L.A. Confidential Part 35

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 f.u.c.king Nite Owl up, those shvartzes the hero kid b.u.mped 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 ident.i.ty 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 n.o.body, 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.

San Bernardino, Hilda Leffertr. Last time she shoved him out p.r.o.nto; 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 s.h.i.+ngle 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 n.o.body's gonna know."

Hilda, eyeball circuits: the checks, the add-on room. "n.o.body?"

Bud forked over Lockheed. "n.o.body. 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 c.o.c.ktail 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 d.i.c.k 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 p.o.r.nography business?"

"No! Cathcart was the name of one of the dead people where Susie died, and Susie was a good girl who would never a.s.sociate 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."

Goose b.u.mps: Susie Lefferts' boyfriend the Cathcart impersonator. "The ruckus": the boyfriend kills Cathcart--probably in San Berdoo to talk to the Engleklings. Susie at the Nite Owl, scoping out some kind of meeting, the boyfriend playing Cathcart--which meant the killers never saw the real Cathcart face-to-face.

THE BOYFRIEND CRAWLING AROUND UNDER THE HOUSE.

Bud got the phone, the operator, an L.A. number: P.C. Bell police information. A clerk came on. "Yes, who's requesting?"

"Sergeant W. White, LAPD. I'm in San Bernardino at RAnchview 04617. I need a list of all calls to Los Angeles from that number, say from March 20 to April 12, 1953. Got that?"

The clerk said, "I copy." Seconds, two minutes plus, the clerk back on. "Three calls, Sergeant. April 2 and April 8, all to the same number, HO-21 118. That's a pay phone, the corner of Sunset and Las Palmas."

Bud hung up. Phone booth calls a half mile from the Nite Owl; the deal or the meet worked out--extra cautious.

Hilda fretted Kleenex. Bud saw a flashlight on an end table. He grabbed it, ran with it.

Outside to the add-on, a foundation crawis.p.a.ce--one tight fit. Down, under, in.

Dirt, wood pilings, a long burlap sack up ahead. Smells: mothb.a.l.l.s, rot. An elbow crawl to the bag--mothb.a.l.l.s and rot getting stronger. He poked the sack, saw a rat's nest explode.

All around him: rats blinded by light.

Bud ripped burlap. In with the flashlight, rats, a skull caked with gristle. Drop the flash, rip two-handed, rats and mothb.a.l.l.s in his face. A huge rip, a bullet hole in the skull, a skeleton hand out a sleeve--"D.C." on flannel.

He crawled out gulping air. Hilda Lefferts was right there. Her eyes said, "Please G.o.d, not that."

Clean air; clean daylight almost blinding. White light gave him the idea--his s.h.i.+v at Exley.

A scandal mag leak. A guy at _Whisper_ owed him--a pinko rag, they bled for Commies and jigs and hated cops.

Hilda, about to s.h.i.+t her drawers. "Was . . . there . . . anything under there?"

"Nothing but some rats. I want you to stay put, though. I'm gonna bring back some mugshots for you to look at."

"May I have that last check?"

The envelope--flecked with rat droppings. "Here. Compliments of Captain Ed Exley."

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

A nice interrogation room-- no bolted-down chairs, no p.i.s.s smell. Jack looked at Ed Exley. "I knew I was in the s.h.i.+t, but I didn't think I rated the top dog."

Exley: "You're probably wondering why you haven't been suspended."

Jack stretched. His uniform chafed--he hadn't worn it since 1945. Exley looked creepy--skinny, gray-haired, rimless gla.s.ses that made his eyes come off brutal. "I was wondering. My guess is Ellis had seconds thoughts on the complaint he filed. Bad publicity and all that."

Exley shook his head. "Loew considers you a liability to his career and his marriage, and leaving that crime scene and a.s.saulting that officer are enough in themselves to warrant a suspension and a dismissal."

"Yeah? Then why haven't I been suspended?"

"Because for the moment I've interceded with Loew and Chief Parker. Any other questions?"

"Yeah, where's the tape recorder and the steno?"

"I didn't want them here."

Jack pulled his chair up. "Captain, what _do_ you want?"

"I'll throw that back at you. Do you want to flush your career down the toilet or would you like to skate for a few months and cash Out your twenty?"

Easy: Karen's face when he told her. "Okay, I'll play. Now what do you want?"

Exley leaned close. "In the spring of '53 your friend and business a.s.sociate Sid Hudgens was murdered and two detectives who worked the case under Russ Millard told me you referred to Hudgens as 'sc.u.m' and were visibly agitated on the morning his body was discovered. During this time frame Dudley Smith asked you to tail Bud White, and you agreed. During this time frame the Nite Owl case was active and you worked a p.o.r.nography investigation with Ad Vice and repeatedly submitted no-lead reports, when your long-standing procedure was to jam every report you wrote full of filler. During this time two men, Peter and Barter Englekling, came forward to offer state's evidence on an alleged p.o.r.nography link to the Nite Owl. Russ Millard queried you on it, you went along with your 'no leads' routine. Throughout the s.m.u.t investigation you repeatedly urged that the job be dropped. Those same two detectives, Sergeants Fisk and Kieckner, overheard you urging Ellis Loew to soft-pedal the Hudgens investigation, and one of your fellow Ad Vice officers recalls you as being atypically nervous throughout the s.m.u.t job and absent from the squadroom for unusually long periods of time. Put it all together for me, would you, Jack?"

Ten counts guilty--he knew he was gawking, blinking, twitching. "How . . . the . . . f.u.c.k did you . . ."

"It doesn't matter. Now let's hear your interpretation of what I want."

Jack caught some breath. "Okay, so I tailed Bud White. Dud was afraid he'd go apes.h.i.+t over some hooker snuff, 'cause White had that tendency where young stuff was concerned. Okay, so I tailed him and didn't pick up anything worth a d.a.m.n. You and White hate each other, everyone knows it. You figure someday he'll try to get you for your job on d.i.c.k Stensland and you'll cut me slack with Loew and Parker in exchange for some dirt on him. _Is that what you want?_"

"Call that twenty percent of it and give me something you learned about White."

"Such as?"

"How about him and women?"

"White likes women, but that's no news flash."

"IAD ran a personal on White after he pa.s.sed the sergeant's exam. The report had him seeing a woman named Lynn Bracken. Did White know her back in '53?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. I never heard that name."

"Vincennes, your face says you're a liar, but put the Bracken woman aside, she doesn't interest me. Was White seeing Inez Soto during the time you were tailing him?"

He almost laughed. "No, not while I had my tail on him. Is that what you're so worked up on? You think White and your--"

Exley raised a hand. "I'm not going to ask you if you killed Hudgens, I'm not going to make you put that spring together for me, not yet and maybe never. Just give me your opinion on something. You were up to your ears on the s.m.u.t job _and_ you worked the Nite Owl. Do you make the three Negroes for the killings?"

Jack inched back--get away from those eyes. "There's loose ends out there, I knew it then. If it wasn't the three you got, maybe it was some other spooks, maybe they knew where Coates hid his car and planted the shotguns. Maybe it's tied to the s.m.u.t. Do you care? Those n.i.g.g.e.rs raped your woman, so what you did was right. What's this about, Captain?"

Exley smiled. Jack pegged it: a man sticking one foot off a cliff, hopping on one leg. "Captain, what's this--"

"No, my motives are my business, and here's my first guess. Hudgens was connected to the s.m.u.t somehow, and he had a file on you. That's why you were all over that mess."

Quicksand. "Yeah, I did something really bad once. You know . . . s.h.i.+t, sometimes I think . . . sometimes I think I don't care who finds out anymore."

Exley stood up. "I've already squared the complaints against you. There'll be no trial board, no charges. Part of the agreement I made with Chief Parker is a stipulation that you voluntarily retire in May. I told him you'd agree, and I convinced him that you deserve a full pension. He didn't question my motives, and I don't want you to question them either."

Jack stood up. "And the trade?"

"If the Nite Owl ever goes wide, you and everything you know belong to me."

Jack stuck out his hand. "Jesus, you turned into a cold son of a b.i.t.c.h."

CALENDAR FEBRUARY--MARCH 1958

_Whisper_ Magazine, February 1958 issue:

WRONG MAN KILLED IN NITE OWL SLAUGHTER?

WEB OF MYSTERY SPREADS...

You remember the Nite Owl brouhaha, don't you? On April 14, 1953, three shotgun-toting killers entered the convivial Nite Owl Coffee Shop, just off Hollywood Boulevard in sunny Los Angeles, robbed and murdered three employees and three patrons and got away with an estimated three hundred scoots, which divided by six comes to about fifty bucks a life. The Los Angeles Police Department threw itself into the case with characteristic zeal, arrested three young Negro men on suspicion of committing the murders and also charged them with kidnapping and raping a young Mexican girl. The LAPD was not quite certain that the three Negroes--Raymond "Sugar Ray" Coates, Tyrone Jones and Leroy Fontaine--committed the Nite Owl killings, but they were sure that the young men were the rapists of Inez Soto, 21, a college student. The Nite Owl investigation continued, with much attendant publicity and great pressure on the LAPD to solve L.A.'s "Crime of the Century."

The LAPD pursued fruitless leads for two weeks, then discovered the murder weapons inside Ray Coates' car, stored in an abandoned South Los Angeles garage. Shortly after that, Coates, Jones and Fontaine escaped from the Hall of Justice Jail . .

Enter a young police detective: Sergeant Edmund J. Exley of the LAPD. World War II hero, UCLA grad, informant against his fellow cops in the 1951 "b.l.o.o.d.y Christmas" police brutality scandal and the son of construction mogul Preston Exley, the builder of Raymond Dieterling's mammoth Dream-a-Dreamland and the ma.s.sive Southern California freeway system. The plot thickens .