by James Ellroy
Governor Exley. Chief of Detectives Exley.
Ed thought of Lynn, tasted her, shuddered. A quick jump to Inez--a new line to utilize.
He drove to Laguna Beach.
o o o
The press, swarming: perched by their cars, playing cards on Ray Dieterling's lawn. Ed pulled around the block, walked up, sprinted.
They saw him, chased him. He made the door, slammed the knocker. The door opened--straight into Inez.
She slammed it, bolted it. Ed walked into the living room-- Dream-a-Dreamland smiled all around him.
Gimcracks, porcelain statues: Moochie, Danny, Scooter. Wall photos: Dieterling and crippled children. Canceled checks encased in plastic--six figures to fight kids' diseases.
"See, I've got company."
Ed turned to face her. "Thanks for letting me in."
"They've been treating you worse than me, so I figured I owed you."
She looked pale. "Thanks. And you know it'll pass, just like last time."
"Maybe. You look lousy, Exley."
"People keep telling me that."
"Then maybe it's true. Look, if you want to stay and talk awhile, fine, but please don't talk about Bud or all this _mierda_ that's going on."
"I wasn't planning on it, but small talk was never our forte."
She walked up. Ed embraced her; she grabbed his arms and pushed herself away. Ed tried a smile. "I saw some gray hairs. When you're my age you'll probably be as gray as I am. How's that for small talk?"
"Small, and I can do better. Preston's running for governor, unless his notorious son ruins his chances. I'm going to be his campaign coordinator."
"Governor Dad. Did he say I'd ruin his chances?"
"No, because he'd never say bad things about you. Just try to do what you can not to hurt him."
Reporters outside--Ed heard them laughing. "I don't want Father to be hurt either. And you can help me prevent it."
"How?"
"A favor. A favor between you and me, nobody else to know."
"What? Explain it."
"It's very complicated, and it involves Ray Dieterling. Do you know the name 'Pierce Patchett'?"
Inez shook her head. "No, who is he?"
"He's an investor of sorts, that's all I can tell you. I need you to use your access at Dream-a-Dreamland to check his financial connections to Dieterling. Check back to the late '20s, very quietly. Will you do that for me?"
"Exley, this sounds like police business. And what does it have to do with your father?"
Recoiling: doubting the man who formed him. "Father might be in some tax trouble. I need you to check Dieterling's financial records for mention of him."
"Bad trouble?"
"Yes."
"Check back to '50 or so? When they began planning for Dream-a-Dreamland?"
"No, go back to 1932. I know you've seen the books at Dieterling Productions, and I know you can do it."
"With explanations to follow?"
More recoil. "On Election Day. Come on, Inez. You love him almost as much as I do."
"All right. For your father."
"No other reason?"
"All right, for what you've done for me and the friends you gave me. And if that sounds cruel, I'm sorry."
A Moochie Mouse clock struck ten. Ed said, "I should go, I've got a meeting in L.A."
"Go out the back way. I think I still hear the vultures."
o o o
The recoil got squared driving back.
Call it standard elimination procedure:
If his father really did know Ray Dieterling during the time of the Atherton case, he had a valid reason for not revealing it, he was probably embarrassed at plumbing business deals with a man he once rubbed shoulders with in the process of a hellish murder investigation. Preston Exley believed that policemen striking friendships with influential civilians was inimical to the concept of impartial absolute justice, and if he fell short of his own standards it was understandable that he would not want the fact known.
Squared with love and respect.
Ed made the Dining Car early; the maître d' said his guest was waiting. He walked back to his favorite booth--a private nook behind the bar. Vincennes was there, holding a tape spool.
Ed sat down. "That's tape off a bug?"
Vincennes slid the spool over. "Yeah, filled with Mickey C. running off at the mouth on stuff that has nothing to do with the Nite Owl. Too bad, but I think we can put Davey down as a traitor to Mickey, and I think he must have heard the Engleklings offer Mick the Cathcart deal. He liked the sound of it and sent Van Gelder after Duke. And that's as far as I can take it."
The man looked shot. "Good work, Jack. Really, I mean it."
"Thanks, and that first name bit just went over large."
Ed picked up a menu, emptied his pockets underneath it. "It's midnight and I'm all out of subtlety."
"You're working up to something. What'd you get out of Bracken?"
"Nothing but lies. And you're right, Sergeant. The McNeil end is dead for now."
"So?"
"So tomorrow I'm hitting Patchett. I'm sealing l.A. off from Dudley and his men and bringing in Terry Lux, Chester Yorkin and every Patchett flunky that Fisk and Kleckner can find."
"Yeah, but what about Bracken and Patchett?"
Ed saw Lynn naked. "Bracken tried to buy out of your deposition. She snitched you on that escapade in Malibu, and I played her back on it."
Trash slammed his head down on two clenched fists. Ed said, "I told her you'd do anything to get the file back. I told her you still love dope and you're in hock to some bookies. You're up for a trial board and you want to crash Patchett's rackets."
Vincennes raised his head--pale, knuckle-gouged. "So tell me you'll square what's in the file."
Ed picked up his menu. Underneath: heroin, Benzedrine, a switchblade, a 9mm automatic. "You're going to shake Patchett down. He snorts heroin, so you offer him some. If you want some stuff to get your own juice up, you've got it. You're going after him to get your file back and to find out who made the blood smut and killed Hudgens. I'm working on a script, and you'll have it by tomorrow night. You're going to scare the shit out of Patchett and you're going to do whatever it takes to get what we both want. I know you can do it, so don't make me threaten you."
Vincennes smiled. He almost hit the chord--the old big-time Big V. "Suppose it goes bad?"
"Then kill him."
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Opium fumes banged his head; chink backtalk banged it worse: "Spade not here, my place have police sanction, I pay I pay!" Uncle Ace Kwan sent him to Fat Dewey Shin, who sent him to a string of dens on Alameda--Spade was there, but Spade was gone, "I pay! I pay!," try Uncle Minh, Uncle Chin, Uncle Chan. The Chinatown runaround, it took him hours to figure it out, a shuffle from enemy to enemy. Uncle Danny Tao pulled a shotgun; he took it away from him, blackjacked him, still couldn't force a snitch. Spade was there, Spade was gone--and if he took one more whiff of "0" he knew he'd curl up and die or start shooting. The punch line: he was shaking Chinatown for a man named Cooley.
Chinatown dead for now.
Bud called the D.A.'s Bureau, gave the squad whip his Perkins/Cooley leads; the man yawned along, signed off bored. Out to the Strip; the Cowboy Rhythm Band on stage, no Spade, nobody had seen him in a couple of days. Hillbilly clubs, local bars, night spots--no sightings of Donnell Clyde Cooley. 1:00 fucking A.M., no place to go but Lynn's--"Where _were_ you?" and a bed.
Rain came on--a downpour. Bud counted taillights to stay awake: red dots, hypnotizing. He made Nottingham Drive near gone--dizzy, numb in the limbs.
Lynn on her porch, watching the rain. Bud ran up; she held her arms out. He slipped, steadied himself with her body.
She stepped back. Bud said, "I was worried. I kept calling you last night before things got crazy."
"Crazy how?"
"The morning, it's too long a story for now. How did it--" Lynn touched his lips. "I told them things a
bout Pierce that you already know, and I've been getting misty with the rain and thinking about telling them more."
"More what?"
"I'm thinking that it's over with Pierce. In the morning, sweetie. Both our stories for breakfast."
Bud leaned on the porch rail. Lightning lit up the street--and dry tears on Lynn's face. "Honey, what is it? Is it Exley? Did he hardnose you?"
"It's Exley, but not what you're thinking. And I know why you hate him so much."
"What do you mean?"
"That he's just the opposite of all the good things you are. He's more like I am."
"I don't get it."
"Well, it's a credibility he has for being so calculating. I started out hating him because you do, then he made me realize some things about Pierce just by being who he is. He told me some things he didn't have to, and my own reactions surprised me."
More lightning--Lynn looked god-awful sad. Bud said, "For instance?"
"For instance Jack Vincennes is going crazy and has some kind of vendetta against Pierce. And I don't care half as much as I should."
"How did you get so friendly with Exley?"
Lynn laughed. "_In vino veritas_. You know, sweetie, you're thirty-nine years old and I keep waiting for you to get exhausted being who you are."
"I'm exhausted tonight."
"That's not what I meant."
Bud turned on the porch light. "You gonna tell me what happened with you and Exley?"
"We just talked."
Her makeup was tear streaked--it was the first time he'd seen her not beautiful. "So tell me about it."
"In the morning."
"No, now."
"Honey, I'm as tired as you are."
Her little half smile did it. "You slept with him."
Lynn looked away. Bud hit her--once, twice, three times. Lynn faced straight into the blows. Bud stopped when he saw he couldn't break her.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
IAD--packed.
Chester Yorkin, the Fleur-de-Lis delivery man, stashed in booth --1; in 2 and 3: Paula Brown and Lorraine Malvasi, Patchett whores--Ava Gardner, Rita Hayworth. Lamar Hinton, Bobby Inge, Christine Bergeron and son could not be located; ditto the smut posers--Fisk and Kleckner failed to make them from extensive mugbook prowls. In booth 4: Sharon Kostenza, real name Mary Alice Mertz, a plum off Vincennes' deposition-- the woman who once bailed Bobby Inge out of jail and paid a surety bond for Chris Bergeron. In booth 5: Dr. Terry Lux, his attorney--the great Jerry Geisler.
Ray Pinker standing by with counterdope--so far none of the new fish looked drugged.
Two officers guarding the squadroom--private interrogations--strict l.A. autonomy.
Kleckner and Fisk grilling Mertz and pseudo Ava--armed with deposition copies, smut photos, a case summary. Yorkin, Lux and phony Rita cooling their heels.
Ed worked in his office: draft three of Vincennes' script. A thought nagged him: if Lynn Bracken reported to Patchett in full, he would have yanked his people before the police could bring them in--the way Inge, Bergeron and son disappeared immediately pre--Nite Owl. Two possibles on that--she was playing an angle or their rutting had her confused and she was stalling to figure the upshot. Most likely the former--the woman cut her last confused breath at birth.
He could still taste her.
Ed drew lines on paper. Inez to check Dieterling connections to Patchett and his father--that thought still made him wince. Two l.A. men out looking for White--apprehend the bastard and break him. Billy Dieterling and Timmy Valburn to be questioned--kid gloves, they had prestige, juice. A line to the Hudgens kill and the Hudgens/Patchett "gig"--Vincennes' deposition stated that Hudgens' _Badge of Honor_ files were missing at the time of his death, anomalous, the show was a Hudgens fixation. The _Badge of Honor_ people were alibied for the murder--but another reading of the case file was in order.
Half his maze of cases read extortion.
Line to an outside issue--Dudley Smith, going crazy for a quick Darktown collar. Line to a rumor: Thad Green was going to take over the U.S. Border Patrol come May. A theoretical line: Parker would choose his new chief of detectives solely on the basis of the Nite Owl case--him or Smith. Dudley might send White back to break his autonomy; criss cross all lines to keep his case sealed.
Kleckner walked in. "Sir, the Mertz woman won't cooperate. All she'll say is that she lives under that Sharon Kostenza alias and that she makes bail for Patchett's people when they get arrested for outside charges. Nobody's ever been arrested working for him, we know that. She says she can't ID the people in the photos and she's mum on that extortion angle you told me to play up. She deadpanned the Nite Owl--and I believe her."
"Release her, I want her to go to Patchett and panic him. What did Duane get off Ava Gardner?"
Kleckner passed him a sheet of paper. "Lots. Here's the high points, and he's got the actual interview on tape."
"Good. You go soften up Yorkin for me. Bring him a beer and baby sit him."
Kleckner walked out smiling. Ed read Fisk's memo.
Witness Paula Brown 3/25/58
1. Witness revealed names of numerous P.P. call girl/male prostitute customers (specifics to follow in separate memo & on tape)
2. Could not ID people in photos (seems truthful on this)
3. Extortion hook got her talking
a. P.P. gave his girls/male prostitutes bonuses to get their customers to reveal intimate details of their lives
b. P.P. makes his prosts quit at 30 (apparent bee in his bonnet)
c. On in-home prostitution assignments, P.P. had prosts leave doors/windows open so men with cameras could take compromising photos. Prosts also made wax impressions of locks on certain rich casts doors
d. P.P. had famous (T. Lux obviously) plastic surgeon cut male/female prosts to look like movie stars and thus make more $
e. Male prosts extorted $ from married homosexual custs & split take with P.P.
f. Bored by Nite Owl quests (obviously has no guilty knowledge)
Astounding audacious perversion.
Ed hit sweatbox row, checked the mirrors. Fisk and phony Ava talking; Kleckner and Yorkin drinking beer. Terry Lux reading a magazine, Jerry Geisler fuming. Lorraine Malvasi alone in a cloud of smoke. Astounding audacious perversion--the woman had Rita Hayworth's face down to the bone, up to the hairdo from _Gilda_.
He opened the door. Rita/Lorraine stood up, sat down, lit a cigarette. Ed handed her Fisk's memo. "Please read this, Miss Malvasi."
She read, chewing lipstick. "So?"
"So do you confirm that or not?"
"So I'm entitled to a lawyer."
"Not for seventy-two hours."
"You can't hold me here that long."
"Caaant"--a bad New York accent. "Not here, but we can hold you at the Woman's Jail."
Lorraine bit at a nail, drew blood. "You caan't."
"Sure I can. Sharon Kostenza's in custody, so she can't make bail for you. Pierce Patchett is under surveillance and your friend Ava just spilled what you read there. She talked first, and all I want you to do is fill in some blanks."
A little sob. "I caan't."
"Why not?"
"Pierce has been too nice to--"
Cut her off. "Pierce is finished. Lynn Bracken turned state's on him. She's in protective custody, and I can go to her for the answers or save myseW the trouble and ask you."
"I caaan't."
"You can and you will."
"No, I caaan't."
"You'd better, because you're an accessory to eleven felonies in Paula Brown's statement alone. Are you afraid of the dykes at the jail?"
No answer.
"You should be, but the matrons are worse. Big husky bull daggers with nightsticks. You know what they do with those--"
"All right all right all right! All right I'll tell you!"
Ed took out a notepad, wrote "Chrono." Lorraine: "It's not Pierce's fault. This guy made him do it."
"What guy?"
"I don't kn
ow. Really, for real, I don't know."
"Chrono" underlined. "When did you start working for Patchett?"
"When I was twenty-one."
"Give me the year."
"1951."
"And he had Terry Lux perform surgery on you?"
"Yes! To make me more beautiful!"
"Easy now, please. Now a second ago you said that a guy--"
"I don't know who the guy is! I caan't tell you what I don't know!"
"Sssh, please. Now, you confirmed Paula Brown's statement and you said that a 'guy,' _whose identity you don't know_, coerced Patchett into the extortion plans detailed in that statement. Is that correct?"
Lorraine put out her cigarette, lit another one. "Yes. Extortion is like blackmail, right, so yes."
"When, Lorraine? Do you know _when_ 'this guy' approached Patchett?"
She counted on her fingers. "Five years ago, May."
"Chrono" hard underlined. "That's May of 1953?"
"Yeah, 'cause my father died that month. Pierce called us kids in and said we had to do it, he didn't want to, but this guy had him by the you-know-whats. He didn't say the guy's name and I don't think none of the other kids know it either."
"Chrono" one month post--Nite Owl. "Think fast, Lorraine. The Nite Owl massacre. Remember that?"
"What? Some people got shot, right?"
"Never mind. What else did Patchett tell you when he called you in?"
"Nothing."
"_Nothing_ else on Patchett and extortion? Remember, I'm not asking you if you did any of this. I'm not asking you to incriminate yourself."
"Well, maybe three months or so before that I heard Veronica--I mean Lynn--and Pierce talking. He said him and that scandal mag man who got killed later were gonna run this squeeze thing where Pierce would tell him about our clients' secret little . . - you know, fetishes, and the man would threaten the clients with being in _Hush-Hush_. You know, pay money or be in the scandal mag."
_Extortion theory validated_. An instinct: on some level Lynn was playing straight, she hadn't told Patchett to prepare--he never would have let these people come in. "Lorraine, did Sergeant Kieckner show you some pornographic pictures?"