by James Ellroy
"Jack, lower your voice."
"What is it, boss? The Senate or the statehouse?"
"Jack, it's not the time to discuss this."
"Sure it is. Tell true. You're gearing up for the '60 elections." Loew, on the QT. "All right, it's the Senate. I did have some favors to ask, but your current condition precludes my asking them. We'll talk when you're in better shape."
An audience now: the whole suite. "Come on, I'm dying to run bag for you. Who do I shake down first?"
"_Sergeant, lower your voice_."
Raise that voice. "Cocksucker, I shit where you breathe. I put Bill McPherson in the tank for you, I cold-cocked him and put him in bed with that colored girl, I fucking deserve to know who you want me to put the screws to next."
Loew, a hoarse whisper. "Vincennes, you're through."
Jack tossed gin in his face. "God, I fucking hope so."
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
". . . and we're more than the moral exemplars that Chief Parker spoke of the other day. We are the dividing line between the old police work and the new, the old system of promotion through patronage and enforcement through intimidation and a new emerging system: the elite police corps that impartially asserts its authority in the name of a stern and unbiased justice, that punishes its own with a stern moral vigor should they prove duplicitous to the higher moral standards an elite corps demands of its members. And, finally, we are the protectors of the public image of the Los Angeles Police Department. Know that when you read interdepartmental complaints filed against your brother officers and feel the urge to be forgiving. Know that when I assign you to investigate a man you once worked with and liked. Know that our business is stern, absolute justice, whatever the price."
Ed paused, looked at his men: twenty-two sergeants, two lieutenants. "Nuts and bolts now, gentlemen. Under my predecessor, Lieutenant Phillips and Lieutenant Stinson supervised field investigations autonomously. As of now, I will assume direct field command, with Lieutenant Phillips and Lieutenant Stinson serving as my execs on an alternating basis. Incoming complaints and information requests will be routed through my office first, I'll read the material and make my assignments accordingly. Sergeant Kleckner and Sergeant Fisk will serve as my personal assistants and will meet with me every morning at 0730. Lieutenant Stinson and Lieutenant Phillips, please meet me in my office in one hour to discuss my assuming command of your ongoing investigations. Gentlemen, you're dismissed."
The meeting dispersed in silence; the muster room emptied. Ed replayed his speech, hitting key phrases. "Absolute justice" hit with Inez Soto's voice.
Dump ashtrays, straighten chairs, tidy the bulletin board. Unfurl the flags by the lectern, check them for dust. Back to his speech, his father's voice: "Duplicitous to the higher moral standards an elite corps demands of its members." Two days ago, his speech would have been the truth. Inez Soto's speech made it a lie.
Flags, gold-fringed. Gold-plated opportunism: he killed those men out of a weak man's rage. As the Nite Owl killers they gave the rage meaning: absolute justice boldly taken. He twisted the meaning to support what the public was telling him: you're L.A.'s greatest hero, you're going to the top and beyond. Bud White's revenge, the man too stupid to grasp it: a simple cuckold accompanied by a woman's few words had him treading lies at the top, thrashing for a way to make his stale glory real.
Ed walked into his office: clean, neat--no order to secure. Complaint forms on his desk--he sat down, worked.
Jack Vincennes in big trouble.
1/3/58: while on a Surveillance Detail stakeout, Vincennes shot and killed two armed robbers--gunmen who had murdered three people at a southside market. Vincennes gave chase to a third gunman/robber, lost him, was approached by two patrolmen who did not know he was a police officer. The patrolmen fired at Vincennes, assuming him to be a member of the robbery gang; Vincennes dropped his gun and allowed himself to be frisked--then assaulted one of the officers and vacated the crime scene before Homicide and the coroner arrived. The third suspect remained at large; Vincennes went to a political gathering honoring D.A. Ellis Loew, his brother-in-law by marriage. Presumed to be drunk, he verbally abused Loew and threw a drink in his face--in full view of the guests.
Ed skimmed Vincennes' personnel file. A 5/58 pension securement date--goodbye, Trashcan Jack--you were close. Stacks of his Narcotics Squad reports: thorough, detailed to the point of being padded. Between the lines: Vincennes had a hard-on for minor dope violators--especially Hollywood celebrities and jazz musicians--substantiating an old rumor: he called _Hush-Hush_ Magazine to be in on his gravy rousts. Vincennes was transferred to Administrative Vice as part of the Bloody Christmas shake-up; another stack of reports: bookmaking and liquor infraction operations, no zeal, plenty of verbal padding. Ad Vice assignment into the spring of '53: Russ Millard commanding the division, a pornography investigation running concurrent with the Nite Owl. And a _big_ anomaly: assigned to trace smut, Vincennes repeatedly reported no leads, commented that the other men on the assignment were coming up empty, twice offered the opinion that the investigation should be dropped.
Antithetical Jack V. behavior.
Smut brushed shoulders with the Nite Owl.
Ed thought back.
The Englekling brothers, Duke Cathcart, Mickey Cohen. Smut dismissed as a viable Nite Owl lead--three dead Negroes, case closed.
Ed read the file again. Years of padded reports, one assignment bereft of paper. Vincennes returned to Narco in July '53--he went back to his old ways, continued them straight through to the end of his duty with Surveillance.
Big-time anomaly.
Coinciding with the Nite Owl.
Spring '53, another connection: Sid Hudgens was murdered then--unsolved. Ed hit the intercom.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Susan, find out who besides Sergeant John Vincennes was assigned to the Fourth Squad at Administrative Vice in April of 1953. Do that, then locate them."
o o o
A half hour for results. Sergeant George Henderson, Officer Thomas Kifka retired; Sergeant Lewis Stathis working Bunco. Ed called his C.O.; Stathis walked in ten minutes later.
A burly man--tall, stooped. Nervous--an I.A. bracing out of nowhere was a spooker. Ed pointed him to a chair. Stathis said, "Sir, this is about . . ."
"Sergeant, this has nothing to do with you. This has to do with an officer you worked Ad Vice with."
"Captain, my Ad Vice tour was years ago."
"I know, late '51 through the summer of '53. You transferred out just as I rotated in on my floater assignment. Sergeant, how closely did you work with Jack Vincennes?"
Stathis smiled. Ed said, "Why are you grinning?"
"Well, I read in the paper that Vincennes juked these two heist guys, and talk around the Bureau has it that he bugged out on the scene unannounced. That's a big infraction, so I was smiling 'cause it figured he'd be the Ad Vice guy you'd be interested in."
"I see. And did you work closely with him?"
Stathis shook his head. "Jack was strictly the single-o type. You know, the beat of a different drummer. Sometimes we worked the same general assignments, but that was it."
"Your squad worked a pornography investigation in the spring of'53, do you recall that?"
"Yeah, it was a colossal waste of time. Dirty skin books, a waste of time."
"You yourself reported no leads."
"Yeah, and neither did Trashcan or the other guys. Russ Millard got co-opted to that Nite Owl thing, and the skin book caper fell through."
"Do you recall Vincennes acting strangely during that time?"
"Not really. I remember he only showed up at the squadroom at odd times and that him and Russ Millard didn't like each other. Like I said, Vincennes was a loner. He didn't pal around with the guys on the squad."
"Do you recall Millard making specific queries of the squad when two printshop operators came forward with smut information?"
Stathis nodded. "Yeah, something to do with the Nite
Owl that didn't pan out. We all told old Russ that those skin books could not be traced hell or high water."
One hunch going dry. "Sergeant, the Department was running a fever with the Nite Owl back then. Can you recall how Vincennes reacted to it? Any little thing out of the ordinary?"
Stathis said, "Sir, can I be blunt?"
"Of course."
"Well, then I'll tell you that I always figured Vincennes was a cheap-shot cop on the take somehow. Put that aside, I remember he was sort of nervous around the time of the skin book job. On the Nite Owl, I'd say he was bored with it. He was in on the arrest of those colored guys, he was there when our guys found the car and the shotguns, and he still seemed bored by it."
Coming on again--no facts, just instincts. "Sergeant, think. Vincennes' behavior around the time of the Nite Owl and the pornography investigation. Anything out of the ordinary with him. _Think_."
Stathis shrugged. "Maybe one thing, but I don't think it amounts to--"
"Tell me anyway."
"Well, back then Vincennes had the cubicle next to mine, and sometimes I could hear him pretty good. I was at my desk and heard part of a conversation, him and Dudley Smith."
"And?"
"And Smith asked Vincennes to put a tail on Bud White. He said White'd gotten personally involved in a hooker homicide and he didn't want him doing nothing rash."
Skin pricldes. "What else did you hear?"
"I heard Vincennes agree, and the rest of it was garbled."
"This was during the Nite Owl investigation?"
"Yes, sir. Right in the middle of it."
"Sergeant, do you remember Sid Hudgens, the scandal sheet man, being killed around that time?"
"Yeah, an unsolved."
"Do you recall Vincennes talking about it?"
"No, but the rumor was that him and Hudgens were buddies."
Ed smiled. "Sergeant, thank you. This was off the record, but I don't want you to repeat our conversation. Do you understand?"
Stathis got up. "I won't, but I feel bad about Vincennes. I heard he's topping out his twenty in a few months. Maybe he vamoosed 'cause shooting those heist guys got to him."
Ed said, "Good day, Sergeant."
o o o
Something old, wrong.
Ed sat with his door open. Gold-braided flags just outside-- opportunities knocked.
Vmcennes might have dirt on Bud White.
Instincts: Trash running scared in the spring of '53.
Connect the "skin-book caper" to the Nite Owl.
Inez Soto's indictment--he killed three innocent men.
If he cut Vincennes a break on his l.A. investigation--
Ed hit the intercom. "Susan, get me District Attorney Loew."
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Mickey Cohen said, "I got my own problems to worry about. The fershtunkener Nite Owl case and fershtunkener dirty books I don't know from the Bible, another book I never read. That rebop bored me five years ago, now it is an even further distance from hunger. I got my own problems, such as look at my poor baby."
Bud looked. A raggedy-assed bulldog by the Mickster's fireplace--wheezing, his tail in a splint. Cohen said, "That is Mickey Cohen, Jr., my heir who is not long for this canine world. A bomb attempt in November he survived, though a goodly number of my Sy Devore suits did not. His poor tail has remained steadily infected and his appetite is dyspeptic. Cops resurrecting old grief is not good for his health."
"Mr. Cohen--"
"I like a man who addresses me with proper decorum. What did you say your name was again?"
"Sergeant White."
"Sergeant White then, I will tell you there is no end to the grief in my life. I am like Jesus your goy savior carrying the weight of the world on his back. Back in prison these fershtunkener goons attack me and my man Davey Goldman, Davey gets his brains scrambled, gets paroled and starts walking around in public with his shlong hanging out, it's big, I don't blame him for advertising, but the Beverly Hills cops ain't so enlightened and now he's doing ninety days observation at the Camarillo nut bin. As if that is not enough grief for your yiddisher Jesus to undergo, then feature that while I was in prison some colleagues looking after my interests were bumped off by persons unknown. And now my old boys won't form back together with me. My God, Kikey T., Lee Vachss, Johnny Stompanato--"
Kill the tirade. "I know Johnny Stomp."
Cohen hit the roof. "Ferstunkener Johnny, Judas from the best-selling Bible is his middle name! Lana Turner is his Jezebel and not his Mary Magdalene, his cock leads him to grovel for her like a dowsing rod. Granted, he is even better hung than Davey G., but my blessed Jesus I took him away from being a two-bit extortionist and made him my bodyguard, and now he refuses to re-enlist, he'd rather nosh grease at Kikey's fucking deli and hobnob with Deuce Perkins, who I have it on good authority plays hide the salami with members of the canine persuasion. Did you say your name was White?"
"That's right, Mr. Cohen."
"Wendell White? _Bud_ White?"
"That's me."
"Boychik, why didn't you tell me?"
Cohen Junior pissed in the fireplace. Bud said, "I didn't think you'd heard of me."
"Heard, shmeard, word gets out. Word is you're Dudley Smith's lad. Word is you and the Dudster and a couple of his other hard boys been keeping L.A. safe for democracy while this so-called crime drought's been going on. A motel in Gardena, a little blackjack work to the kidneys, va va va voom. Maybe now, maybe if I can get my old guys to quit noshing grease and associating with dog fuckers, I can get business going again. I should be nice to you so's you and the Dudster reciprocate. So what's with this Nite Owl rehash?"
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."