Patchctt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jack at his desk, counting lies.
At work: a string of dead-end reports; legit zeros from the other squad guys totaled luck: Millard wanted to dump the smut job. Count duty no-shows as lies--he'd spent a full day chasing names--matches to the cars in Bel Air. Four names tagged; no luck at a modeling agency specializing in movie star lookalikes--none of the girls came close to his beauties. Put the names aside, chalk up the day as a wash--Sid Hudgens made pursuit a dead issue. He just wanted to see the women again-- add that one to his lies to Karen.
They spent the morning at her beach place. Karen wanted to make love; he put her off with bullshit: he was distracted, he'd asked to be detached to the Nite Owl because justice was so important. Karen tried to undress him; he told her he had a sprained back; he didn't say he wasn't interested because all he wanted to do was use her, make her do it with other women, recreate fuck book scenarios. His biggest lie: he didn't tell her that he'd fmally stepped in shit that didn't turn to clover, that he'd played an angle that played him back to the gas chamber door, that his home-to-Narco ticket read adios, lovebirds-- because she'd trace 10/24/47 to all his other lies and his carefully constructed nice-guy Big V would go down in flames.
He didn't tell her he was terrified. She didn't sense it--his front was still strong.
Other fronts holding--dumb luck.
Sid hadn't called, his monthly _Hush-Hush_ came on schedule-- no note, some 'sinuendo' on Max Peltz and teenage poon-- nothing scary. He checked the report on the Fleur-de-Lis shootout: bright boy Ed Exley caught the squeal. Exley baffled: no make on the drop-pad tenants, the shelves cleaned out--only some bondage shit left-- make the rest of the filth down the hidey-hole. Make Lamar Hinton for the shots--a free ride--the Big V was off the case, the Big V had a new mission.
Sid Hudgens knew Pierce Patchett and Fleur-de-Lis; Sid Hudgens knew the Malibu Rendezvous. Sid had a load of private dirt files stashed. The Big V's job: find _his_ file, destroy it.
Jack checked his plate list, names matched to DMV pics.
Seth David Krugliak, the owner of the Bel Air manse--fat, oily, a movie biz lawyer. Pierce Morehouse Patchett, Fleur-de-Lis Boss--Mr. Debonair. Charles Walker Champlain, investment banker--shaved head, goatee. Lynn Margaret Bracken, age twenty-nine--Veronica Lake. No criminal records.
'Hello, lad.'
Jack swiveled around. 'Dud, how are you? What brings you to Ad Vice?'
'A confab with Russ Millard, my colleague on the Nite Owl now. And on that topic, I heard you want in.'
'You heard right. Can you swing it?'
Smith passed him a mimeo sheet. 'I already have, lad. You're to join in the search for Coates' car. Every garage within the radiu3 on this page is to be checked--with or without the owner's consent. You're to begin immediately.'
A map carbon: southside L.A. in street grids. 'Lad, I need a personal favor.'
'Name it.'
'I want you to keep a tail on Bud White. He's gotten personally involved in the unfortunate killing of a child prostitute, and I need him stable. Will you stick to him nights, great tailer that you are?'
Bad Bud--always a sucker for strays. 'Sure, Dud. Where's he working out of?'
'77th Street Station. He's been assigned to roust jigaboos with sex offender records. He's on daywatch at 77th, and you'll be clocking in and out there as well.'
'Dud, you're a lifesaver.'
'Would you care to elaborate on that, lad?'
'No.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Memo:
'From: Chief Parker. To: Dep. Chief Green, Capt. R. Millard, Lt. D. Smith, Sgt. E. Exley. Conference: Chief's Office, 4:00 P.M., 4/23/53. Topic: Questioning of witness Inez Soto.' His father's note: 'She's wonderful and Ray Dieterling's much taken with her. But she's a material witness and a Mexican, and I advise you not to get too attached to her. And under no circumstances should you shack up with her. Cohabitation is against departmental regs and being with a Mexican woman could seriously stall your career.'
Parker kicked things off. 'Ed, the Nite Owl case is narrowing down to the Negroes in custody or some other colored gang. Now, word has it that you've gotten close to the Soto girl. Lieutenant Smith and I deem it imperative that she undergo questioning in order to clear up the time element, alibi or not alibi the three in custody, and identify the other men who assaulted her. We think pentothal is the best way to get results, and pentothal works best when a subject is at ease. We want you to convince Miss Soto to cooperate. She probably trusts you, so you'll have credibility.'
Inez post-Stensland: shell-shocked, hard-pressed to move to Arrowhead. 'Sir, I think all our evidence so far is circumstantial. I think we should get other corroboration before I approach Miss Soto, and I want to try questioning Coates, Jones and Fontaine again.'
Smith laughed. 'Lad, they refused to talk to you the other day, and now they have a pinko public defender who's advising them to stay mute. Ellis Loew wants a grand jury presentation--Nite Owl and Little Lindbergh--and you can facilitate it. Kid gloves has gotten us nowhere with our fair Miss Soto, and it's time we quit coddling her.'
Russ Millard: 'Lieutenant, I agree with Sergeant Exley. If we keep pressing on the southside, we'll turn rape witnesses and maybe find Coates' car and the murder weapons. My instincts tell me the girl's recollections of that night might be too muddled to do us any good, and if we make her remember, it might wreck her life more than it's been wrecked already. Can you picture Ellis Loew badgering her in front of the grand jury? Not very pretty, is it?'
Smith laughed--straight at Millard. 'Captain, you politicked very hard to share this command with me, and now you advance a sob sister sensibility. This is a brutal mass murder that requires a swift and hard resolution, not a sorority party. And Ellis Loew is a brilliant attorney and a compassionate man. I'm sure he would handle Miss Soto with care.'
Millard swallowed a pill, chased it with water. 'Ellis Loew is a headline-grubbing buffoon, not a policeman, and he should not be directing the thrust of this investigation.'
'Fair Captain, I deem that comment near seditious in its--'
Parker raised a hand. 'Gentlemen, enough. Thad, will you take Captain Millard and Lieutenant Smith down the hall and buy them coffee while I talk to the sergeant here?'
Green ushered the two outside. Parker said, 'Ed, Dudley's right.'
Ed kept quiet. Parker pointed to a stack of newspapers. 'The press and the public demand justice. We'll look very bad if we don't clear this up soon.'
'Sir, I know.'
'Do you care about the girl?'
'Yes.'
'You know that sooner or later she'll have to cooperatc?'
'Sir, don't underestimate her. She's steel inside.'
Parker smiled. 'Then let's see how much steel you possess. Convince her to cooperate, and if we get enough corroboration to convince Ellis Loew he's got a showstopper grand jury case, I'll jump you on the promotion list. You'll be a detective lieutenant immediately.'
'And a command?'
'Arnie Reddin retires next month. I'll give you the Hollywood detective squad.'
Ed tingled.
'Ed, you're thirty-one. Your father didn't make lieutenant until he was thirty-three.'
'I'll do it.'
CHAPTER THIRTY
Pervert patrol:
Cleotis Johnson, registered sex offender, pastor of the New Bethel Methodist Episcopal Church of Zion, had
