Jack snorted.
“Shut up or get out,” Evelyn said. “You screwed me over. It’ll take a lot of ass-kissing to make up for this one.” She shifted to face me. “I’m the one who tracked you down.”
“What-?”
I looked from her to Jack. Jack met my gaze and dipped his chin, eyes dark with something like apology.
Heart hammering, I turned back to Evelyn. “How-?”
“When it comes to finding people, I’m the best there is. I could tell you where Jimmy Hoffa is…but it’d cost you.”
“She didn’t
“But I found her from there, didn’t I? Frank didn’t exactly hand me her name and address.”
“He told you about me?”
“Special case. He wouldn’t mention it to anyone else.”
“But how do you know Frank-?”
“As I was saying, I found you. Women in this business always interest me, and your background was… intriguing. Unfortunately, travel to Canada is a bit problematic for me. Some bad business in Quebec back in the seventies, which I’m sure your authorities have forgotten all about, but I prefer not to test that theory. So I decided to send my favorite protege-”
“Favorite?” Jack muttered. “Only one still talking to you.”
“I sent Jack to check you out, to assess your suitability as a protegee. He comes back and says, ‘Nah. Forget her.’ Which”-another lethal glare at Jack-“apparently meant that
Jack shrugged.
“Often enough, clearly. When were you going to tell me?”
“Brought her here, didn’t I? We need information.”
She laughed. “Don’t you love this guy? He lies to me, steals from me, then has the gall not only to bring you here, but to ask me for help.”
Evelyn didn’t sound betrayed or even surprised. The look she gave Jack reminded me of a parent complaining about a rebellious teen, exasperated pride masquerading as pique.
“There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen,” Evelyn said. “Pour us some, and I’ll think about talking.”
Jack heaved himself from the love seat and headed into the hall. Evelyn watched him over her shoulder, then turned to me.
“Don’t tell her anything,” Jack’s voice floated back. “She knows what she needs to know. Rest is idle curiosity.”
Evelyn mouthed an obscenity. She listened for Jack’s movements in the kitchen, as if gauging whether he could still overhear.
“Let’s just talk about a decent nom de guerre, then. How about Diana? That’s better than Dee, isn’t it?”
“Honestly? It makes me think ‘dead princess,’ not ‘Greek goddess.’ I’m not sure ‘princess’ gives off the right vibe, and that ‘dead’ part is definitely not a good omen.”
“You have a point. Hitmen aren’t known for their classical educations. We’ll stick with Dee until I think of something better.”
“Charles Manson,” Jack called from the kitchen. “We need details.”
“Ah, so this is about the Helter Skelter killer.” She turned to me. “Now there’s a name. Say the words ‘Helter Skelter’ and everyone of a certain age immediately thinks Manson, and everything that goes with that. For a killer-”
“Yeah,” Jack said, rounding the corner with the coffees. “It’s about him.”
“You’re going after him?”
Jack passed me my mug. “Someone’s gotta. Feds are clueless. They’ll round up every pro…except the killer.”
“From what I hear they already are, which is why I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for a week now. You’ve been ignoring me.”
“Wasn’t ignoring you. Busy. Setting this up.”
She leaned forward. “So who’s in? No, let me guess. Felix, Angel, Quinn-but only because you need him for his contacts. You didn’t ask Sid and Shadow, did you?”
When Jack didn’t answer, she rolled her eyes. “You did. I don’t know how you can put up with those two. Not a full deck between them.”
“But they’re good. All that counts. Angel’s out. Got picked up.”
“By the police? On what charges?”
“Jaywalking.”
“Don’t be smart. You know what I mean. Angel’s as careful as they come and if he’s been charged with one of his old hits-”
“Then we’re all in shit. That’s the point. Now, about Manson…”
“Well, I can certainly tell you everything you need to know about Charles Manson. But if you’re chasing down this alley because your killer uses a silly quote-”
“
Evelyn looked at Jack. “What does Quinn say?”
When Jack didn’t answer, she swore under her breath. “You’re investigating a case where federal investigators have an important lead, and you haven’t even asked Quinn about it yet?”
“Who’s-?” I began, then remembered Evelyn’s list of names. “He’s one of the other pros working this, right? How would he-?”
“Manson, Evelyn,” Jack said. “What do you know?”
EIGHT
Charles Manson was a career criminal of the lowest order. During those rare times in his teens and twenties when the state wasn’t paying his room and board, he pimped and drug-dealt his way through life. It seemed Manson never committed a crime for which he didn’t do the time. You’d think these early signs of ineptitude would make a guy sit back and go, “Hmmm, maybe I’m not cut out to be a criminal mastermind after all.” Apparently not.
Manson was a classic predator. He knew how to sniff out the weak and tell them what they wanted to hear. By 1969 he had over two dozen followers, most of them teenage girls. The second greatest question of loyalty after “Would you die for me?” is “Would you kill for me?” In August 1969, Manson put his followers to that test. First, four of them killed Abigail Folger, Wojciech Frykowski, Steven Parent, Sharon Tate and Jay Sebring. The next day, three killed Leno LaBianca and his wife, Rosemary. On April 17, 1971, Manson returned to jail, where he remains.
When she was done explaining, Evelyn sipped her now-cold coffee. “If I had to guess at the connection, I’d look at hero worship.”
“I hope by ‘hero’ you don’t mean Manson,” I said.
“Even after all these years, Charles Manson receives more mail than any inmate in the system. At the time of the crimes, it was even worse. Some underground papers hailed him as a revolutionary, a martyr of the people and for the people. A cult of Manson still exists today, if you know where to look for it.”
“You think one of them-?”
Evelyn cut me short with a wave. “No, no. Losers and lunatics.”
She stood, walked to her bookcase, pulled out a volume and tossed it between Jack and me. I picked it up.
“Manson’s minions didn’t try to hide anything,” she said. “Even the cops couldn’t fuck up this case and, believe
