His pitch--canned. 'I heard how the Englekling brothers visited you up at McNeil, how they talked up Duke Cathcart's deal. I was thinking that you or Davey Goldman might have talked it up on the yard and word got out that way.'
Mickey said, 'Nix. Not possible, 'cause I never told Davey. True, I am well known for my cell business confabs, but not a soul on this earth did I tell. I told that guy Exley that when we sbmoozed on the topic years ago. And here's a bonus insight from the Mickster. It is my considered opinion that dirty books are a high-profit item worth killing innocent bystanders over only if an established high-profit market already exists. Give the fucking Nite Owl up, those shvartzes the hero kid bumped took the ticket and probably did the job anyway.'
Bud said, 'I don't think Duke Cathcart was killed at the Nite Owl. I think it was a guy impersonating him. I think the guy killed Cathcart, took over his identity and wound up at the Nite Owl. I was thinking the whole thing got started up at McNeil.'
Cohen rolled his eyes. 'Not with me it didn't, boychik, 'cause I told nobody, and I can't feature Pete and Bar stopping to spread the word out on the yard. Where'd this clown Cathcart live?'
'Silverlake.'
'Then dig up the Silverlake Hills. Maybe you'll find a nice vintage stiff.'
A flash--San Berdoo, Sue Lefferts' mother at her pad--eyes darting to a built-on room. 'Thanks, Mr. Cohen.'
Cohen said, 'Forget the fershtunkener Nite Owl.'
Cohen Junior took a bead on Bud's crotch.
o o o
San Bernardino, Hilda Leffertr. Last time she shoved him out pronto; this time he'd hit on the boyfriend: Susan Nancy was seen with a guy matching Duke Cathcart's description--press, intimidate.
A two-hour run. The San Berdoo Freeway would be working soon--cut the trip in half. Exley Senior to Junior: the coward knew about him and Inez, his look the other day spelled it plain. They were both biding their time. But if things fell his way he'd hit harder--Exley would _never_ tag him for the brains to hit smart.
Hilda Lefferts lived in a dump: a shingle shack with a cinder block add-on. Bud walked up, checked out the mailbox. Good intimidation stuff: Lockheed pension check, Social Security check, County Relief check. He pushed the buzzer.
The door opened a crack. Hilda Lefferts looked over the chain. 'Told you before, now I'll say it again. I'm not buying what you're selling, so let my poor daughter rest in peace.'
Bud fanned out the checks. 'County Relief told me to hold these back until you cooperate. No tickee, no washee.'
Hilda squealed; Bud popped the chain, walked in. Hilda backed away. 'Please. I need that money.'
Susan Nancy smiled down from four walls: vamp poses on a nightclub floor. Bud said, 'Come on, be nice, huh? You remember what I tried to ask you last time? Susan had a boyfriend here in San Berdoo right before she moved to L.A. You looked scared when I told you before, you look scared now. _Come on_. Five minutes on that and I'm gone. And nobody's gonna know.'
Hilda, eyeball circuits: the checks, the add-on room. 'Nobody?'
Bud forked over Lockheed. 'Nobody. Come on. I'll give you the other two after you tell me.'
Hilda spoke straight to her daughter--the picture by the door. 'Susie, you told me you met the man at a cocktail lounge and I told you I didn't approve. You said he was a nice man who'd paid his debt to society, but you wouldn't tell me his name. I saw you with him one day, and you called him Don or Dean or Dick or Dee, and he said, 'No, Duke. Get used to it.' Then I was out one day and old Mrs. Jensen next door saw you with the man here at the house and thought she heard a ruckus . . .'
Match it: 'debt to society' equals 'ex-con.' 'Did you ever learn the man's name?'
'No, I didn't. I . . .'
'Did Susan know two brothers named Englekling? They lived here in San Bernardino.'
Hilda squinted at the picture. 'Oh, Susie. No, I don't think I know that name.'
'Did Susan's boyfriend ever mention the name 'Duke Cathcart' or mention a pornography business?'
'No! Cathcart was the name of one of the dead people where Susie died, and Susie was a good girl who would never associate with filth!'
Bud forked over County Relief. 'Easy now. Tell me about the ruckus.'
Hilda, tears coming on. 'I came home the next day, and I thought I saw dried blood on the floor of the new den, I'd just had it built with the money from my husband's insurance policy. Susan and the man came back and acted nervous. The man crawled around under the house and called a Los Angeles phone number, then he and Susan Nancy left. A week later she was killed . . . and . . . I, well, I thought all that suspicious behavior meant the killings . . . I just thought of conspiracies and reprisals, and when that nice man who became such a hero came by a few days later with his background check, I just stayed quiet.'
Goose bumps: Susie Lefferts' boyfriend the Cathcart impersonator. 'The ruckus': the boyfriend kills Cathcart--probably in San Berdoo to talk to the Engleklings. Susie at the Nite Owl, scoping out some kind of meeting, the boyfriend playing Cathcart--which meant the killers never saw the real Cathcart face-to-face.
THE BOYFRIEND CRAWLING AROUND UNDER THE HOUSE.
Bud got the phone, the operator, an L.A. number: P.C. Bell police information. A clerk came on. 'Yes, who's requesting?'
'Sergeant W. White, LAPD. I'm in San Bernardino at RAnchview 04617. I need a list of all calls to Los Angeles from that number, say from March 20 to April 12, 1953. Got that?'
The clerk said, 'I copy.' Seconds, two minutes plus, the clerk back on. 'Three calls, Sergeant. April 2 and April 8, all to the same number, HO-21 118. That's a pay phone, the corner of Sunset and Las Palmas.'
Bud hung up. Phone booth calls a half mile from the Nite Owl; the deal or the meet worked out--extra cautious.
Hilda fretted Kleenex. Bud saw a flashlight on an end table. He grabbed it, ran with it.
Outside to the add-on, a foundation crawispace--one tight fit. Down, under, in.
Dirt, wood pilings, a long burlap sack up ahead. Smells: mothballs, rot. An elbow crawl to the bag-- mothballs and rot getting stronger. He poked the sack, saw a rat's nest explode.
All around him: rats blinded by light.
Bud ripped burlap. In with the flashlight, rats, a skull caked with gristle. Drop the flash, rip two-handed, rats and mothballs in his face. A huge rip, a bullet hole in the skull, a skeleton hand out a sleeve--'D.C.' on flannel.
He crawled out gulping air. Hilda Lefferts was right there. Her eyes said, 'Please God, not that.'
Clean air; clean daylight almost blinding. White light gave him the idea--his shiv at Exley.
A scandal mag leak. A guy at _Whisper_ owed him--a pinko rag, they bled for Commies and jigs and hated cops.
Hilda, about to shit her drawers. 'Was . . . there . . . anything under there?'
'Nothing but some rats. I want you to stay put, though. I'm gonna bring back some mugshots for you to look at.'
'May I have that last check?'
The envelope--flecked with rat droppings. 'Here. Compliments of Captain Ed Exley.'
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
A nice interrogation room-- no bolted-down chairs, no piss smell. Jack looked at Ed Exley. 'I knew I was in the shit, but I didn't think I rated the top dog.'
Exley: 'You're probably wondering why you haven't been suspended.'
Jack stretched. His uniform chafed--he hadn't worn it since 1945. Exley looked creepy--skinny, gray-haired, rimless glasses that made his eyes come off brutal. 'I was wondering. My guess is Ellis had seconds thoughts on the complaint he filed. Bad publicity and all that.'
Exley shook his head. 'Loew considers you a liability to his career and his marriage, and leaving that crime scene and assaulting that officer are enough in themselves to warrant a suspension and a dismissal.'
'Yeah? Then why haven't I been suspended?'
'Because for the moment I've interceded with Loew and Chief Parker. Any other questions?'
'Yeah, where's the tape recorder and the steno?'
'I didn't want them here.'
