“Good gumshoes don’t let dead ends stop them,” said Sam. “When they hit one, they change directions and keep going.”

“How are we supposed to keep going?” I asked. “We don’t know where to go!”

“We don’t know where the Werewolf is,” Sam said, “but there’s one hood we do know where to find.”

I smiled. “Levenza!” The Chief had told the policemen to take him back to headquarters and put him in a cell.

“If we get him to sing,” Sam said, nodding, “he may be the one to piece this puzzle together!”

The Los Angeles Police Department headquarters was cube-shaped building of glittering glass.

Most boys my age would have been psyched to have been personally invited there by the Chief of Police.

Of course, my invitation was more like a one-way ticket. Which actually turned out to be a good thing.

When the officers at the front desk asked what I was doing there, Sam told them the Chief had ordered him to take me to the holding cells.

By the looks on their faces, I could tell most of them were too scared of the Chief to call and ask him. But if any of them did, the Chief would have told them that Sam was telling the truth.

So that was one good thing about the Chief wanting me locked up, I guess.

“Watch your beezer,” Sam warned as we walked down the hallway toward the holding cells.

“Got it,” I nodded back. Then I whispered, “Wait, my beezer is my back right?”

“Nope, your nose,” Sam said.

“That was totally my next guess,” I lied.

Lavenza was sitting in his cell, still wearing his blue jay costume.

“All right, jailbird,” said Sam. “I need you to sing.”

Lavenza leaped up. “Sure!” He nodded eagerly. “I’ll tell you anything I know. I don’t like jail. I just want to get out of here!”

“Swell,” said Sam. “So look here, we found the note the Werewolf was going to give you —”

“Wait, the Werewolf?” interrupted Lavenza. “Was that who was trying to hire me? I only talked to him once on the phone. I never got to meet him.” Lavenza looked at me. “That kid blew your cover, and I ran before I could.”

“Never mind that,” said Sam. “I want to know about the Werewolf’s plan. Spill!”

“I can’t!” moaned Lavenza.

“Don’t be a sap,” Sam told him. “Don’t you want out of here?”

“I do!” cried Lavenza. “But I can’t tell you his plan, because I don’t know what he was planning! All I know is I got a call from some guy, asking me to help him pull some big crime. I didn’t know it was the Werewolf. He told me to rent this costume and meet him at the mascot convention so he could fill me in on the crime.

“But I never got to meet him,” he wailed. “Because of you!”

Sam turned to me. He didn’t say it, but I knew what he was thinking.

Another dead end.

We were running out of leads — and out of time. In fact, we were down to our very last lead: that necklace of circles on the top of the note the Werewolf had written for Lavenza.

Sam told me to wait in the detective’s lunchroom while he got the Werewolf’s file to see if that’s where he had seen that symbol before.

“At this time of night, no one should come in here,” he said as he left me in the bathroom. “But just in case, lock the door until I come back.”

As I waited for Sam, I took out my journal and started writing down what had happened. I didn’t get very far before there was a light knock at the door. Sam was back, carrying two thick folders.

“Here’s the file on the Werewolf,” said Sam, patting the folder he held under one arm. “And here’s one for you,” he said, tossing another file on the table.

Sam went to a vending machine and threw in a handful of quarters. He offered me half of what came out of the slot, but I shook my head.

I was hungry, but not hungry enough to eat a stale avocado sandwich.

Not when I had the LAPD’s file on Frankenstein’s Monster sitting on the table in front of me!

Inside could be the answer to every question I ever had about my dad!

And maybe a whole bunch of clues to finding my other cousins!

“Like I said, your dad was before my time,” Sam told me as he crunched loudly on his sandwich. “But in that file is everything the police ever found out about him.”

I opened the file to the cover page.

But before I could get any farther, Sam cried out: “You gotta be kidding me! What a load of bunk!

“There’s nothing in the Werewolf’s file!” he exclaimed. “Look! It’s just stuffed with blank pages! Someone took everything out!”

“Maybe it was another detective in the Monster Crimes Unit?” I suggested. “Maybe he took it to the copy machine or something?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m the only detective in the Monster Crimes Unit. And if the Chief had his way, there wouldn’t even be me.”

“So then who could have taken it?” I asked.

“I don’t know, kid,” he said. “Detectives aren’t allowed to touch files that aren’t in their department. Not without special permission from someone way high up.”

I turned back to my dad’s file.

If I was going to jail, at least I could go with answers to all my questions about him. But I didn’t get past the cover page.

Because I saw it!

What we had been looking for was right there!

In the middle of the cover sheet was the LAPD logo.

If you covered up the top two-thirds of the logo, the bottom part that was left looked exactly like the “necklace” of circles we had seen on the note the Werewolf had shredded!

Sam slapped his forehead. “Of course!” he cried. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it! I had been trying to think of what criminal organization had a symbol like that. I never would have thought of something I see every day!”

Something BUZZED loudly.

“Hang on,” Sam said. “I’m getting a call on my blower.” He took out his walkie-talkie and hit a button.

A voice roared out the speaker: “Why isn’t that kid behind bars?” shouted the Chief.