experts. The nice smooth story of killing Gilmore
because of unrequited love was probably as much a lie as the personal
information Naia North had given Arthur Kahler Troy.

The North girl had confessed to murdering Gilmore and Juanita Cordell.
As a confessed killer she must be taken into custody and booked on
suspicion of homicide. Taking her was Martin Kirk's job--and it seemed
he had a contact that would lead him to her. Namely Alma Dakin.

Lieutenant Kirk grabbed his hat and went out the door.

Chapter V

The address for Alma Dakin turned out to be a small three-story walk-up
apartment building on a quiet residential street near the outskirts of
town. At two in the afternoon hardly anyone was visible on the sidewalks
and only an occasional automobile passed.

Kirk parked his car half a block further on down and got out into the
chill November air. He entered the building foyer and looked at the name
plates above the twin rows of buttons. The one for Alma Dakin told him
the number of her apartment was 3C.

He pushed the button several times but without response. The foyer was
very quiet at this time of day, and he could hear the faint rasp of her
bell through the speaking tube.

Kirk was on the point of shifting his thumb to the button marked
SUPERINTENDENT when a sudden thought stayed his hand. It was not the
kind of thought a conscientious, rule-abiding police officer would
harbor for a moment. The lieutenant, however, was fully aware he had no
business working on a closed case to begin with--and when you're
breaking one set of rules, you might as well break them all.

He rang four of the other bells before the lock on the inner door began
to click. Pushing it open, he waited until a female voice floated down
the stairs. "Who is it?"

"Police Department, ma'am. You folks own that green Buick parked out in
front?" There was no Buick, green or otherwise, along the street
curbing, but Kirk figured she wouldn't know that.

"Why, no. Officer. I can't imagine--"

"Okay. Sorry we bothered you, lady," Kirk let the door swing into place
hard enough to be heard upstairs. But this time he was on the right side
of it.

There was a moment of silence, then he caught the sound of retreating
feet and a door closed. Without waiting further, the Lieutenant mounted
the stairs to the third floor, his feet soundless on the carpeted
treads.

The entrance to 3C was secured by a tumbler-type lock. From an inner
po