“I’ll see what I can do. ”
“You better. ”
“By the way. I found the real author. He has signed off and accepted payment. ”
“All for naught if this thing blows up in my face. ”
“I’ll fix it. ”
“You —”
“I said I’d fix it. Once I say that, all I require from you is silence. ” I hung up. I picked up the phone again and called the Captain. “I would like to visit your crime scene on Argyle. ”
“It’s the 2000 block. ”
“I know. ”
“Yeah I know you know, that’s why I bring it up. ”
“If I had had anything to do with it would I be wanting to come over?”
“Return to the scene of the crime?”
“What bad books have you been reading?”
“Just police procedure manuals. You know what? You’re not covered in any of them. ”
“I might be able to help. ”
There was a slight pause. “I’ll meet you there. ”
“I’ll be Jack Nichols. ”
“The independent forensic expert?”
“Yeah. ”
“Okay, he’ll do. ”
*
I showered, applied a wig that gave me very short brown hair of no particular style, applied a neatly trimmed mustache, then dressed in a pair of Sears polyester brown slacks, white shirt, large striped tie and a brown corduroy sports coat with leather elbow patches. I called the garage and told them to prepare the 1992 Chevy Cavalier. Then I went to the file room and got out the Jack Nichols driver’s license and employee card from Formosa Forensic Labs, Inc.
“Roee, call Petey and give him my thanks. Tell him the spiders were a delight. Then call up Marcel’s in Beverly Hills. Have Marcel send a basket with his best selection of bubble baths, bath oils, and anything else he thinks appropriate, to Anne Eisley. Have the card read—“
”Yes?”
“Well, I suppose, ‘Go soak your head. ’ would be appropriate, but hardly the tone I mean to set. How about, ‘Relax, the world is yours. ’ Unsigned, of course. ”
“Of course. ”
*
I drove very business-like to the 2000 block of Argyle. The Captain was already there and came up to greet me as I got out of the car.
“Jack, good of you to come. ”
He held out his hand and I shook it. “Captain. What do we have?”
“A rather grisly murder, I’m afraid. Be prepared. ”
I grabbed my forensic kit from the back seat and followed the Captain’s lead to Finch’s apartment. We were greeted at the door by a Lt. Johnson, a bulky man with the demeanor of a high school football coach on a losing streak. He was not happy when he saw the Captain. “What the hell is Internal Affairs doing here?” Johnson said both puffing out his chest and shrinking back at the same time.
“Oh, I was here before. You were on your break. This is Jack Nichols from Formosa Forensic. ”
“What the fuck is Formosa Forensic?”
“It’s an independent—note that word, Johnson—forensics lab. They have a contract with the city. ”
“Does this have anything to do with the fact that we have not been able to remove the deceased, or any part thereof?”
“Do you have the cold packs on?”
“Yeah. ”
“Then what is your concern?”
“I’m tired of stepping over the parts,” Lt. Johnson said as he entered the apartment.
Inside the world was dark red. Blood was everywhere. In pools on the floor with congealing skin surfaces; as splatter streaks and dots covering the walls; the computer; the television and video machine; the stacks of books and the piles of video cassettes, now all on the floor, the bookcases that had held them having been tipped over. Even the Murphy bed was soaked deeply in red.
“Pretty sight,” the Captain stated quietly.
“Someone recently told me that blood is pretty. ”
“Really?”
“Yeah. ”
“Well, I think I prefer a nice seascape. ” He pointed me to the doorjamb, and the ripped out area around the chain lock. “Forced entry, as you can see. So he wasn’t killed by a friendly visitor. ”
I didn’t quite know how to tell him that Finch himself, trying to get in after Roee and I had left the other night, had probably done the damage. I would eventually have to tell him, of course. But not right now.
“Come over here. ” The Captain said. “And watch where you’re stepping. Try to avoid the blood. ” The Captain moved to a corner and pulled off a heavy covering from a bulk shape. It was a nude human torso—only a torso. Viscera were spilling out of one end. The other end featured three raw sections where Finch’s two arms and head had been attached. There was a small, less than half an inch wound just slightly right of the center of the chest, and high where many people think the heart is, where they put their hand when the flag goes by. But the heart isn’t there, the aortic arch is. That accounted for the blood—it wasn’t a deathblow, the heart kept beating, pumping out blood through this hole in the dyke. Which brought up the question—was Finch dead when the dismemberment started? “Now over here. ” He moved to the bed and pulled off another covering. Two legs still attached to the pubic area, which was almost unidentifiable due to being solidly covered with dried blood, much of it matted in the pubic hair. “And over here. ” We went to the small kitchen area. The covering was on the floor. The Captain pulled it off, revealing Finch’s arms. Weirdly, the hands were clasped, as if in prayer.
“And the head?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. The head. ” The Captain walked to the bathroom. Inside it was almost pristine compared to the rest of the apartment, with only a trail of blood leading from the door to the toilet, upon which sat a covered lump. The Captain removed the cover. It was Finch’s head. Eyes open, hair a mess, his silly putty lips forming an angry expression, as if someone had just praised a movie he hated.
“Some kind of humor, huh?” Lt. Johnson said. “Putting the head in the head. ”
“Yeah. Bathroom humor. Always gets a laugh. ” The Captain covered the head. “See what you make of this. ” He led me back to the main room and focused a desk lamp on the wall where the bookcases had stood. There was a rather crude painting, done in blood, of the head of a devil sticking out his tongue. The tongue was in the form of a strip of film. “Now what the hell do you think that means?”
Lt. Johnson already had an opinion. “Obvious isn’t it? It’s the portrait of a film critic. That’s what this guy was. ”
“That’s a good guess,” I said speaking as I’ve always imagined Jack Nichols speaks when he lectures on forensics. “But as basically useless a function as film criticism is, and thus, as basically useless as a film critic is, eradicating one as a representative of the whole, in this particularly radical manner, seems—well—overkill. I think, rather, the image is meant to convey a more ideologically based point of view. For example, I would hazard a guess that the image means: Film is the tongue of the devil. A sentiment, that, um, I’m not completely sure I disagree with. ”
The Captain gave me a look. Then he moved the lamp back to its previous position. Something caught my eye as the light tracked across the room.
“Wait a minute. Shine the light over there, will you Captain?” He did so, shining the light into the corner I pointed to. Some very small flecks on the floor once again caught the light. I went over to them, kneeling down to get a closer look. I identified them immediately. And was shocked by what it meant. It made sense, but not as this scene was actually played.
“What is it?” Lt. Johnson asked.
“I don’t know. Little flakes of something silvery. Probably nothing. But I’ll take a sample to the lab. ”
“Did our boys find any of this?” The Captain asked Johnson.
“No. Despite this being Hollywood, we don’t usually look for glitter at a murder scene. ”
“Jack, we’ll ne
ed a sample too. ”
“Of course. ” I handed the Captain a small plastic tube containing some of the flakes.
“Johnson, excuse us for a minute,” The Captain said, gesturing Johnson out of the apartment. He wasn’t happy about it, but he went.
“Do you want to tell me about this?” The Captain held up the tube.
“I would rather analyze it first. ”
“Some new kind of dope?”
“No, I’m quite sure it’s nothing like that. ”
The Captain paused. I could tell he wanted to pursue the line, but I had been cooperative, I had given him a sample. He would also have it analyzed.
And if that did not shed any light, then he would be back at me like a pissed-off
Doberman. He decided to follow another line instead. “You were doing a fix for Paul Hinckley. ”
“That’s right. ”
“We haven’t arrested him. But he is our prime suspect. ”
“Now why would Paul Hinckley do something like this?”
“You were trying to buy this kid off. Over something called ‘V’. ”
“I give my clients the guarantee of confidentiality. ”
“You’re not a damn doctor and you’re not a damn lawyer. Hell, you’re not even a reporter. ”
“No. But I do try to be a man of my word, as antiquated a concept as that is. ”
The Captain frowned. Whether in agreement with the sense of what I had just said, or as a comment on my naiveté, I wasn’t sure. “Come look at this. ” He went over the Mac computer and hit a key. The computer had obviously been left on “sleep,” and there was the immediate display of a document. “This is a letter faxed to Hinckley over the modem. ”
I bent down to the screen and read.
You fucking shit, Hinckley! How dare you send that goon to buy me off?
“V” is mine! I was doing you a favor by asking you to direct it. Your career is not what we would call stellar. I’m the only one I know who even likes your films. Together we could have done great things. But you needed me, you bastard. Instead you try to treat me like some kind of an insect. You idiot! You just wait till I tell the world what you tried to do! You never thought you would hear this from the likes of me, did you? YOU’LL NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN!!”
“This is your case against Hinckley?” I asked.
“Listen to this. ” The Captain hit a switch on Finch’s answering machine.
“Finch, this is Paul Hinckley. If you ever—ever write me such a letter again, if you ever dare to threaten me again, I’ll come over there, slice your fucking balls off and fry them up for breakfast! Do you understand me you little, pathetic geek! I know the truth, Finch; I know that ‘V’ isn’t even yours anyway. You stole it yourself you pile of shit! And I have all the facts. I don’t ever—ever—ever want to hear from you again!”
“What do you think of that?” The Captain asked.
“He sounds angry. ”
“Yes. Now this. ” He called up another document in the computer. “Another fax from Finch to Hinckley. ”
Read the next issue of L. A. Week to Week,—and weep.
“Does Hinckley have an alibi?” I asked.
“Home in bed. Murder happened between eleven P. M. and one A. M. Wife and kid in the house, but asleep. He could have left while they were asleep, came over here, got back before they awoke. ”
“Are you going to get a search warrant? If he did this, there’s got to be some blood somewhere around him. ”
“We’re thinking about it. ”
“But?”
“If there was no attempt to make this murder seem like it was done by a new
Charlie Manson, we would have his ass downtown right now. But I personally don’t think Hinckley would have gone to this kind of trouble. The trouble he would have taken would have been to get rid of the letters to him in the computer, but there are a lot, not just these. And he certainly would have erased the answering machine. So maybe it is just a weird Hollywood murder by some cult that thinks movies are frying the brains of people in the skillet of hell. ”
“Captain. That was almost poetic. ”
“Yeah? Thanks. I’m taking a UCLA extension course in creative writing. ”
“There’s another point in Hinckley’s favor. ”
“What’s that?”
“Finch’s balls were one of the few things not sliced off. ”
*
We walked outside. Lt. Johnson was down in the courtyard with two white-coated representatives of the Coroner’s office.
“Pack him up,” The Captain ordered.
“Gee, thanks. Come on, guys. ” Johnson and the two white coats went up the stairs.
The Captain walked me to the Cavalier.
“Any neighborhood witnesses?” I asked.
“One old guy downstairs in Finch’s building said Finch and another man were arguing pretty heatedly around eleven. But he said Finch was always arguing with guests, usually about movies. The old guy said he was quite use to it, and, as he could turn down his hearing aid, he thought nothing more of it. ”
“So he heard no screams?”
“No, nothing like that. Just Finch ranting and raving. ”
“Who called the police?”
“Finch’s next door neighbor. Bartender. Returned home about 2:30 and slipped and took a big spill in front of Finch’s door. He slipped on blood. Fell against the door, which opened. Found the mess. ”
“So, despite your personal feelings, Hinckley has to be the prime suspect. ”
“That’s what Johnson thinks. I’ll hold him back as long as I can. ”
“Thanks. I need one other favor. ”
“Keep it out of the press?”
“Exactly. Especially any information about ‘V’. ”
“It may not be easy. ”
“I have confidence in you. Call me if any particular cop or reporter becomes a problem. I’ll take care of it from there. ”
*
I called Hinckley from the car on the drive home.
“What? Tell me. What do you know?”
“Well, you are the prime suspect. ”
“I didn’t do it Fixxer. God damn it! I swear to God I didn’t do it. ”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that. For a fact. ”
“You can prove somebody else did it?”
“I don’t really need to. All they have on you is circumstantial evidence. The worse you would go through is some pretty heavy questioning downtown—and the attendant embarrassment of the publicity. Assuming you can be embarrassed by publicity. ”
“What?”
“Never mind. I’ve put a stop to that. ”
“Okay. Okay, good. ”
“By the way. Why didn’t you tell me about the angry fax/answering machine exchange between you and Finch?”
“Oh—uh—well, you know, this morning I was pretty upset, and —. ”
“Don’t ever hold back information again. Understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. ”
“That exchange is the real damning evidence here. ”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. ”
“I’ve got a guy on the inside who will do his best to protect your position.
It may cost you. ”
“Oh, what the fuck? I’m into this thing a half a million as it is. ”
“Then I’m authorized… ”
“Spend what it takes. ”
“Okay. ”
“So, Fixxer, what was all this? Just a weird coincidence?”
“No. I’m convinced that you and I are—at least in part—responsible for Finch’s death. ”
“What?”
“Although I haven’t yet figured out just why that should be. ”
*
Finch had been a useless member of the human community. He produced nothing anyone was willing to pay for and, like it or not, producing something someone is willing to pay for is the mark of usefulness in human society. Whether it be th
e border crossing illegals who come up to pick the leafy vegetables we are no longer willing to stoop over for, or the comic with the guts to fight off flop sweat in order to make us laugh —something at least as nourishing as lettuce—those of us who can command a value for what we do are those with something to contribute to the tribe. Those who cannot command a value are of no use, and might as well be dead, for all the good they do. But to say that someone might as well be dead, a repugnant sentiment to many, is far from actually wishing—and light years from actually accomplishing—the death of such a useless entity. Dave Finch did not deserve to die. Useless or not, he did not deserve to have his remains so brutally violated. He deserved nothing more than the anonymity that was already his. I could not grieve for Finch. You cannot grieve for waste material. But I could be, and was, angry that somehow my passing by his orbit may have caused the perturbation of his death. To be the author of another person’s death is—the pun is unavoidable—a grave responsibility. It is a responsibility I have never welcomed, and one I have, of late, studiously avoided. But when mine; it is one I have never taken lightly. It was not that I was consumed with a desire to avenge Finch’s death—I was consumed with one to make it intelligible.
*
I returned home and immediately took the flakes I had found in Finch’s apartment into our lab. I handed Roee the tube. “Tell me if these are what I think they are. ”
Roee took the tube and prepared a slide. He put it into the microscope and brought the magnified image up on the screen. “Do you think they are fish scales?”
“That was my guess. Salmon, most likely. ”
“What does it mean?”
“It means you’re going to book us on the next flight to Portland. Pull some salesmen IDs for our persons, but also some Federal agent ID’s. Secure them in the Bag o’ Tricks. Let me go get rid of Jack Nichols. I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes. ”
We took a limo to the airport. I explained the scene at Finch’s apartment.
“Jesus!” Roee said. “I mean that in a most non-religious manner, of course. ”
“Of course. ”
“Could Craig York have done something like that?”
“I’m not sure Craig York could actually murder. And I’m positive he couldn’t murder in this manner. But he was there. I’m sure he was the visitor the downstairs neighbor heard Finch arguing with at eleven, most likely about Finch’s theft of ‘V’. But why, why was he that upset that he had to fly down to confront Finch? With Finch’s plan foiled and $250,000 in my pocket, I would be prone to let bygones be bygones”
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