It Was a Very Bad Year

NINE

It was dusk but dark inside. In another half hour it would be genuine night.

We were in a hallway, but not the same one as last time. Jerry took out his pen light and turned it on. The beacon was remarkably bright for its size.

‘We gotta find an office,’ Jerry said. ‘That’s where he’ll keep his files.’

We moved down the hall, with me following closely behind. I was careful not to step on his heels.

Jerry used his light to find the office, off the hallway we were in.

‘We’re in luck,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘No windows,’ he said. ‘We can turn on a light.’

He found a desk lamp, switched it on, then flicked off his flashlight and put it back in his pocket. The lamp was one of those with a green glass shade, most of the light being directed to the desk top. But we were still able to see the rest of the room pretty well. The desk itself was cheap metal, with many dents and one leg shorter than the other three. The top was a mess of papers and photos. Along one wall was a mismatched collection of metal file cabinets which, I assumed, contained files collected over many years. A layer of dust covered everything, but it enabled us to see which parts of the room Irwin used the most.

‘Look here,’ Jerry said. ‘These two cabinets have got his hand prints all over ’em.’

‘And the desk,’ I said. ‘Let’s get started.’

I took the desk, and Jerry started on the cabinets. I sat in Irwin’s rickety chair and started rifling the drawers. There were two on the left, two on the right, and a smaller, center one. I started on the left, found one drawer full of papers. I leafed through them, but didn’t find anything interesting. The top left drawer had something, though — a.38 revolver. I didn’t touch it, closed the drawer and started on the right. More papers, some cheesecake photos of what looked like half a dozen pretty young girls. They were all smiling vacantly into the camera while showing lots of leg or cleavage. The top drawer yielded a half-eaten sandwich — tuna, from the smell — and some rotten fruit that had been in there for a while.

I only had the center drawer left.

‘I got lots of pictures,’ Jerry said, ‘but none of Miss Dalton.’

‘Any nudes at all?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘just cheesecake.’

‘Yeah, me, too.’

More papers, some note paper that he’d scribbled on. I was about to close the drawer when a name jumped out at me.

Sinatra.

I took the note paper out and looked at it. This was written on it:

Nov. 22.

Sinatra.

Keenan amp; Amsler.

Barry.

Johnny.

Canoga Park.

‘Anything?’ Jerry asked.

‘Not about Abby,’ I said.

‘Then what?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. I folded the sheet and put it in my pocket. ‘Maybe we can figure it out later. Let’s keep looking.’

I went through the rest of the drawer, but found nothing.

‘Still got another cabinet over there,’ Jerry said, pointing.

‘I’m on it.’

I got up and moved to the cabinet. There were half a dozen more, but the dust revealed they hadn’t been touched in a while.

I started at the bottom, closing each drawer after I finished. We didn’t want to leave any indication that we’d been there.

I found much of what Jerry was finding, and what I had found in the desk, files with girls’ names, cheesecake photos.

‘Mr G., he must be keepin’ the nudies someplace else,’ Jerry said. ‘Like at home.’

‘You’re probably right,’ I said, closing the top drawer. ‘We better get out of here. I’ll call Danny and see what he’s got for us.’

Jerry went to the desk and pulled the chain on the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Seconds later his pen light went on and pointed the way to the door.