The Times hit the street fifteen minutes later than usual. Thirty minutes after that, the radio stations were on the air with it. By 7:00 p.m., Riker and Dahlmus were wanted men. Before the news broke, Moriarity had roadblocks everywhere and the airport covered.
I had my own agenda. I called Culhane before the paper hit the streets and gave him the news.
I could hear a combination of relief and excitement in his tone.
Then I told him about Eddie Woods and his wife.
There was a long pause.
“I told you… Eddie would never kill a woman,” he said with a catch in his voice. “Did you find them?”
“Yeah.” And then I said, “I’m sorry, Brodie.”
“You ever sleep, Cowboy?” he said.
“It was Ski who came up with the answer,” I said. “But I still got some questions that need answering.”
“Such as?”
“Who was paying Wilma Thompson for going into hiding all those years?”
“That’s out of your bailiwick, isn’t it? You put a cap on your homicide. I’m sure the A.G. is going to be all over me, now that Riker’s frame is public knowledge.”
“They all tie together.”
“First things first,” he said. “You’ve got to nail Dahlmus and Riker.”
“We have roadblocks all over the place. On the highways, at the airport. We got pictures of Dahlmus spreading all over town. But the minute this is news, Riker’s going to turn rabbit, if he hasn’t already.”
There was silence on the line for a moment.
“Go on,” Culhane said.
“I’m betting Dahlmus is at Shuler’s Sanitarium right now, and that’s where Riker will head.”
“And then have a seaplane drop down in the morning and he’ll be on his way to Mexico,” said Culhane.
“We alerted the Coast Guard before we went public with this,” I said. “I don’t think he can take a chance on getting out of L.A. except by boat and going north.”
“So you think he’s headed for Mendosa,” he said flatly.
“It’s his safest bet at this point. I can get a judge to issue me a search warrant for Shuler’s. Want to back me up?”
“You better hurry.”
“I’ll be on my way as soon as I can get the paperwork.”
“I’ll take care of that,” he said. “Just get your ass up here.”
“How long would it take Riker to get up there by boat?”
“Three, four hours. I have friends in the Coast Guard from the old days. I’ll see if I can get a cutter to bottle up Mendosa.”
“We need Dahlmus alive, Brodie, to testify it was Riker who ordered Verna Wilensky’s murder.”
“I know that.”
“I’m on my way,” I said.
William Diehl
Eureka
CHAPTER 37
T he Pretty Maid rocks gently at the Santa Monica pier. The captain, a trim, deeply tanned, hard-looking man with graying hair, in a blue blazer, a T-shirt, and white pants, is sitting at the controls listening to the radio.
There are three others on the boat. One, slender, dressed in a gray suit, with a fedora cocked over one eye, looks like a ferret: narrow eyes, a long nose, thin lips. His name is Earl and he is definitely not dressed for boating. He is sitting on a deck chair and is as calm as a cat taking a nap. The second is dressed like a tourist from Ohio. Red slacks, a loud Hawaiian sports shirt with bright green palm trees, its tail hanging loose. He has red hair and is wired, moving around the deck of the boat snapping his fingers, impatient, singing under his breath.
The third one is a chubby man with a crew cut. Bulging eyes are constantly on the move in his round face. His tongue constantly licks dry lips. A gaudy tie is pulled down from a white shirt, sweat-stained under his arms and opened at the collar. His sports jacket is folded over one arm. He is holding a derby, his hands fingering the brim.
“Can’t you calm down?” he snaps at the red-haired clown.
“This is calm,” Leo snaps back. “You don’t wanna see me agitated. Henry, here, don’t wanna see me agitated, does he, Earl?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Earl shrugs. He fingers a cigarette but doesn’t light it.
“You’re making me nervous.”
“I ain’t what’s making you nervous, Henry.” He giggles and goes back to humming “Bye-Bye Blackbird.”
The captain looks down at Henry and says, “Why don’t you go below, Mr. Dahlmus. Get out of sight.”
“I get seasick easy. It’s too hot down there.”
“Well, you’re too visible up here. They’re giving your description every five minutes on the radio.”
“Popular, ain’tcha, Henry.” Leo chuckles.
The pudgy man turns and edges his way down into the cabin. He wipes sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve.
“Here he comes,” the captain’s harsh voice says, as a black limousine approaches the pier and stops. The man in the backseat gets out before the driver can come around and open the door. He walks up the gangplank, a man who swaggers when he walks, his shoulders bunched up.
“Let’s get outta here,” he says to the captain in a razor voice.
“Yes, sir.” The captain nods, and salutes with a forefinger.
The man turns to Leo.
“What are you so happy about?” he says to Leo.
Leo is taken aback. He shrugs. “You know,” he says with a tight smile.
“No, I don’t know. Sit down and relax.”
“Yes, sir.” Leo sits.
The cabin cruiser eases out of the bay toward open water.
The man with the tight shoulders climbs up on the bridge beside the captain.
“How are you, Jack?” he says, shaking hands with the captain.
“Doing okay, sir. Been a while.”
“Yeah, too long. You know what to do?”
“Yes, sir, just like the old days.”
“We got a situation.”
“I know. I been listening to the radio.”
“ Everybody in town is listening to the damn radio. Open this thing up as soon as you can and get us into deep water.”
“Done. We have to keep an eye out for the Coast Guard, Mr. Riker.”
“So I’ve been hearing.”
Riker goes below. Henry Dahlmus is sitting on a couch. He jumps up when Riker comes down the stairs.
“Hi, Arnie.”
“Don’t ‘Hi, Arnie’ me.”
“Jesus, Arnie, I…”
“You fucked up royally.”
“Aw, c’mon, Arnie.”
“Just shut up.”
Dahlmus shrinks into himself like a tortoise pulling into its shell. Riker goes to the bar and pours himself a drink. He sits down opposite Dahlmus, sips the drink, and stares across the cabin at the chubby man. Sits, sips, and stares as the radio drones on:
