L.A. Confidential Part 40

"Does Pierce Patchett suborn women into prost.i.tution?"

"Yes."

"Who killed the six people at the Nite Owl Coffee Shop in April 1953?"

"I don't know."

"Does Pierce Patchett sell a variety of illegal items through a service known as Fleur-de-Lis?"

"I don't know."

A huge lie. Hink on her face: veins pulsing.

Exley: "Does Dr. Terry Lux perform plastic surgery on Patchett's prost.i.tutes in order to increase their resemblance to movie stars?"

Veins smoothing out. "Yes."

"Is Patchett in fact a long-term procurer of expensive call girls?"

"Yes."

"Did Patchett distribute expensive and artfully produced p.o.r.nography during the spring of 1953?"

"I don't know."

White knuckles. Jack grabbed a notepad, wrote: "Patchett a chem whiz. L.B.'s lying & I think she's on dope to counter pentothal. Get blood sample."

"Miss Bracken, does--"

Jack pa.s.sed the note. Exley scanned it, pa.s.sed it to Pinker. Pinker fixed up a spike.

"Miss Bracken, does Patchett possess secret files stolen from Sid Hudgens?"

"I don't kn--"

Pinker grabbed Lynn's arm, fed the needle. Lynn jerked up; Exley grabbed her. Pinker pulled out the spike; Exley pinned Lynn to his desk. She thrashed and kicked--Fisk got behind her and cuffed her. Spitting now--she caught Exley in the face. Fisk wrestled her out to the hall.

Exley wiped his face--red, mottled. "I wasn't sure myself. I thought she might have been confused."

Jack handed him _Whisper_. "I knew how she should answer better than you. Captain, you should see this."

Scary: that red face, those eyes. Exley read the piece, tore the rag in half. "White did this. You go up to San Bernardino and talk to Sue Lefferts' mother. I'm going to break that wh.o.r.e."

San Berdoo in an uproar: Exley breaking that wh.o.r.e as a slide show. "Hilda Lefferts" in the phone book, directions, the house: white s.h.i.+ngles, a cinderblock add-on.

A granny type watering the lawn. Jack parked, taped up the rip job on _Whisper_. The old girl saw him and rabbited--a run for the door.

He ran over. She squealed, "Let my Susie rest in peace!"

Jack shoved _Whisper_ in her face. "An L.A. policeman talked to you, right? Big man about forty? You told him your daughter had a boyfriend who looked like Duke Cathcart right before the Nite Owl. He told her 'get used to calling me "Duke."' The policeman showed you mugshots and you couldn't make the boyfriend. Is this true? You read this and tell me."

She read, fast, squinting away sunlight. "But he said he was a policeman, not a private detective. Those were police-type pictures he showed me, and it wasn't my fault that I couldn't identify Susie's beau. And I want to go on record as stating that Susie was a virgin when she died."

"Ma'am, I'm sure she was--"

"And I want it to go on record that that policeman or whatever checked underneath the new wing on my house and found not a thing amiss. Young man, you're a policeman, aren't you?"

Jack shook his head--it felt sludgy. "Lady, what are you teffing me?"

"I'm telling you that Mr. Private Eye Policeman or whatever crawled around under my house two months or so ago, because I told him Susan Nancy's beau did the same thing right after this ruckus they had with this other fellow right before that Nite Owl thing that you people keep tormenting me over, may Susie and the other victims rest in peace. All he found were rodents, not signs of foul play, so there."

So there.

Granny pointed to a crawls.p.a.ce flush with the ground--so there.

It f.u.c.king could not be. Bud White did not have the brains to let a card that strong sit.

Jack took a flashlight down under--Hilda Lefferts stood watching, so there. Dust, rot, mothball stink--light on dirt, rats, rat eyes glowing. Burlap, mothb.a.l.l.s, gristle-caked bones, a skull with a hole between the eyes.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Ed watched Lynn Bracken through the two-way.

Kleckner was questioning her, a nice guy set-up for Mr. Bad Guy--himself. She'd been repentothaled; Ray Pinker was testing her blood. Three hours in a cell hadn't broken her--she was still lying with style.

Ed turned the speaker up. Kleckner: "I'm not saying that I don't believe you, I'm just saying my policeman's experience has shown me that pimps usually hate women, so I don't buy Patchett as such a philanthropist."

"You have to look at his background, how he lost a little girl to crib death. I'm sure your policeman's mentality can grasp the cause and effect, even if you can't accept it."

"Let's talk about his background then. You've described Patchett as a fmancier with L.A. roots going back thirty years. You've said that he puts deals together, so be specific about the deals."

Lynn sighed--pure panache. "Movie financing deals, real estate and contracting deals. Here's one for all you movie fans in the audience: Pierce told me he'd financed a few of Raymond Dieterling's early shorts."

Cozy: Bud White's girlfriend's pimp knew Preston Exley's good buddy. Kleckner changed tape. Ed studied the wh.o.r.e.

Beautiful--a good part of it hung on the fact that she wasn't perfect. Her nose was too pointed; she had crease lines on her forehead. Big shoulders, big hands--beautifully formed, all the more stunning for being large. Blue eyes that probably danced when a man said the right thing; she probably thought Bud White had primitive integrity and respected him for not trying to impress her with gifts he didn't have. She kept her clothing subtle because she knew it would make more of an impression on the people she wanted to impress; she thought most men were weak and trusted her brains to slide her through anything. Suppositions leading up to a hunch: couple her brains with the counterdope in her system and you got a pentothal-immune witness dissembling with impunity--and style.

"Captain, you got a call. It's Vincennes."

Fisk had his phone, stretched to the end of the cord. Ed took it. "Vincennes?"

"Yeah, and listen close, 'cause that scandal sheet story was kosher and there's lots more."

"White?"

"Yeah, White was that phony P.I., and he braced old lady Lefferts two months or so ago. She told him that story of her daughter's boyfriend who looked like Duke Cathcart and another doozie."

"_What?_"

"Just listen. A couple weeks before the Nite Owl, a neighbor saw Susie and the boyfriend alone at the house and heard them get into a ruckus with another guy. The boyfriend was seen crawling around under the house later that same day. Now, when White braced the old lady, he called P.C. Bell and checked their records for toll calls from the house to L.A. mid-March to mid-April '53. I did the same thing and got three tollers, all to a pay phone in Hollywood near the Nite Owl. Now, you think that's hot, you--"

"G.o.ddammit--"

"Captain, _listen_. White crawled around under the house and told granny there was nothing there. I went under and found a stiff, wrapped in mothb.a.l.l.s to kill the stink and a f.u.c.king bullet hole in the head. I got Doc Layman up to San Berdoo. He brought Duke Carthcart's prison dental file, the Coroner's Office copy. It was a perfect match. The first ID was bogus, off a partial plate, just like that article said. f.u.c.k, I can't believe White put all this together and just left the stiff there. Captain, you there?"

Ed grabbed Fisk. "Where's Bud White?"

Fisk looked scared. "I heard he went up north with Dudley Smith. The Mann Sheriff's decided to kick loose on the Engleklings."

Back to Trashcan. "That article said the woman saw some mugs."

"Yeah, White brought back some shots marked 'State Records Bureau.' Now we both know the state sets run light, so my guess is White didn't want to bring her down here to check our books. Anyway, she couldn't ID the boyfriend, and if the boyfriend was one of the Nite Owl stiffs we'll have him, 'cause Nort Layman took prison dental plate fragments out of his head back in '53. Bring her down? Show her our books?"

"Do it."

Fisk took the phone. Ray Pinker walked up, holding a chem sheet. "Prestilphyozine, Captain. It's an extremely rare experimental antipsychotic drug used to tranquilize violent mental patients. Somebody professional slipped it to our lady friend, because only a pro would know this breed of phyozine would be likely to counteract penthothal. Skipper, you should sit down, you look like you're about to have a coronary."

Chemistry whiz Patchett; the Englekling brothers' father: a themist who developed antipsychotic compounds. Bud White's wh.o.r.e across the gla.s.s--alone now, a tape recorder spinning.

Ed walked in. Lynn said, "You again?"

"That's right."

"Don't you have to charge me or release me?"

"Not for another sixty-eight hours."

"Aren't you violating my const.i.tutional rights?"

"Const.i.tutional rights have been waived for this one."

"_This one?_"

"Don't play dumb. This one is Pierce Patchett distributing p.o.r.nography, including picture-book photographs that exactly match the mutilations on a murder victim, namely his late 'partner' Sid Hudgens. This one is one of the supposed Nite Owl victims tied in to a conspiracy to distribute that p.o.r.nography and your friend Bud White withholding major evidence on who the real victim was. Now, White told you to cooperate and you came here under the influence of a drug to counteract penthothal. That's against you, but you can still save yourself _and White_ a lot of trouble by cooperating."

"Bud can look after himself. And you look terrible. Your face is all red."

Ed sat down, turned off the tape. "You don't even feel the dosage, do you?"

"I feel like I've had four martinis, and four martinis just make me that much more lucid."

"Patchett sent you in without a lawyer to buy time, I know it. He knows you were called in as part of the Nite Owl reopening, so he knows he's a material witness at least. Personally, I don't see him as a killer. I know a great deal about Patchett's various enterprises, and you can save him a great deal of trouble by cooperating with me."

Lynn smiled. "Bud said you were quite smart."

"What else did he say?"

"That you were a weak, angry man competing with your father."

Let it pa.s.s. "Then let's concentrate on my smarts. Patchett is a chemist, and it may be reaching, but I'm betting he studied under Franz Englekling, a pharmacologist who developed drugs such as the antipsychotic compound Patchett put you under to beat the pentothal. Englekling had two sons, who were murdered in Northern California last month. Those two men came forward during the base Nite Owl investigation and mentioned a quote crazy sugar daddy-o unquote who had access to lots of quote high-cla.s.s call girls unquote. Obviously Patchett, obviously tied to a would-be s.m.u.t merchant named Duke Cathcart, one of the alleged Nite Owl victims. Obviously Patchett is all over this thing and in for some trouble he doesn't need and you can help circ.u.mvent."

Lynn lit a cigarette. "So you're very, very smart."

"Yes, and I'm a very good detective with a five-year backlog of withheld evidence to work from. I know about your file-burning episode, I know about Patchett's proposed extortion plan with Hudgens. I've read the deposition Vincennes bargained you with and I know all about Patchett's various enterprises, including Fleur-de-Lis."

"So you're a.s.suming that Pierce has some very damaging information on Vincennes."

"Yes, which the district attorney and I will quash in the interest of protecting the reputation of the Los Angeles Police Department."

Fl.u.s.ter: Lynn dropped her cigarette, fumbled her lighter. Ed said, "You and Patchett can't win. I've got twelve days to square this thing right, and if I can't do it I'm going to start looking for subsidiary indictments. There's at least a dozen I can hang on Patchett, and believe me if I don't make this case I'll do anything I can to make myself look good."

Lynn stared at him. Ed stared back. "Patchett made you, didn't he? You were a pom-pom girl from Bisbee, Arizona, and a wh.o.r.e. He taught you how to dress and talk and think, and I am very impressed with the results. But I've got twelve days to keep my life out of the toilet, and if I can't do it I'm going to take you and Patchett down."

Lynn turned on the tape player. "Pierce Patchett's wh.o.r.e for the record. I'm not afraid of you and I've never loved Bud White more. It makes me happy that he withheld evidence and got the better of you, and you're a fool for underestimating him. I used to be jealous of him sleeping with Inez Soto, but now I respect the poor girl's good sense in leaving a moral coward for a man."

Ed pressed "Erase," "Stop," "Start." "For the record, sixtyseven hours to go and my next interrogation won't be so cordial."

Kleckner opened the door, pa.s.sed him a folder. "Captain, Vincennes brought the Lefferts woman in. They're checking out mugs, and he said you wanted these."

Ed stepped outside. A thick folder--glossy-paper s.m.u.t.

The top books: pretty kids, explicit action, colorful costumes. Some of the heads had been cropped and taped back on--per the deposition--Jack tried to ID the posers from mugshots and thought cropping would facilitate the effort. Ugly/arty stuff-- just like Trashcan said.

The bottom books--plain black covers--Trashcan's garbage can find. The first inked-in shots--embossed red streaming from disembodied limbs, posers linked orifice to orifice. The homicide match: a spread-eagled boy in sync to the Hudgens crime scene stills.

Past astonis.h.i.+ng--and whoever posed the s.m.u.t pics killed Hudgens.

Ed hit the last book, froze. A nude pretty boy, arms spread--ink/blood gouting off his torso. Familiar, too familiar, not from a Hudgens coroner's shot. He turned pages and caught a foldout: boys, girls, offset limbs touching, ink designs linking them.

AND HE KNEW.

He ran down the hall to Homicide, found their 1934 records, found "Atherton, Loren, 187 P.C. (multiple)." Three thick folders, then the photos--shot by Dr. Frankenstein himself.

Children immediately after their dismemberment.

Their arms and legs arranged just off their torsos.

White waxed paper under the bodies.