by Bill Bernico
I started out early the next morning I drove up to San Quentin. It was at least an eight-hour drive and it would be late afternoon by the time I got there. I decided to get a room and hold off on the visit with Duncan until the next morning. I found a motel outside of San Francisco and checked in. The drive had drained me and all I wanted to do now was get some supper and turn in.
Mid morning the next day I drove to San Quentin and parked in the lot. I emptied my pockets at the check-in counter where they put my personal belongings in a manila envelope and labeled it with my name. A guard led me to the visitor’s room and I waited on one side of a long bench and table separated by glass. Each side had a phone handset hanging next to the window. I waited a minute or so until a guard led Lee Duncan into the room on the other side of the glass from me.
Duncan saw me sitting there with the phone in my hand and reluctantly sat across from me. I pointed to the phone on his side. He paused and then picked it up.
“Who the hell are you?” Duncan said, eyeing my suspiciously.
“My name’s Devlin, Claude Devlin,” I said, lying through my teeth.
“That supposed to mean something to me?” Duncan said sarcastically.
“Probably not,” I said. “But if you want to hear me out it could be worth your while.”
“Hear you out about what?”
I gave a half-hearted smile and said, “Look, you’re in here for one to fifteen for extortion and so far you’ve done one year and I don’t see anyone offering you a pardon or parole. My best guess is that they intend to keep you for the whole fifteen.”
“So who are you, the governor or something?” Duncan said, smirking. “You got a pardon in your pocket?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
“Not exactly,” Duncan echoed. “Well, what exactly do you have for me and why am I listening to you?”
“Suppose I could get you an early release,” I said. “You interested now?”
“Yeah? You and who else?”
“Me and the district attorney’s office.”
“And just who do I have to kill to get it?” Duncan leaned in closer to the glass.
I pulled the phone away from my mouth and cleared my throat. “No one. All we’re looking for is information, that’s all, just information.”
“Yeah, what kind of information?” Duncan said suspiciously.
“Information regarding Cletus McCormick,” I said.
“Forget it,” Duncan said adamantly. “I ain’t no stoolie. Go find yourself another pigeon.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Just hear me out before you decide to spend another fourteen years in here. If you co-operate I can guarantee you an early release.”
“And if I don’t?”
“If you don’t, I can simply let it leak in here that you did and I guess you know what your life expectancy would be then. You’d be dead before I got home tonight.”
Duncan mulled this over for a moment before speaking up. “And just what is this information you think I have that you think you need?”
“You get the paper in here?” I said.
Duncan nodded.
“You been following McCormick’s trial?”
Again the nod.
“Then you know he got away with murder.”
Duncan remained silent but kept the phone to his ear.
“Now you and I both know he did it and there are parties interested in seeing McCormick pay for those two murders.” I explained.
“Who are we talking about?” Duncan said.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” I said. “But it would be in your best interest to help us nail him.”
“Forget it,” Duncan said. “He can get at me in here any time he wants. How are you gonna protect me?”
“It’s called witness protection,” I said. “You’ve heard of the witness protection program, haven’t you? Well, along with your early release we could see to it that you got into the program with a new identity and relocated to someplace where no one can find you. We can even set you up with a job to get you started. After that, you’d be on your own. If you feel like leaving the country, by all means go, but that’s where your protection ends with us. Think about it, Duncan. In here, you’re dead whether you co-operate or not. On the outside you at least have a chance to walk away from it all and start over.”
Duncan paused, deep in thought, but it only took him a few seconds to come to the logical conclusion. “What do you want to know?”
“We need something that we can use to prosecute McCormick and send him away for good,” I explained. “We can’t touch him on the two murders that he was found not guilty of. Double jeopardy, you know. We need something else that will put him away for a long time. Think. There has to be something.”
Without missing a beat, Duncan whispered into the phone, “Those two murders, the ones he got away with, well, those weren’t his only two.”
“I’m listening,” I said back into the phone in a low voice.
“Do you remember a few years back when that security guard at the gun factory disappeared?” Duncan said.
I thought back and remembered something about a fifty-seven-year-old man who had apparently walked off the job one night never to be heard from again. His family searched for him for several months before giving up. Word around town was that he’d gone back east and blended into the seven million people in New York to get away from his wife. At least that was the story I’d heard.
“I remember,” I said. “Do you know where he went?”
Duncan nodded. “I know where he’s buried.” He smiled.
“And just how can we tie his murder to McCormick?” I said. “It has to be an airtight case or he might walk again. We can’t chance bringing him to court only to have him squirm out of it.”
“This one’s a cinch,” Duncan said. “I saw him shoot the guard and I know where he buried him. That airtight enough for you?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I had to admit, “That will do it. You willing to testify?”
Duncan shook his head violently. “No, no, not a chance. He’d kill me before I could get out of the courthouse.”
“All right,” I said, “What about the gun he shot the guard with? Does he still have it?”
“You bet,” Duncan said. “It’s his pride and joy. A silver-plated .45 with a pearl handle that he got from one of his buddies who brought it home from the war. Gave it to Duncan for a present. Funny, though.”
“What’s funny about it?” I said.
“The first guy he shot with it was the guy who gave it to him,” Duncan said. “How’s that for gratitude? Clete didn’t want anyone knowing about him owning that gun. It was going to be his clean piece, the one he’d use for everything. It would be untraceable. No serial number registered and no one would know were he got it or that he even had it. See?”
“And you’re sure he still has it?” I said.
“If he don’t, he’s dead,” Duncan said. “That’s the only way he’d part with it. It’s his baby.”
“So if we dig up the guard and compare the bullet with his .45 it’ll match?”
“Perfectly,” Duncan said.
For the first time I had more than a little hope of nailing Clete McCormick. “Great. Now where do we find this guard’s body?”
“Oh no,” Duncan said. “I’ll have to show you myself.”
“Sorry,” I said. “We’re not taking any chances with you. We’ll need to get the body first and then you get out.”
“Nothin’ doin’,” Duncan said. “What’s to keep you from double-crossin’ me after I tell you?”
“What do you have now?” I said.
Duncan thought about it. “Nothin’.”
“And if I get up and leave you here, what do you have?”
“Nothin’.”
“So if you tell me and we get the body and nail McCormick, what do you have?”
I could see his wheels turning while he thought it over.
&
nbsp; “Okay,” Duncan said. “I’ll tell you.”
After another fifteen minutes talking to Duncan, I had enough to go back to John Kellogg and start the wheels of justice in motion.
Before I hung up the phone again I told Duncan, “Now not a word of this agreement to anyone, understand? If word gets out before we can finalize the deal, you won’t live to see daylight.”
“Don’t worry,” Duncan said. “I can keep my mouth shut. You just make sure you get me outta here.”
“I’ll handle it,” I said and hung up the phone. The guard led Duncan out of the visitor’s room and back to his cell.
It was still not even noon and if I left right away, I could be home in time for supper tonight. I got back into L.A. around seven-thirty and drove straight home. Kellogg could wait until tomorrow for the good news.
I woke up the next morning with a sense of hope and the feeling that when all was said and done that the books would finally balance. John Kellogg was in when I stopped by his office. I filled him in on the conversation I’d had with Lee Duncan.
Kellogg frowned. “You didn’t have any authority to offer Duncan an early release or to tell him he could join the witness protection program.”
I smiled. “He doesn’t know that. In fact, he doesn’t even know my name. Well, at least not my real name.”
It registered with Kellogg a second later and a second after that we were both laughing. He slapped me on the back.
“You know Duncan’s just as big a sleaze as McCormick, don’t you?” Kellogg said.
“I gathered as much,” I said. “I guess that’s why I’m not going to lose any sleep over whatever happens to him behind bars.”
“His rap sheet is right up there with McCormick’s,” Kellogg said. “The extortion rap was just the tip of his criminal iceberg. We’d be doing society a favor to leak it to his friends inside that he ratted out McCormick. Could save the taxpayers a bundle.”
“I figured you’d see it that way,” I said.
Kellogg pointed his finger at me. “Now you know I have to stay out of this until the guard’s body is uncovered. You’ll have to find it and notify the police either anonymously or that you were working on a tip. But then you’d have to say where you got the tip. Better make it anonymous from a concerned citizen and tell them to run McCormick’s silver-plated .45 through ballistics. That should put the lid on this case once and for all.”
“I’ll check on Duncan’s tip and see if the guard’s body is where he says it is and replace the dirt before I call it in. Better yet, how about if I leave an unsigned note with the details? Then I don’t have to answer any questions.”
“Whatever you feel comfortable with,” Kellogg said. “Just as long as McCormick goes down for it.”
“I’m on it,” I said, rising from Kellogg’s chair.
“And you were never here,” Kellogg said. “We never had this conversation.”
I nodded in agreement. “You’ll be hearing from me.”
“No,” Kellogg said. “Don’t call or come here after today. And don’t send me a bill for your services. I’ll pay you out of my own pocket, in cash. We don’t want any paper trail to surface later. I’ll just be another interested party when the news breaks. Good luck, Matt.”
I left Kellogg’s office and drove home just long enough to grab a shovel from my garage. I threw it in the trunk of my car and drove to a remote area of Griffith Park. According to Duncan’s directions the body should be just a few yards ahead, down a worn path into the trees. I found the landmark Duncan had mentioned, a tree whose trunk twisted into an odd configuration and then stepped four paces to the south and began digging. According to Duncan it was a shallow grave, maybe two feet deep. After I’d removed eighteen inches of dirt my shovel hit something solid. I threw the shovel down and knelt next to the hole, removing more dirt with my hands.
My fingers brushed something hard and as I brushed away more dirt, I could see light glinting off a gold-colored badge that said Security on it. I brushed away more dirt above that and a face emerged. That was all the proof I needed. I replaced the dirt and spread dead leaves around, trying to make the area look undisturbed. When it looked acceptable, I gave the area one last look to make sure I hadn’t left any evidence that I’d been there, and returned to my car.
When I got home I put the shovel back in the garage and got back into my car. I had decided to notify the police by phone, but I didn’t want to use my home phone. Who knew if they’d be able to trace it? I drove to the nearest pay phone, dropped my nickel in the slot and folded my handkerchief over the mouthpiece. A man’s voice answered on the other end.
“Twelfth Precinct, Sergeant Mathers,” the voice said.
I lowered my voice half an octave. “You want to know where that gun factory security guard who disappeared a few years ago is? He’s buried in Griffith Park.” I gave the sergeant precise direction as to where to find the body and said, “And the gun that killed him is hanging under Cletus McCormick’s arm. It’s a silver-plated Army .45 with a pearl handle.”
“Who is this?” the sergeant asked.
I hung up the phone and drove away. Now all I could do was sit back and let nature take its course. Or in this case, let the police take their course. I drove back to my office and settled in for the afternoon. It took less than an hour for me to start getting antsy and I paced the floor, occasionally looking out my window down onto Hollywood Boulevard. I decided sitting too long just wouldn’t do and took the elevator downstairs to go get myself a hamburger and some coffee.
I sat in the diner eating slow so I could watch out the window and think about the events that were about to unfold. An hour passed and the place was beginning to fill up and I was getting dirty looks from people waiting for a table so I finished my coffee and got up. A couple immediately took possession of my table and picked up two menus. I decided to walk the boulevard for a while before returning to my office. I passed another pay phone and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I dropped my nickel and called the L.A. Times and asked for the city desk. A man with a gruff voice answered.
“City desk, Murphy,” the voice said.
“Yes,” I said. “Have you heard anything on the police beat about a body found in Griffith Park?”
I could hear him cover the mouthpiece and yell to someone in the city room before he got back to me.
“Nothing’s come across this desk,” he said. “Who did you say you were?”
I didn’t answer him, but instead added, “It’s the missing security guard and Cletus McCormick killed him. The police can verify it if you doubt me.”
I hung up the phone and walked back to my office. That ought to light a fire under someone’s ass, I thought. My office was just as vacant when I returned and I continued to sit patiently. It was closing in on three o’clock and I just couldn’t sit any longer without knowing anything and decided to pay Dan Hollister a visit at the twelfth precinct. I drove over there and parked in the lot behind the building.
Dan was in his office when I arrived. I poked my head in and knocked on the frame. “You busy?”
Hollister looked up, rolled his eyes and then gestured me in. I sat across from him and said nothing. After a few moments of silence he said, “Is this some new kind of game, Cooper? Called annoy the cop?”
“Nope,” I said. “It was just a bit dull at the office and I thought maybe I could scratch up a client down here. Got any leads for me?”
“Yeah,” Dan said. “I spend my entire day wondering if I can get leads for my local gumshoe. Are you kidding me? What do you really want?”
“Well,” I said, “if you can’t help me, I might as well leave.”
“You do that, Cooper,” Dan said. “Go find someone else to bother for a while, will you?”
I was just getting up to leave when the desk sergeant knocked and stuck his head in Hollister’s office.
“Looks like that tip was legit,” Sergeant Mathers said. “The guard was right where
the guy said he would be. They dug him up an hour ago and they should be wheeling him into Walsh’s office pretty soon. You might want to get down there right away.”
“What about McCormick?” Hollister said.
“They’re bringing him in now,” Mathers said.
“And the .45?”
“They got that, too,” Mathers said. “They’re running it through ballistics now. I’ll let you know what they find.” Mathers left as quickly as he had appeared.
“Sounds like something big going down,” I said.
Hollister said nothing at first and then said, “I thought you were just leaving, Cooper.”
“You don’t have to drop a ton of bricks on my head,” I said. “I know when I’m not welcomed. Catch you later, Dan.”
“Much later,” he said. “I’m busy.”
I left out the back door to the lot where I’d parked my car. The coroner’s wagon had just pulled up to the door and two attendants were wheeling a gurney out with a body bag on it. I guessed that by tomorrow at this time, the press would have gotten wind of these new events and shortly after that McCormick would be seeking council. My part in this dance was done. Justice had been served.
As for Lee Duncan, well, he’d have to wait a while for his release—thirteen years and eleven months, to be exact—if he lived that long.
23 - All In The Families
“Let’s see, three times thirty-five is a hundred and five. I’ll bet you a hundred and five thousand dollars that you go to sleep before I do.”
Humphrey Bogart’s Fred C. Dobbs sneered at Tim Holt’s character, Bob Curtin as he delivered that line. I watched with interest as the story unfolded in front of me up on the screen. Bogart was one of my favorite actors and I tried to see as many of his films as I could. I usually gravitated toward his detective rolls, like The Maltese Falcon or The Big Sleep but his grisly prospector role had me riveted nonetheless. This new film of his, Treasure of the Sierra Madre would go down as one of his best, I was sure of that. And when the 1948 Oscars rolled around later this year it would be a safe bet that the movie and its actors would be competing for the coveted gold statuette.