together. “The thing I like best is that you, the hotshot L.A. detective who’s been sucking up to Culhane, are going to get me sprung, prove that son of a bitch framed me, and end his run for governor. Who else but Culhane would be paying her five hundred a month to disappear?”
I made a fist and dug my fingernails into my palms to keep from doing something stupid.
“You know something, Riker?” I said, standing up. “The thought of scum like you having one day on the outside turns my stomach.”
“You’d better get busy,” he snapped. “My lawyer’s already on the case. It won’t look too good if he calls a press conference and tells all those newsies who Verna Wilensky was, especially if you knew all about it and didn’t do a goddamn thing.”
I took the ashtray but left the pack of cigarettes in front of him.
“You forgot your butts,” he said.
“They’re not my brand,” I said, rapping on the door.
Behind me, I heard him chuckling. “Thanks a lot, Sergeant. If you’re half as good as you think you are, I’ll be outside the walls suing everybody in sight before I need another pack.”
CHAPTER 32
I stopped at the first pay phone I saw when I left Wesco and dialed the general operator in San Pietro. When I asked for Dr. Tyler’s number, she informed me that he did not work on weekends.
“May I have his home number then?” I asked.
Pause.
“Is this an emergency?” she asked haughtily.
“Oh yes,” I said.
“What’s the name?”
I hesitated for a moment before I said, “Wilma Thompson. She can’t come to the phone right now.”
“Why not, is she in some distress?” the operator asked.
“Distress? Yes, definitely.”
“I’ll see if he’s available. What’s your number?”
“Can I hold?” I said. “I’m at a pay phone.”
“Well… alright.”
There was a long pause and then a man answered.
“Who is this anyway?” he said. He sounded younger than I imagined. And very annoyed.
“Dr. Tyler?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you but the operator was being overly protective. My name is Bannon, sir, I’m with the Los Angeles police.”
“What’s this about Wilma Thompson?”
“You were her dentist, weren’t you?”
Long pause again.
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t mean to be impertinent, but you don’t sound old enough. Perhaps I’m looking for your father.”
“My father doesn’t practice here any longer.”
“He may be able to help me in an investigation I’m working on,” I said. “It’s urgent that I talk to him. May I have his number?”
“How do I know you’re with the police?” he asked.
“Look, Doctor, I’ll make this easy. Will you have your father call central homicide in L.A.?” I gave him the number. “Tell him he can call and leave his number with the desk man and I’ll get back to him as soon as possible. My name is Bannon.” I spelled it for him.
I hung up before he could argue with me and invested another half dollar on a call to the desk. The day man was Pete Craig.
“Pete, this is Zeke Bannon.”
“Yes, sir, Sergeant.”
I told him I was expecting a call from a Dr. Tyler and he should confirm that I was a police detective, then get his number and address.
“Okay,” he said. “That was a helluva story this morning, Sarge.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I should be in radio range in about forty-five minutes. I’ll contact you then.”
“Right, sir.”
I hung up and headed down 101 toward the city. At 2:00 p.m. I was crossing the mountains into Santa Clarita and I raised Craig on the radio.
“Any luck?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. Dr. Tyler left the information. He lives in Santa Monica, off California on Seventh Street, just west of Lincoln Park.” He gave me Tyler’s phone number.
“Good work,” I said. “I’m heading there now.”
“Sergeant, Lieutenant Moriarity is looking for you big-time.”
“Is he there now?”
“No, sir. I’ll have him call you on the radio as soon as he gets back.”
“Thanks. Ten-four.”
By now, Moriarity probably had an APB out on me. I wanted to have as much evidence in hand as possible when he did reach me. I envisioned a hard time in his hot seat.
I headed straight for Dr. Tyler’s house instead of calling first, figuring a little charm and my ID would be harder to turn down than an impersonal phone call. Another thirty minutes and I was looking at street numbers. The house was a modest two-story stucco with a coral tiled roof and a flawless front lawn. The Saturday paper was on the front steps. I picked it up and rang the doorbell. A pretty woman in her late fifties opened the door.
“Hi,” I said cheerily, handing her the paper and showing her my best smile along with my credentials. “My name’s Bannon, L.A.P.D. Is Dr. Tyler in?”
“So you’re the mysterious Sergeant Bannon,” she said with a smile.
“Mysterious?”
“My son called us,” she said, stepping back and holding the door open for me. “He tends to be a little melodramatic, although I must say, invoking Wilma Thompson’s name raised my eyebrows. I’m Mary Tyler. I was Doc’s nurse when Wilma was his patient.”
“Then he did do some work on her?”
“Oh yes,” she said, leading me through the house. “A terrible man, Arnold Riker, had the gall to bring her into the office. He said she fell and hit her jaw on the car door. Wilma was terrified of him, but she finally admitted that Riker had beaten her up.”
“Did he pay for the work Dr. Tyler did?”
She nodded, then led me out the back door into the yard, a sprawling rose garden. The entire yard was ablaze in color, and the aroma, carried on a soft breeze, was intoxicating. Tyler was on his hands and knees in front of a rose bush, with a roll of tape in one hand, a small knife in the other, and a twig with a single pale mauve rose on it clasped between his teeth. He was using the knife to make a slit in the stem of the bush.
“Doc?” she called.
“Uh-huh,” he said without looking up from his work.
“That detective, Sergeant Bannon, is here.”
“Tell him to come on out,” he said without taking the twig from his mouth.
“Thanks,” I said to Mrs. Tyler, and made my way through the array of roses to his side.
“Hold this a minute, will you?” he asked, handing me a roll of tape, still without looking up. I watched as he trimmed the end of the twig to a flat edge, like the end of a screwdriver.
“I’m making a hybrid,” he said as he worked. “The main bush is the recipient. I’m grafting this cutting onto it,
