L.A. Confidential Part 45

Patchett bankrolled early Dieterling films. Dieterling's son Billy and boyfriend Timmy Valburn used Fleur-de-Lis; Valburn was a Bobby Inge K.A. Billy worked on Badge of Honor, the first focus of the Hudgens homicide investigation. Badge of Honor co-star Miller Stanton was a Dieterling kid star around the same time that Wee Willie Wennerholm was murdered--by Loren Atherton? Slash lines--Atherton to the s.m.u.t to Hudgens; lines of coincidence too convenient not to cut at family loyalty-- seventeen years post-Atherton, Preston Exley builds Dreama-Dreamland.

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.

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 pa.s.s, 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, n.o.body 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."

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 embarra.s.sed at plumbing business deals with a man he once rubbed shoulders with in the process of a h.e.l.lish murder investigation. Preston Exley believed that policemen striking friends.h.i.+ps 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 maitre 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 s.m.u.t and killed Hudgens. I'm working on a script, and you'll have it by tomorrow night. You're going to scare the s.h.i.+t 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; c.h.i.n.k backtalk banged it worse: "Spade not here, my place have police sanction, I pay I pay!" Uncle Ace Kwan sent him to Fat Dewey s.h.i.+n, 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, n.o.body had seen him in a couple of days. Hillbilly clubs, local bars, night spots--no sightings of Donnell Clyde Cooley. 1:00 f.u.c.king 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 about 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 G.o.d-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