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the dogs.
Larry leapt back as the animals came running and snarling toward the hedge. They scrabbled at the earth on the other side of the wall, as if they were ready to dig their way through to get him. He tried to step clear of the hedge and realized he had caught his sleeve. He was still untangling it when Von Joel appeared at the gate.
"Do you want something?"
Larry jerked his sleeve free and legged it down the road to his jeep. He leapt behind the wheel, started the engine, and threw it into gear. He had gone five yards when he saw the lane was a dead end. As he reversed past the gates Von Joel was still there, staring at him. There was no way to tell if he recognized Larry or not.
Late that evening, as he sat waiting in the corridor outside Comisario Dominguez's office at police headquarters, Larry was still intermittently cursing himself.
Idiot, idiot, bloody idiot!
Superstition had driven him. He admitted it, though he tried to excuse himself. He had been the victim of an unreasoning fear, one that afflicted most diligent police officers, an intimation deep in his bowels that the distance between him and the quarry was too great, it was too wide for a link to take shape on the basis of suspicion and investigation. Keeping an eye on a suspect was not entirely a logical procedure, it had its voodooistic element. As often as not it was a submission to the mumbo-jumbo rules that operated in spite of logic and reason.
And it was all bullshit. Bullshit!
He bit his lip, convinced he had said it out loud. He glanced around to see if anyone had heard. There was no one in sight. He took a deep breath and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
Surrender to whims and flights of fancy, he reminded himself, was the worst bullshit of the lot. All it had been aimed at, in this case, was filling in the waiting period while a legal reason was found to take a villain's freedom away from him. Larry knew he should have stayed cool, he should have gone down to the beach with his wife and kids and played with a ball. He should have floundered around in the water and made a complete fool of himself like any other dad on vacation. He should have done anything at all, really, except what he actually had done, viz, dwell on the case, worry about it until he set his guts in an uproar, and then practically dynamite his chances of getting a result.
He expected retribution to visit him for being such a clown. In his job it was easy to bring down bad luck on yourself—that was more bullshit, but he couldn't help thinking it.
"Come on," he muttered, "please, come on . . ."
He crossed and recrossed his legs, staring at the office door, willing it to open as he had been doing for more than an hour.
It opened suddenly. Dominguez appeared, a cigar clenched in his teeth. He held up a fax sheet.
"Am I right?" Larry got up and walked toward the office, fearing the worst.
Dominguez beckoned him inside and handed over the fax. Larry looked at it, watched the words dance before his eyes for a second. Then they settled.

identification established on the basis of 10 points of
individuality on thumbprint and ii points on index fingerprint. confirm subject is edward thomas myers.

"I knew it!" Larry clutched the paper as if it might try to fly away. The certainty of failure evaporated as sweat rolled down his cheeks. "I bloody knew it!" he told Dominguez. He thrust a victorious fist in the air. "I've got him! Yes!"

4

Detective Inspector Jimmy Falcon and Detective Constable Donald Summers arrived at Malaga airport the following morning, along with a huge Saturday intake for the Costa resorts. Larry met them with the Suzuki and on the way back to Marbella he brought them up to date on the situation. Neither Falcon nor Summers missed the fact that Larry was agitated, bordering on hyperactive.
"Myers is at the gallery right now. I've got two locals covering the Monterey and the speed boat." He shook his head like a man confronting something incredible. "He's