Wild applause. Preston nodded at Timmy Valburn-the actor who played Moochie Mouse on the «Dream-a-Dream Hour»-always nibbling cheese with his big buck teeth. Valburn nudged the man beside him; the man nudged back.
Art De Spain caught Ed's eye; Valburn kicked off a Moochie routine. Ed steered De Spain to the hallway. 'This is a hell of a surprise, Art.'
'Dieterling's announcing it on the «Dream Hour». Didn't your dad tell you?'
'No, and I didn't know he knew Dieterling. Did he meet him back during the Atherton case? Wasn't Wee Willie Wennerhoim one of Dieterling's kid stars?'
De Spain smiled. 'I was your dad's lowly adjutant then, and I don't think the two great men ever crossed paths. Preston just knows people. And by the way, did you spot the mouse man and his pal?'
Ed nodded. 'Who is he?'
Laughter from the den; De Spain steered Ed to the study. 'He's Billy Dieterling, Ray's son. He's a cameraman on «Badge of Honor», which lauds our beloved LAPD to millions of television viewers each week. Maybe Timmy spreads some cheese on his whatsis before he blows him.'
Ed laughed. 'Art, you're a pisser.'
De Spain sprawled in a chair. 'Eddie, ex-cop to cop, you say words like 'pisser' and you sound like a college professor. And you're not really an 'Eddie,' you're an 'Edmund.''
Ed squared his glasses. 'I see avuncular advice coming. Stick in Patrol, because Parker made chief that way. Adniinistrate my way up because I have no command presence.'
'You've got no sense of humor. And can't you get rid of those specs? Squint or something. Outside of Thad Green, I can't think of one Bureau guy who wears glasses.'
'God, you miss the Department. I think that if you could give up Exley Construction and fifty thousand a year for a spot as an LAPD rookie, you would.'
De Spain lit a cigar. 'Only if your dad came with me.'
'Just like that?'
'Just like that. I was a lieutenant to Preston 's inspector, and I'm still a number two man. It'd be nice to be even with him.'
'If you didn't know lumber, Exley Construction wouldn't exist.'
'Thanks. And get rid of those glasses.'
Ed picked up a framed photo: his brother Thomas in uniform-taken the day before he died. 'If you were a rookie, I'd break you for insubordination.'
'You would, too. What did you place on the lieutenant's exam?'
'First out of twenty-three applicants. I was the youngest applicant by eight years, with the shortest time in grade as a sergeant and the shortest amount of time on the Department.'
'And you want the Detective Bureau.'
Ed put the photo down. 'Yes.'
'Then, first you have to figure a year minimum for an opening to come up, then you have to realize that it will probably be a Patrol opening, then you have to realize that a transfer to the Bureau will take years and lots of ass kissing. You're twenty-nine now?'
'Yes.'
'Then you'll be a lieutenant at thirty or thirty-one. Brass that young create resentment. Ed, all kidding aside. You're not one of the guys. You're not a strongarm type. «You're not Bureau». And Parker as Chief has set a precedent for Patrol officers to go all the way. Think about that.'
Ed said, 'Art, I want to work cases. I'm connected and I won the Distinguished Service Cross, which some people might construe as strongarm. And I will «have» a Bureau appointment.'
De Spain brushed ash off his cummerbund. 'Can we talk turkey, Sunny Jim?'
The endearment rankled. 'Of course.'
'Well… you're good, and in time you might be really good. And I don't doubt your killer instinct for a second. But your father was ruthless and likable. And you're not, so..
Ed made fists. 'So, Uncle Arthur? Cop who left the Department for money to cop who never would-what's your advice?'
De Spain ifinched. 'So be a sycophant and suck up to the right men. Kiss William H. Parker's ass and pray to be in the right place at the right time.'
'Like you and my father?'
'«Touche», Sunny Jim.'
Ed looked at his uniform: custom blues on a hanger. Razorcreased, sergeant's stripes, a single hashmark. De Spain said, 'Gold bars soon, Eddie. And braid on your cap. And I wouldn't jerk your chain if I didn't care.'
'I know.'
'And you «are» a goddamned war hero.'
Ed changed the subject. 'It's Christmas. You're thinking about Thomas.'
'I keep thinking I could have told him something. He didn't even have his holster flap open.'
'A purse snatcher with a gun? He couldn't have known.' De Spain put out his cigar. 'Thomas was a natural, and I always thought he should be telling me things. That's why I tend to spell things out for you.'
'He's twelve years dead and I'll bury him as a policeman.'
'I'll forget you said that.'
'No, remember it. Remember it when I make the Bureau. And when Father offers toasts to Thomas and Mother, don't get maudlin, it ruins him for days.'
De Spain stood up, flushing; Preston Exley walked in with snifters and a bottle.
Ed said, 'Merry Christmas, Father. And congratulations.'
Preston poured drinks. 'Thank you. Exley Construction tops the Arroyo Seco Freeway job with a kingdom for a glorified rodent, and I'll never eat another piece of cheese. A toast, gentlemen. To the eternal rest of my son Thomas and my wife Marguerite, to the three of us assembled here.'
The men drank; De Spain fixed refills. Ed offered his father's favorite toast: 'To the solving of crimes that require absolute justice.'
Three more shots downed. Ed said, 'Father, I didn't know you knew Raymond Dieterling.'
Preston smiled. 'I've known him in a business sense for years. Art and I have kept the contract secret at Raymond's request-he wants to announce it on that infantile television program of his.'
'Did you meet him during the Atherton case?'
'No, and of course I wasn't in the construction business then. Arthur, do you have a toast to propose?'
De Spain poured short ones. 'To a Bureau assignment for our soon-to-be lieutenant.'
Laughter, hear-hears. Preston said, 'Joan Morrow was inquiring about your love life, Edmund. I think she's smitten.'
'Do you see a debutante as a cop's wife?'
'No, but I could picture her married to a ranking policeman.'
'Chief of Detectives?'
'No, I was thinking more along the lines of commander of the Patrol Division.'
'Father, Thomas was going to be your chief of detectives, but he's dead. Don't deny me my opportunity. Don't make me live an old dream of yours.'
Preston stared at his son. 'Point taken, and I commend you for speaking up. And granted, that was my original dream. But the truth is that I don't think you have the eye for human weakness that makes a good detective.'
His brother: a math brain crazed for pretty girls. 'And Thomas did?'
'Yes.'
'Father, I would have shot that purse snatcher the second he went for his pocket.'
De Spain said, 'Goddammit'; Preston shushed him. 'That's all right. Edmund, a few questions before I return to my guests. One, would you be willing to plant corroborative evidence on a suspect you knew was guilty in order to ensure an indictment?'
'I'd have to-'
'Answer yes or no.'
'I… no.'
'Would you be willing to shoot hardened armed robbers in the back to offset the chance that they might utilize flaws in the legal system and go free?'
'I…'
'Yes or no, Edmund.'
'No.'
'And would you be willing to beat confessions out of suspects you knew to be guilty?'
'No.'
'Would you be willing to rig crime scene evidence to support a prosecuting attorney's working hypothesis?'
'No.'
Preston sighed. 'Then for God's sake, stick to assignments where you won't have to make those choices. Use the superior inteffigence the good Lord gave you.'
Ed looked at his uniform. 'I'll use that intelligence as a detective.'
Preston smiled. 'Detective or not, you have qualities of persistence that Thomas lacked. You'll excel, my war hero.'
The phone rang; De Spain picked it up. Ed thought of rigged Jap trenches-and couldn't meet Preston 's eyes. Dc Spain said, 'It's Lieutenant Frieling at the station. He said the jail's almost full, and two officers were assaulted earlier in the evening. Two suspects are in custody, with four more outstanding. He said you should clock in early.'
Ed turned back to his father. Preston was down the hall, swapping jokes with Mayor Bowron in a Moochie Mouse hat.
CHAPTER THREE
Press clippings on his corkboard: 'Dope Crusader Wounded in Shootout'; 'Actor Mitchum Seized in Marijuana Shack Raid.' «Hush-Hush» articles, framed on his desk: 'Hopheads Quake When Dope Scourge Cop Walks Tall'; 'Actors Agree: «Badge of Honor» Owes Authenticity to Hard-hitting Technical Advisor.' The «Badge» piece featured a photo: Sergeant Jack Vincennes with the show's star, Brett Chase. The piece did not feature dirt from the editor's private file: Brett Chase as a pedophile with three quashed sodomy beefs.
Jack Vincennes glanced around the Narco pen-deserted, dark-just the light in his cubicle. Ten minutes short of midnight; he'd prpmised Dudley Smith he'd type up an organized crime report for
