Dirt

them.”
    “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
    Cantor followed him outside, walked into the alley, and found the garbage cans. There were three bags; one of them contained uninteresting kitchen garbage, the others a lot of paper and magazines. He pulled out the two bags of paper and walked back to the front of the building. O’Brian was coming down the front steps.
    “Standard lease; I’ve already signed it,” he said, handing Cantor the document.
    “What about subleasing?”
    “No problem, if I approve the tenant.”
    Cantor signed the lease, kept a copy, and handed it back. “Jim, you really ought to start taking a written application from your tenants; there are a lot of bad people out there.” “You’re probably right; was Dryer one of them? Why are you checking up on him?”
    “He did something impolite to a friend of a friend of mine. I was just going to talk to him and tell him not to do it again. Don’t worry about him; if he walked out on his lease, you won’t be seeing him again.” O’Brian nodded and handed Cantor a manila envelope. “Here are the phone bills. The basement number is 1232.”
    “Can I borrow these for a day?”
    “Sure, but I need them back for my taxes.”
    “I’ll get them back to you. Thanks, Jim; I’ll probably move in at the weekend, if that’s okay.”
    “Fine with me. Glad to have you aboard.”
    Cantor tucked the manila envelope under his arm, grabbed the two trash bags, and started looking for a cab.
     
Chapter 38
     
    Stone was working at his desk when he heard the street door open, and a moment later Bob Cantor walked into his office carrying two garbage bags.
    “Never say I didn’t give you anything,” Cantor said, dropping the two bags on the floor and depositing a manila envelope on Stone’s desk. “Dryer jumped his lease and moved out of the apartment last weekend.” He grinned. “Nice place; I rented it.” “Did he leave anything in the apartment?” Stone asked.
    Cantor pointed at the garbage bags. “If he did, it’s in there. His phone bills are in the envelope; the landlord says he made a lot of long distance calls.” He pulled up a chair.
    Stone opened the envelope and shook out the phone bills.
    “The phone was in the landlord’s name; last four digits are 1232.”
    Stone began going through the bills. “L.A., L.A., L.A. Jesus, he lived there for what…?”
    “Eight months.”
    “And he never called anywhere but L.A.? Hard to believe.”
    “Yeah.”
    “And only one number,” Stone said. He turned to his computer, inserted a CD-ROM, and brought up his national telephone directory. He typed in the L.A. phone number and waited while the computer searched. “Here we go,” he said, “the Santa Fe Residential Apartments, in West Hollywood. When did you say that Dryer moved out?” “Sometime between last Friday and Wednesday.”
    “Look, he’s called this number virtually every day, sometimes three or four times a day.”
    Stone picked up the phone and dialed the L.A. number.
    “Santa Fe,” a man’s voice said.
    “Hello,” Stone said, “this is Detective Cantor of the New York City Police Department.”
    “Thanks a lot,” Cantor whispered.
    “Yes?”
    “Do you have a regular apartment building there, or what?”
    “Short-term furnished apartments, by the week or month.”
    “I’m trying to reach someone who may have moved out last Wednesday or Thursday; could you check your records and tell me who that might be? I don’t have a name.”
    “Don’t need a name,” the man said. The sound of pages turning came over the phone “Only one person has moved out in the past couple of weeks. We stay pretty full.”
    “Who would that be?”
    “A Mr. G. Gable.”
    “Can you tell me what he looks like?”
    “Early thirties, dirty blond hair, kinda long, fairly tall. Nice-looking guy.”
    “Have you got a forwarding address?”
    “Nope, nothing. You looking for this guy or something?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Well, if you find him, will you let me know? He owes a month’s rent. He left here by the back way, very early in the morning.”
    “Has his place been cleaned out?”
    “Oh, yeah; I rented it right away. We always have a waiting list.”
    “Thanks very much; I appreciate your help.” He hung up and turned to Cantor. “He was using the name of G. Gable.”
    “And we’re looking for G. Power. It’s gotta be our guy.”
    “Right. Let’s see what his trash looks like.” Stone cleared off his desk and, a