" Bishop asked irritably.

Pucci thought for a moment. Then his face brightened.

"Yeah!" he cried. "Brendt took him home a couple times. They live a few blocks away from one another. I'll get him, Lieutenant.

"Has Sanderson ever been charged with anything else?" Trask asked Bishop.

Bishop nodded. "He went berserk once and tried to throttle a woman who screamed for help when he entered her home."

Sally shook her head. "I can't believe it, Lieutenant. I just can't. Jim is the gentlest man I know. He could have killed me a dozen times when we were all alone."

"You're lucky he didn't, Sally," Trask said. "The gentlest are sometimes the most dangerous. They're human time bombs. Waiting for someone to push the button."

Sally's lips tightened and a whiteness appeared around her nostrils. "What if he comes back? Should I call you?"

"Yes," Bishop said. "But don't let him hear you. Never frighten him. It could be fatal." He hesitated and continued slowly. "If he ever shows up while you're phoning us, I mean if he's in the room, watch your step. Switch to something about a wrong number. Say you're sorry the other party has the wrong number. And to make it better, repeat any number and say no, it's not yours. In the most ordinary voice possible. These people can be acutely sensitive and react to the smallest detail."

The two girls nodded uneasily.

"Keep your doors locked, back and front, until further notice," Trask said. "Take no chances."

"God," Sally said. "Now I am getting scared."

They were interrupted by the arrival of Pucci and Brendt.

"Can you give us Sanderson-I mean Steiner's address?" Bishop said quickly.

The bald actor's narrow, dark eyes had a gleam in them. "Is he the guy?" he whispered. "The one who tried to kill Penny?"

"Answer my question, buddy," Bishop said, annoyed. "Now, where does he live?"

Sy Brendt's forehead suddenly broke out into small furrows. "I can't remember the exact address. It's on the other side of a hill I live on. I could find it with a car, but I don't remember the name of the street."

"You got a city map?" Trask asked Pucci.

"I got a better idea," Bishop interjected. "How about driving us there? Right now."

Brendt nodded. "I got my car outside."

"Let's go in mine," Bishop said. "It's got a siren and a phone. They may be sending messages on the way."

Trask turned to the blonde girl and tapped her arm gently. "Please be careful. I'll call you later to see if you're all right."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"If it's all right with you, Sir Walter Raleigh," Bishop said sarcasticaly, "Jimmie may be getting ready to kill four other women. What do you say we move?"

The big Irishman colored but said nothing.

A moment later the detectives and Brendt were speeding along Santa Monica Boulevard toward Highland Avenue and then north to the Los Angeles freeways.

"What kind of car does he drive?" Bishop shouted back to Brendt.

"A 1955 Chevy," Brendt gasped.

"You know him well?" Bishop asked.

"So-so," Brendt admitted. "We live close by and we get together now and then."

A few minutes later they climbed the hills above the Silver Creek reservoir.

Sanderson dwelled on a high winding street near the reservoir. It was a section of Los Angeles that had once been fashionable but now was inhabited mostly by transients. A number of painters, in love with the magnificent view of the vast, stretching city and the picture-postcard blob of water, lived in little stucco houses on the crests of steep rises.

The hilly S-shaped streets reminded Bishop of San Francisco as the car labored up the sharp inclines. Brendt continued to give instructions in a soft voice until they finally arrived.

Sanderson lived in a small stucco house just over the crest of a particularly steep hill. Trask jammed the front wheels against the curb and put the car into reverse so it would not roll downhill.

The house they headed for was a terrible imitation of a Cape Cod cottage with a grotesque cupola; obviously the whim of someone who juggled architectural styles. Bishop winced when he saw it. It had a large picture window that was covered with thick drapes. The door was locked and the lights out. Bishop motioned to Brendt to stay in the car. The detectives drew their guns and walked quietly to the rear of the house.

A door leading to a small patio was easily forced open. A moment later the two men filed through a dark corridor into a large room with a high ceiling. Bishop and Trask stood still for several seconds and listened. Not a sound. They were aware of a strong musty smell. After a moment, Bishop pulled down the blinds and turned on a small table lamp.

They had obviously stumbled on Sanderson's workshop. Two tables in the room were full of negatives and prints of nudes in a wide variety of poses. Checking them quickly, Bishop and Trask picked out photos of a dozen girls in the class. There were two pictures of Penny Bruce focused on the cleft of her melon-like breasts and one of Sally Rosson's derriere as she bent over her clay model.

"You think that's our prowler?" Trask asked.

Bishop nodded. "I'll put out an all-points on the phone right now." He looked at the Irishman and shrugged. "We haven't much chance of finding him probably. The guy may be halfway to the Mexican border by now."

Trask nodded sheepishly. "What else can we do?"

Bishop turned angrily toward Trask. "Nothing. If we're lucky, we may pick him up before he steals into another alley tomorrow. And if we're not, he may be strangling somebody in Laguna Beach or San Diego around noon. If that blonde you're getting loopy about hadn't opened her mouth, we'd have had him an hour ago. God! I hate motherly broads. When are people going to learn that you can't coddle psychos?"

The little detective looked around the room.

"Where the hell's the phone?" he asked. "I want to call headquarters."

They looked under the masses of photos and film supplies. Nothing.

"Let's get to the car," Bishop said.

Brendt was sitting quietly when they got back. Bishop raised headquarters on the auto phone. He ordered a stakeout opposite the house and asked to be informed if Sanderson were spotted anywhere.

"What color's his car?" he asked Brendt.

"Dark green."

"Look for a dark green Chevy-1955. License is under the name of Steiner probably," Bishop said into the phone. "Call me anytime he's spotted. The guy's a psycho and I want to be there when they take him. Be careful. He may be armed."

They took the actor back to his car near the art school. There was little conversation on the way. Both detectives were engrossed in trying to guess the prowler's next move. Finally Bishop said aloud, "I don't think he'll go near any of the girls in the school. Not for a while. He's on the run. He's scared to death. The last place he'd come near would be this part of town."

"I think he'll probably blow town, don't you, Mike?" Trask said.

"Yeah. Except this is such a hell of a big town it doesn't make any difference. He could be holing up in Inglewood or San Fernando Valley or up in one of the canyons. Or he might leave town."

As Brendt alighted, Bishop said, "Do you know where Steiner might go? His usual haunts, I mean?"

The bald actor thought for a moment. "Most of them. I know he likes to hang around the coffeehouses in Hollywood. I remember because he asked me to go several times."

"Thanks," Bishop said. "Did he mention any names of cafes? Or any other places?"

"No, he wanders around to a lot of them. Oh, he likes to go to the Farmers Market a lot. He likes to sit and watch the girls. I used to go with him sometimes."

Bishop nodded. "How about restaurants?"

"He likes Mexican and Chinese food. I don't remember any special places though."

Trask groaned. "Los Angeles must have about a thousand Mex and Chinese joints."

"How about shops? Does he like any particular shop?" Bishop asked. "This is really very helpful, Brendt."

The actor groped for something. "Yeah. He's always running off to Ohrbach's or the May Company when they have a big sale. I remember he showed me some sport shirts he got there."

He stopped and said uncomfortably, "Can I go now, Lieutenant? I have to feed my pets."

"Sure. And thanks. Call us if you think of anything else. Or if Steiner contacts you. okay?"

"Of course."

"I feel like a damned fool," Bishop said to Trask as they drove off. "I had the bum in my hands and I let him scoot. They ought to put me on a beat on skid row."

"You're nuts, Mike. You had nothing on Sanderson. You didn't even know who he was."

Bishop shook his head unhappily. "We've got to get the bum, Al. The D.A.'s horning in on the investigation. They're putting one of their men on it full time."

"We'll get him," Trask said soothingly.

"I wish I knew what the hell he was planning. With a psycho, you never know. He may be on the road or holed up blocks from here waiting to rape another student."

Trask shook his head. "He's been warned and he's running. If we get any report on him-it'll be from out of the state."

"What the hell makes you so sure?" Bishop said sourly. "What do you want to bet on that?" He knew he was on safe ground. The Irishman budgeted his pay very carefully.

"You want to bet ten bucks he shows up here within twenty-four hours?" Bishop said irritably. When he was confronted with his own mistakes, he could not endure being reassured by anyone.

"Well, I'll bet two," Trask said, cautiously. "Bet ten if you're so damned sure," Bishop retorted.

Trask reddened. "All right, damn you. Ten." At noon the next day, Trask lost.