Chapter 3
THE APARTMENT house was not the best in the Westlake district, neither was it the worst. McCloud got out of his car and crossed the street and went into the lobby. In the marble slab of one wall was set a row of brass mail boxes. He located the one tabbed Garland and went up heavily carpeted stairs to the second floor and pressed the buzzer beside 204.
There was no answer. He waited a moment, then rang again. Still there was no answer.
Faint yellow light seeped out from under the door and tinted the tips of his brogues. Across the hall, another door opened, and a lady with mascaraed eyes and revealing silk pajamas regarded him with a bright mechanical smile. “You looking for somebody, honey?”
“Am I looking for somebody?” He pursed his lips as though debating
the question. “W
