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revealed, even to my untrained financial eye, an entire spectrum of information about the mob’s methods and operations.
    But we weren’t there simply to give me a chance to gloat over Sterrick’s secrets. It wasn’t possible simply to steal the books. If I took them away with me, they’d be inadmissible in court. It’s not enough to present evidence, of course; you’ve got to show how you obtained the evidence. In this case I had no warrant. I was trespassing, I’d committed the felony of breaking and entering, and if I made off with Sterrick’s books I’d be guilty of theft as well.
    No. I wasn’t there to steal those books. I was there to photograph them.
    The forger wielded the camera — it was his expertise. Page by page we photographed the ledgers and notebooks. It took hours.
    I was sweating, examining my watch every few moments. The last page wasn’t captured until after six o’clock; by then we knew the watchman had been released and was on his way back to the office. We packed up the scores of rolls of film we’d exposed. The forger took his last close look at the ledgers. He had to know exactly the style, make, color, and condition of the books so that we could purchase identical blank bindings in which he could perform his forgeries, based on our photographs. He had to remember the color of each ink used, all that sort of thing.
    We left the office at ten minutes past six. I’m sure the watchman must have returned within minutes. Later we learned there’d been an intensive debriefing session. Sterrick and his men had grilled the watchman for several days. They examined the office and the safe with a fine-toothed comb. But finally they decided nothing had been disturbed. The watchman kept his job, and his arrest that night was chalked up as a simple case of mistaken identity.
    It took our forger nearly the full seven weeks to complete his work; it was a monumental job. The man was physically and emotionally exhausted at the end. I felt he’d earned his freedom. He and the safecracker were taken under police escort by train to El Paso where they were given their freedom. I never saw or heard from either of them again. I hope they stayed out of trouble.
    We made our move while the forger and the safecracker were still on the train; we wanted to take no chances on one of them phoning Sterrick with what he knew.
    We had three days’ grace before the primary elections. I wasn’t sure it would be enough time to swing the primary, but it had to be tried. Without any attempt to maintain secrecy I went before the superior court bench with applications for a warrant to search the realty-insurance office and a subpoena for the books and record-ledgers of the Sterrick operations.
    Naturally the word of our attack preceded us. By the time I arrived with my phalanx of detectives, the safe in the back room was empty except for a few props — insurance policies, land deeds, and so forth. All very innocent and aboveboard. Everyone in the office had been herded into the back room while the safe was being opened. I lingered briefly in the front room, then joined the others in back. I pointed out to the detective in charge that our warrant gave us the right to search the entire premises, not merely the safe; I instructed him to give the whole place a thorough toss.
    A while later, to my loudly expressed amazement, a young officer discovered an entire set of criminal ledgers in the bottom two drawers of a salesmen’s desk in the front room.
    The rest of the story would strike you as both foregone and anticlimactic, I’m sure. We nailed Sterrick. We didn’t have time to prevent Sterrick’s man from being nominated in the gubernatorial primary but he was forced to resign from the race as a result of the revelations that came out in the trial evidence. A party caucus nominated another candidate — a reasonably honest one — and he