by James Ellroy
White's notes: God-awful torture. "Just to talk to them? I know what happened there."
Awful pride glaring. "They took it for a shakedown. It went bad. They had some old smut negatives, and I tried to get them to ID the people. They had some heroin and some antipsychotic drugs. They said they knew a sugar daddy who was going to push some horse blend that would set the world on fire, but they could do better. They laughed at me, called me 'pops.' I got this notion that they had to know who made that smut. I don't know . . . I know I went crazy. I think I thought they killed all those children. I think I thought they'd hurt Preston somehow. Eddie, they _laughed_ at me. I figured they were dope pushers, I figured next to Preston they were nothing. And this old man took them both out."
He'd fretted the poster to shreds. "You killed two men for nothing."
"Not for nothing. For Preston. And I beg you not to tell him."
"Just another victim"--maybe the victim that justice lets slide.
"Eddie, he can't know. And he can't know that Paul Dieterling was innocent. Eddie, please."
Ed pushed him aside, walked through the house. His mother's tapestries made him think of Lynn. His old room made him think of Bud and Jack. The house felt filthy--bad money bought and paid for. He walked downstairs, saw his father in the doorway.
"Edmund?"
"I'm arresting you for the murder of Paul Dieterling. I'll be by in a few days to take you in."
The man did not budge an inch. "Paul Dieterling was a psychopathic killer who richly deserved the punishment I gave him."
"He was innocent. And it's Murder One either way." Not one flicker of remorse. Unbudging, unyielding, unflinching, intractable rectitude. "Edmund, you're quite disturbed at this moment."
Ed walked past him. His goodbye: "Goddamn you for the bad things you made me."
o o o
Downtown to the Dining Car: a bright place full of nice people. Gallaudet at the bar, sipping a martini. "Bad news on Dudley. You don't want to hear this."
"It can't be any worse than some other things I've heard today."
"Yeah? Well, Dudley's scot-free. Lana Turner's daughter just knifed Johnny Stompanato. D.O. fucking A. Fisk was staked out across the street and saw the meat wagon and the Beverly Hills P.D. take Johnny away. No Dudley witness, no Dudley evidence. Grand, lad."
Ed grabbed the martini, killed it. "Fuck Dudley sideways. I've got a shitload of Patchett's money for a bankroll, and I'll burn down that Irish cocksucker if it's the last fucking thing I ever do. Lad."
Gallaudet laughed. "May I make an observation, Inspector?"
"Sure."
"You sound more like Bud White every day."
CALENDAR
APRIL 1958
EXTRACT: L.A. _Times_, April 12:
GRAND JURY REVIEWS NITE OWL
EVIDENCE; DECLARES CASE CLOSED
Almost five years to the day after the crime, the City and County of Los Angeles bid official farewell to the Southland's "Crime of the Century," the infamous Nite Owl murder case.
On April 16, 1953, three gunmen entered the Nite Owl Coffee Shop on Hollywood Boulevard and shotgunned three employees and three patrons to death. Robbery was the assumed motive, and suspicion soon fell on three Negro youths, who were arrested on suspicion of the crime. The three: Raymond Coates, Tyrone Jones and Leroy Fontaine, escaped from jail and were killed resisting arrest. The three allegedly confessed to District Attorney Ellis Loew prior to their escape, and the case was assumed to have been solved.
Four years and ten months later, a San Quentin inmate, Otis John Shortell, came forward with information that led many to believe that the three youths were innocent of the Nite Owl killings. Shortell said that he was in the presence of Coates, Jones and Fontaine while they were engaged in the gang rape of a young woman, at the exact time of the coffee shop slaughter. Shortell's testimony, verified by lie detector tests, created a public clamor to reopen the case.
The clamor was fanned by the February 25 murders of Peter and Baxter Englekling. The brothers, convicted narcotics traffickers, were material witnesses to the 1953 Nite Owl investigation and asserted at that time that the killings originated from a web of intrigue involving pornography. The Englekling killings remain unsolved. In the words of Mann County Sheriff's Lieutenant Eugene Hatcher, "No leads at all. But we're still trying."
The Nite Owl case was reopened, and an involved pornography link was revealed. On March 27, wealthy investor Pierce Morehouse Patchett was shot and killed at his Brentwood home, and two days later police shot and killed Abraham Teitlebaum, 49, and Lee Peter Vachss, 44, his assumed slayers. Later that day the infamous "Blue Denim Massacre" occurred. Among the criminal dead: Burt Arthur "Deuce" Perkins, a nightclub singer with underworld ties. Teitlebaum, Vachss and Perkins were assumed to be the Nite Owl killers. LAPD Captain Dudley Smith elaborated.
"The Nite Owl killings derived from a grandly realized scheme to distribute heinous and souldestroying pornographic filth. Teitlebaum, Vachss and Perkins were attempting to kill Nite Owl patron Delbert 'Duke' Cathcart, an independent smut merchant, and take over Pierce Patchett's smut racket in the process. Alas, it was really one Dean Van Gelder, a criminal impersonating Cathcart, who was there in Cathcart's place. The Nite Owl murder case will go down as a testimony to the cruel caprices of fate, and I am glad that it has finally been resolved."
Then Captain, now Inspector Edmund Exley, credited with solving the Nite Owl reopening case, said that it has finally been resolved, despite rumors that a fourth conspirator died abruptly, just as he was about to be arrested. "That's nonsense," Exley said. "I gave the county grand jury a detailed brief on the case and testified extensively myself They accepted my findings. It's over."
At some great cost. LAPD Chief of Detectives Thad Green, soon to retire and assume command of the U.S. Border Patrol, said, "For sheer expense and the number of accumulated investigatory man-hours, the Nite Owl case has no equal. It was a once-in-a-lifetime case and the price for clearing it was very, very high."
EXTRACT: L.A. _Mirror-News_, April 15:
LOEW RESIGNATION A SHOCKER;
LEGAL CROWD BUZZES
Speculation in Southland legal circles rages: why did Los Angeles District Attorney Ellis Loew resign from office yesterday and scotch a brilliant political career? Loew, 49, announced his resignation at his regular weekly press conference, citing nervous exhaustion and a desire to return to private practice. Aides close to the man described the abrupt retirement as stupefyingly atypical. The D.A.'s Office is stunned: Ellis Loew appeared happy, fit and in perfect health.
Chief Criminal Prosecutor Robert Gallaudet told this reporter: "Look, I'm stunned, and I don't stun easily. What's Ellis' underlying motive? I don't know, ask him. And when the City Council appoints an interim D.A., I hope it's me."
After the shock waves subsided, plaudits rolled in. LAPD Chief William H. Parker described Loew as a "vigorous and fair-minded foe of criminals," and Parker's aide, Captain Dudley Smith, said, "We'll miss Ellis. He was a grand friend of justice." Governor Knight and Mayor Norris Poulson sent Loew telegrams asking him to reconsider his decision. Loew himself could not be reached for comment.
EXTRACT: L.A. _Herald-Express_, April 19:
DREAM-A-DREAMLAND SUICIDES: GRIEF,
BEWILDERMENT CONTINUE
They were found together at Dream-a-Dreamland, temporarily closed to mourn the death of a great man's son. Preston Exley, 64, former Los Angeles policeman, master builder and neophyte politician; Inez Soto, 28, publicity director at the world's most celebrated amusement complex and a key witness in the awful Nite Owl murder case. And Raymond Dieterling, 66, the father of modern animation, the genius who virtually created the cartoon art form, the man who built Dreama-Dreamland as a tribute to a child tragically lost. The world at large and Los Angeles in particular have expressed great grief and bewilderment.
They were found last week, together, on Dreama-Dreamland's Grand Promenade. There were no notes, but County C
oroner Frederic Newbarr quickly ruled out foul play and established the deaths as suicides. The means: all three had ingested fatal quantities of a rare antipsychotic drug. Expressions of grief greeted the news--President Eisenhower, Governor Knight and Senator William Knowland were among those who offered condolences to the loved ones of the three. Exley and Dieterling left fortunes: the building magnate willed his construction kingdom to his longtime aide Arthur De Spain and his $1 7-million financial estate to his son Edmund, a Los Angeles police officer. Dieterling left his more than vast holdings to a legal trust, with instructions to disperse the funds and future Dream-a-Dreamland profits among various children's charities. With the legalities taken care of and public shock and bereavement hardly abating, speculation into the motives for the suicides began to rage.
Miss Soto was romantically linked to Preston Exley's son Edmund and had been despondent over recent publicity pertaining to her involvement in the Nite Owl case. Raymond Dieterling was distraught over the recent murder of his son William. Preston Exley, however, had recently celebrated his greatest triumph, the completion of the Southern California mass freeway system, and had just announced his candidacy in the governor's race. A poll conducted shortly before his death showed him gaining and favored to win the Republican nomination. There seems to be no logical motive for the man to take his own life. Those closest to Preston Exley--Arthur De Spain and son Edmund-- have refused comment.
Letters of sympathy and floral tributes flood Dream-a-Dreamland and Preston Exley's Hancock Park home. Flags fly at half mast throughout the State of California. Hollywood grieves the loss of a moviemaking colossus. The single word "Why?" rests on millions of lips.
Preston Exley and Ray Dieterling were giants. Inez Soto was a spunky hard-luck girl who became their trusted aide and close friend. Before their deaths, all three added codicils to their wills, stating that they wished to be buried at sea together. Yesterday they were, summarily, with no religious service and no guests in attendance. The Dream-a-Dreamland security chief handled the arrangements and would not disclose the location where the bodies were laid to rest. The word "Why?" still rests on millions of lips.
Mayor Norris Poulson doesn't know why. But he does offer a fitting eulogy. "Very simply, these two men symbolized the fulfillment of a vision--Los Angeles as a place of enchantment and high-quality everyday life. More than anyone else, Raymond Dieterling and Preston Exley personified the grand and good dreams that have built this city."
PART FIVE
After You've Gone
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Ed in his dress blue uniform.
Parker smiled, pinned gold stars to his shoulders. "Deputy Chief Edmund Exley. Chief of Detectives, Los Angeles Police Department."
Applause, flashbulbs. Ed shook Parker's hand, checked the crowd. Politicos, Thad Green, Dudley Smith. Lynn at the back of the room.
More applause, a handshake line. Mayor Poulson, Gallaudet, Dudley.
"Lad, you have performed so grandly. I look forward to serving under you."
"Thank you, Captain. I'm sure we'll have a grand time together."
Dudley winked.
The City Council filed by; Parker led the crowd to refreshments. Lynn stayed in the doorway.
Ed walked over. Lynn said, "I can't believe it. I'm giving up a hotshot with seventeen million dollars for a cripple with a pension. Arizona, love. The air's good for pensioners and I know where everything is."
She'd aged the past month--beautiful to handsome. "When?"
"Right now, before I back down."
"Open your purse."
"What?"
"Just do it."
Lynn opened her purse--Ed dropped in a plastic bundle. "Spend it fast, it's bad money."
"How much?"
"Enough to buy Arizona. Where's White?"
"At the car."
"I'll walk you."
They skirted the party, took side stairs down. Lynn's Packard in the watch commander's space, a summons stuck to the windshield. Ed tore it up, checked the back seat.
Bud White. Braces on his legs, his head shaved and sutured. No splints on his hands--they looked strong. A wired-up mouth that made him look goofy.
Lynn stood a few feet away. White tried to smile, grimaced. Ed said, "I swear to you I'll get Dudley. I swear to you I'll do it."
White grabbed his hands, squeezed until they both winced. Ed said, "Thanks for the push."
A smile, a laugh--Bud forced them through wires. Ed touched his face. "You were my redemption."
Party noise upstairs--Dudley Smith laughing. Lynn said, "We should go now."
"Was I ever in the running?"
"Some men get the world, some men get ex-hookers and a trip to Arizona. You're in with the former, but my God I don't envy you the blood on your conscience."
Ed kissed her cheek. Lynn got in the car, rolled up the windows. Bud pressed his hands to the glass.
Ed touched his side, palms half the man's size. The car moved--Ed ran with it, hands against hands. A turn into traffic, a goodbye toot on the horn.
Gold stars. Alone with his dead.