an alibi for the night Inez Soto was kidnapped: he was in the 77th Street drunk tank. Davis Walter Bush, registered sex offender, alibied up by a half dozen wimesses: they were engaged in an all-night crap game in the rec room of the New Bethel Methodist Episcopal Church of Zion. Fleming Peter Hanley, registered sex offender, spent that night at Central Receiving: a drag queen bit his dick; a team of emergency room docs labored to save the organ so he could notch up a few more convictions for sodomy with mayhem.
Pervert patrol, a call to Eagle Rock Hospital: Dwight Gilette made it there. A skate: the swish didn't die on him.
Four more RSOs alibied; a run by the Hall of Justice Jail. Stens flying high on raisinjack--a jailer fixed him a toilet brew cocktail. Rants: Ed Exley, Danny Duck porking Ellis Loew.
Home, a shower, DMV checks: Pierce Patchett, Lynn Bracken. Calls--a pal working Internal Affairs, West Valley Station. Good results: no Gilette complaint, three men on the Kathy snuff.
Another shower--he could still smell the day on himself.
o o o
Bud drove to Brentwood: squeeze Pierce Morehouse Patchett, no criminal record--strange for a name in a pimp's whore book. 1184 Gretna Green, a big Spanish mansion: all pink, lots of tile.
He parked, walked up. Porch lights came on: soft focus on a man in a chair. He matched Patchett's DMV stats, looked shitloads younger than his DOB. 'Are you a police officer?'
His cuffs were hooked on his belt. 'Yeah. Are you Pierce Patchett?'
'I am. Are you soliciting for police charities? The last time, you people called at my office.'
Pinned eyes--maybe zoned on some kind of hop. Bodybuilder muscles, a tight shirt to show them off. An easy voice--he came on like he always sat in the dark waiting for cops to call. 'I'm a Homicide detective.'
'Oh? Who was killed and why do you think I can help you?'
'A girl named Kathy Janeway.'
'That's only half an answer, Mr.--?'
'It's Officer White.'
'Mr. White, then. Again, why do you think I can help you?'
Bud pulled up a chair. 'Did you know Kathy Janeway?'
'No, I did not. Did she claim to know me?'
'No. Where were you last night at midnight?'
'I was here, hosting a party. If push comes to shove, which I hope it won't, I'll supply you with a guest list. Why do you--'
Bud cut in: 'Delbert 'Duke' Cathcart.'
Patchctt sighed. 'I don't know him either. Mr. White--'
'Dwight Gilette, Lynn Bracken.'
A big smile. 'Yes, I know those people.'
'Yeah? Then keep going.'
'Now let me interrupt. Did one of them give you my name?'
'I shook down Gilette for his whore book. He tried to chew up the page that had your name and this Bracken woman's name on it. Patchett, why's a shit pimp have your phone number?'
Patchett leaned forward. 'Do you care about criminal matters peripheral to the Janeway killing?'
'No.'
'Then you wouldn't feel obliged to report them.'
The fucker had style. 'That's right.'
'Then listen closely, because I'll only say it once, and if it gets repeated I'll deny it. I run call girls. Lynn Bracken is one of them. I bought Lynn from Gilette a few years ago, and if Gilette tried to chew up my name it was because he knows that I hate and fear the police, and he thought--correctly--that I would squash him like a bug if I thought he put the police on to me. Now, I treat my girls very well. I have grown daughters myself, and I lost a baby girl to crib death. I do not like the thought of women being hurt and I frankly have a great deal of money to indulge my fancies. Did this Kathy Janeway girl die badly?'
Beaten to death, semen in the mouth, rectum, vagina. 'Yeah, very bad.'
'Then find her killer, Mr. White. Succeed, and I'll give you a handsome reward. If that goes against your moral grain, I'll donate the money to a police charity.'
'Thanks, but no thanks.'
'Against your code?'
'I don't have one. Tell me about Lynn Bracken. She street?'
'No, call. Gilette was ruining her with bad clients. I'm very selective who my girls truck with, by the way.'
'So you bought her off Gilette.'
'That's correct.'
'Why?'
Patchett smiled. 'Lynn looks very much like the actress Veronica Lake, and I needed her to fill out my little studio.'
'What 'little studio'?'
Patchett shook his head. 'No. I admire your intrusive style and I sense you're on your best behavior, but that's all I'll give you. I've cooperated, and if you persist I'll meet you with my attorney. Now, would you like Lynn Bracken's address? I doubt that she knows anything about the late Miss Janeway, but if you like I'll call her and tell her to cooperate.'
Bud pointed to the house. 'I got her address. You get this address running call girls?'
'I'm a financier. I have an advanced degree in chemistry, I worked as a pharmacist for several years and invested wisely. 'Entrepreneur' sums me up best, I think. And don't tweak me with criminal slang, Mr. White. Don't make me regret I leveled with you.'
Bud scoped him. Two to one he _was_ leveling, thought cops were bugs that leveling worked with sometimes. 'Okay, then I'll wrap it up.'
'Please do.'
Notebook out. 'You said Gilette was pimping Lynn Bracken, right?'
'I dislike the word 'pimp,' but yes.'
'Okay, were any of your other girls street-pimped, callpimped?'
'No, all my girls are either models or girls that I saved from general Hollywood heartbreak.'
Switcheroo. 'You don't read the papers too good, right?'
'Correct. I try to avoid bad news.'
'But you heard of the Nite Owl Massacre.'
'Yes, because I do not dwell in a cave.'
'That guy Duke Cathcart was one of the victims. He was a pimp, and lately a guy's been asking around about him, trying to get girls to do call jobs for him. Now Gilette street-pimped Kathy Janeway, and you know him. I'm thinking maybe you might do business with some other people who might give me a line on this guy.'
Patchett crossed his legs, stretched. 'So you think 'this guy' might have killed Kathy Janeway?'
'No, I don't think that.'
'Or you think he's behind that Nite Owl thing. I thought Negro youths were supposed to be the killers. What crime are you investigating, Mr. White?'
Bud gripped the chair--fabric ripped. Patchett put his hands up, palms out. 'The answer to your questions is no. Dwight Gilette is the only person of that breed I've ever dealt with. Low-level prostitution is not my field of expertise.'
'What about B&E?'
'B and E?'
'Breaking and entering. Cathcart's apartment was tossed, and the walls were wiped.'
Patchett shrugged. 'Mr. White, you're speaking in Sanskrit now. I simply don't know what you're talking about.'
'Yeah? Then what about smut? You know Gilette, Gilette sold you Lynn Bracken, Gilette sold Kathy Janeway to Cathcart. Cathcart was supposed to be starting up a smut biz.'
