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Connolly looked up, surprised at the sharpness of it. “Okay, let’s get down to it. I read about the pants. Any evidence of anal penetration?”

“No.”

“Semen?”

“No.”

“What about the park? Is it one of the meeting places?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must. You’re chief of police.”

“Well, you know, this is a quiet town. I’m not saying we’re Dogpatch-we know what it is. You go up to Taos, where all the artists are, or down to Albuquerque, and I guess you’d find plenty of what you’re looking for. We’ve got a few antique dealers and sandalmakers-well, one look, you can see they’re covered in fairy dust, but they don’t bother anybody. We’ve never had this kind of trouble. Honest to God, I don’t even know where to look.”

“You mean you haven’t checked the bars or anywhere someone’s likely to have heard something?”

“Well, I’ll make you a deal. You find out where they are and I’ll check them out for you.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You get your men to talk to their snitches and get them to tell you where people go at night. Then check it out and talk to people nice so they talk back to you and see what you can see. You do that and I’ll forget you haven’t even got around to basic police work. You’re putting it out this guy was homosexual and then you turn around and say you haven’t got any here. Who do you think killed him, then?”

Holliday stared at him, offended. “You tell me. What I’m telling you is we’ve got no problem in that park. Take it or leave it.”

“All right,” Connolly said, “let’s leave it for now. But check about the bars, will you?”

“I’ll do that. Now suppose we both get down off our high horses and look at what we do have.”

“Such as?”

“Such as another case down in Albuquerque just three weeks ago.”

“Same MO?”

“Close enough. Parking lot behind one of those bars I guess you’re talking about. Another guy caught with his pants down. Stabbed this time. They found him behind his car.”

“Who was he?”

“Local businessman. Ran some laundries down there, which is a good business since the war got going. Seems he met somebody in the bar and they went outside to have themselves a conversation. Must have been about money, since he didn’t have any left in his wallet when they found him.”

“All this according to-?”

“The bartender. He’s the one found him.”

“Any idea who?”

“No. Boys there think it was a Mexican, on account of the knife, but they always think it’s a Mexican, so you probably can’t count on that.”

“They get a description from the bartender?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you the file on it. I’d say it was a little on the vague side, though. Medium height, medium build, medium nothing. ‘Course, his memory isn’t the best. He doesn’t remember anyone else being there. I guess they don’t have any regulars. They sure haven’t had any since-nobody’s been near the place.”

“He might have to close it.”

“The police had that idea too.”

“What about the victim-any signs of sexual activity?”

“Plenty. At least this one got his money’s worth.”

Connolly frowned and got up to pour some coffee, pacing and looking up at the ceiling as he talked, as if he were thinking aloud.

“Okay, so what do we have here? Let’s reconstruct.”

“Shit.”

“Well, let’s try it. A guy goes into a bar, meets another guy, and they go out to the parking lot to get friendly. Either because they took a shine to each other or because one of them’s paying. Now what do they do?”

“For Christ’s sake, Connolly.”

“No, follow me for a minute. What do we think happened? What’s the lab report?”

“You mean the semen? Everywhere. In his mouth, some on his face.”

“But nothing behind?”

“No.”

“So they got to know each other real well. Then one stabs the other and takes his money. So we have to assume it’s not a lover’s quarrel, not with the money gone. How old was the victim, by the way?”

“Forty-one.”

“Right. How old did the bartender say the other one was?”

Holliday turned over a folder cover and glanced at a sheet. “Twenty something. Not under drinking age, of course. He wouldn’t allow that. Not him. I don’t think you can go by any of this,” he said, closing the folder with disgust.

“No. But not middle-aged, either. Clothes?”

“Jeans. Blue shirt. Like I said, anybody.”

“Even a working man. Bar cater to that?”

“I don’t know. From the sound of it, I’d say it was a fairly democratic place. I don’t think they care about your job.”

“Okay, so let’s take this same guy-you assume it’s the same guy, don’t you? — let’s take him and put him in our case. What do you think happened?”

“You’re going to make me do this, aren’t you? I think they met somewhere, maybe one of those bars I don’t know about that you think the town’s full of. Maybe just sitting in the plaza. Anyway, they meet and go down to the park and do whatever they do in the bushes. Then one smashes the other on the head, pulls him further into the bushes, takes his wallet, and gets away.”

“So what’s wrong with this?”

“I don’t know, what?”