L.A. Confidential (17 page)

  "Whatever You Desire."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Parker said, "Ed, you were brilliant the other day. I disapprove of Officer White's intrusion, but I can't complain with the results. I need smart men like you, and . . . direct men like Bud. And I want both of you on the Nite Owl job."

  "Sir, I don't think White and I can work together."

  "You won't have to. Dudley Smith's heading up the investigation, and White will report directly to him. Two other men, Mike Breuning and Dick Carlisle, will work with White--however Dudley wants to play it. The Hollywood squad will be in on the job, reporting to Lieutenant Reddin, who'll report to Dudley. We've got divisional contacts assigned, and every man in the Bureau is caffing in informant favors. Chief Green says Russ Millard wants to be detached from Ad Vice to run the show with Dud, so that's a possibility. That makes twenty-four full-time officers."

  "What specifically do I do?"

  Parker pointed to a case graph on an easel. "One, we have not found the shotguns or Coates' car, and until that girl those thugs assaulted clears them on the time element we have to assume that they are still our prime suspects. Since White's little escapade they've refused to talk, and they've been booked on kidnap and rape charges. I think--"

  "Sir, I'd be glad to have another try at them."

  "Let me finish. Two, we still have no IDs on the other three victims. Doc Layman's working overtime on that, and we're logging in four hundred calls a day from people worried about missing loved ones. There's an outside chance that this might be more than just a set of robbery killings, and if that proves to be the case I want you on that end of things. As of now, you're liaison to SID, the D.A.'s Office and the divisional contacts. I want you to go over every field report every day, assess them and share your thoughts with me personally. I want daily written summaries, copies to Chief Green and myself."

  Ed tried not to smile--the stitches in his chin helped. "Sir, some thoughts before we continue?"

  Parker leaned his chair back. "Of course."

  Ed ticked points. "One, what about searching for comparable shell samples in Griffith Park? Two, if the girl clears our suspects on the time element, what was that purple car doing across from the Nite Owl? Three, how likely are we to turn the guns and the car? Four, the suspects said they took the girl to a building on Dunkirk first. What kind of evidence did we get there?"

  "Good points. But one, shell samples to compare is a long shot. With breech-load weapons the rounds might have expelled back into the car those punks were driving, the actual locations listed in the crime reports were vague, Griffith Park is all hillsides, we've had rain and mudslides over the past two weeks and that park ranger has waffled on ID'ing the three in custody. Two, the news vendor who ID'd the car by the Nite Owl says now that maybe it was a Ford or a Chevy, so our registration checks are now a nightmare. If you're thinking the car was placed there as a plant, I think that's nonsense--how would anyone know _to_ plant it there? Three, the 77th Street squad is tearing up the goddamn southside for the car and the guns, muscling K.A.'s, the megillah. And four, there was blood and semen all over a mattress in that building on Dunkirk."

  Ed said, "It all comes back to the girl."

  Parker picked up a report form. "Inez Soto, age twenty-one. A college student. She's at Queen of Angels, and she just came out of sedation this morning."

  "Has anyone spoken to her?"

  "Bud White went with her to the hospital. Nobody's talked to her in thirty-six hours, and I don't envy you the task."

  "Sir, can I do this alone?"

  "No. Ellis Loew wants to prosecute our boys for Little Lindbergh--kidnapping and rape. He wants them in the gas chamber for that, the Nite Owl, or both. And he wants a D.A.'s investigator and a woman officer present. You're to meet Bob Gallaudet and a Sheriff's matron at Queen of Angels in an hour. I don't have to mention that the course of this investigation will be determined by what our Miss Soto tells you."

  Ed stood up. Parker said, "Off the record, do you make the coloreds for the job?"

  "Sir, I'm not sure."

  "You cleared them temporarily. Did you think I'd be angry with you for that?"

  "Sir, we both want absolute justice. And you like me too much."

  Parker smiled. "Edmund, don't dwell on what White did the other day. You're worth a dozen of him. He's killed three men line of duty, but that's nothing compared to what you did in the war. Remember that."

o        o          o

  Gallaudet met him outside the girl's room. The hall reeked of disinfectant--familiar, his mother died one floor down. "Hello, Sergeant."

  "It's Bob, and Ellis Loew sends his thanks. He was afraid the suspects would get beaten to death and he wouldn't get to prosecute."

  Ed laughed. "They might be cleared on the Nite Owl."

  "I don't care, and neither does Loew. Little Lindbergh with rape carries the death penalty. Loew wants those guys in the ground, so do I, so will you once you talk to the girl. So here's the sixty-four-dollar question. Did they do it?"

  Ed shook his head. "Based on their reactions, I'd lean against it. But Fontaine said they drove the girl around. 'Sold her out' was the phrase he reacted to. I think it could have been Sugar Coates and a little pickup gang, maybe two of the guys they sold her to. None of the three had money on them when they were arrested, and either way--Nite Owl or gang rape--I think that money is stashed somewhere, covered with blood--like the bloody clothes Coates burned."

  Gallaudet whistled. "So we need the girl's word on the time element _and_ IDs on the other rapers."

  "Right. _And_ our suspects are clammed, _and_ Bud White killed the one witness who could have helped us."

  "That guy White's a pisser, isn't he? Don't look so spooked, being scared of him means you're sane. Now come on, let's talk to the young lady."

  They walked into the room. A Sheriff's matron blocked the bed--tall, fat, short hair waxed straight back. Gallaudet said, "Ed Exley, Dot Rothstein." The woman nodded, stepped aside.

  Inez Soto.

  Black eyes, her face cut and bruised. Dark hair shaved to the forehead, sutures. Tubes in her arms, tubes under the sheets. Cut knuckles, split nails--she fought. Ed saw his mother: bald, sixty pounds in an iron lung.

  Gallaudet said, "Miss Soto, this is Sergeant Exley."

  Ed leaned on the bed rail. "I'm sorry we couldn't have given you more time to recuperate, and I'll try to make this as brief as possible."

  Inez Soto stared at him--dark eyes, bloodshot. A raspy voice: "I won't look at any more pictures."

  Gallaudet: "Miss Soto identified Coates, Fontaine and Jones from mugshots. I told her we might need her to look at some mugshots for IDs on the other men."

  Ed shook his head. "That won't be necessary right now. Right now, Miss Soto, I need you to try to remember a chronology of the events that happened to you two nights ago. We can do this very slowly, and for now we won't need details. When you're more rested, we can go over it again. Please take your time and start when the three men kidnapped you."

  Inez pushed up on her pillows. "They weren't men!"

  Ed gripped the rail. "I know. And they're going to be punished for what they did to you. But before we can do that we need to eliminate or confirm them as suspects on another crime."

  "I want them dead! I heard the radio! _I want them dead for that!_"

  "We can't do that, because then the other ones who hurt you will go free. We have to do this correctly."

  A hoarse whisper. "Correctly means six white people are more important than a Mexican girl from Boyle Heights. Those animals ripped me up and did their business in my mouth. They stuck guns in me. My family thinks I brought it on myself because I didn't marry a stupid _cholo_ when I was sixteen. I will tell you nothing, _cabrón_."

  Gallaudet: "Miss Soto, Sergeant Exley saved your life."

  "He ruined my life! Officer White said he cleared the _negritos_ on a murder charge! Officer White's the hero--he killed the _puto_ who took me up my ass!"

  Inez sobbed. Gallaudet gave the cut-off sign. Ed walked down to the gift shop--familiar, his deathwatch. Flowers for 875: fat cheerful bouquets every day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Bud came on duty early, found a memo on his desk.

                    4/19/53

Lad--

  Paperwork is not your forte, but I need you to run records checks (two) for me. (Dr. Layman has identified the three patron victims.) Use the standard procedure I've taught you and first check bulletin 11 on the squadroom board: it updates the overall status of the case and details the duties of the other investigating officers, which will prevent you frow doing gratuitous and extraneous tasks.

  1. Susan Nancy Lefferts, W.F., DOB 1/29/22, no criminal record. A San Bernardino native recently arrived in Los Angeles. Worked as a salesgirl at Bullock's Wilshire (background check assigned to Sgt. Exley).

  2. Delbert Melvin Cathcart, a.k.a. "Duke," W.M., DOB 11/14/14. Two statutory rape convictions, served three years at San Quentin. Three procuring arrests, no convictions. (A tough ID: laundry markings and the body cross-checked against prison measurement charts got us our match.) No known place of employment, last known address 9819 Vendome, Silverlake District.

  3. Malcolm Robert Lunceford, a.k.a. "Mal," W.M., DOB 6/02/12. No last known address, worked as a security guard at the Mighty Man Agency, 1680 North Cahuenga. Former LAPD officer (patrolman), assigned to Hollywood Division throughout most of his eleven-year career. Fired for incompetence 6/5 0. Known to be a late night habitué of the Nite Owl. I've checked Lunceford's personnel file and concluded that the man was a disgraceful police officer (straight "D" fitness reports from every C. O.). You check whatever paperwork exists on him at Hollywood Station (Breuning and Carlisle will be there to shag errands for you).

  Summation: I still think the Negroes are our men, but Cathcart's criminal record and Lunceford's cxpoliceman status mean that more than cursory background checks should be conducted. I want you as my adjutant on this job, an excellent baptism of fire for you as a straight Homicide detective. Meet me tonight (9:30) at the the Pacific Dining Car. We'll discuss the job and related matters.

                    D.S.

  Bud checked the main bulletin board. Nite Owl thick: field reports, autopsy reports, summaries. He found bulletin 11, skimmed it.

  Six R&I clerks detached to check criminal records and auto registrations; the 77th Street squad shaking down jigtown for the shotguns and Ray Coates' Mere. Breuning and Carlisle muscling known gun jockeys; the area around the Nite Owl canvassed nine times without turning a single extra eyewitness. The spooks refused to talk to LAPD men, D.A.'s Bureau investigators, Ellis Loew himself. Inez Soto refused to cooperate on clearing up the time frame; Ed Exley blew a questioning session, said they should treat her kid-gloves.

  Down the board: Malcolm Lunceford's LAPD personnel sheets. Bad news--Lunceford as a free-meal scrounger, general incompetent. A putrid arrest record; cited for dereliction of duty three times. An interdepartmental information request issued; four officers who worked with Lunceford responded. Grafter! buffoon: Mal drank on duty, shook down hookers for blowjobs, tried to shake down Hollywood merchants for his off-duty "protection service"--letting him sleep on their premises while he was locked out of his apartment for nonpayment of rent. One complaint too many got Lunceford bounced in June 1950; all four responding officers stated that he probably wasn't a deliberate Nite Owl victim: as a policeman he habituated all-night coffee shops--usually to scrounge chow; he was probably at the Nite Owl at 3:00 A.M. because he was hooked on sweet Lucy and sleeping in the weeds and the Nite Owl looked cozy and warm.

  Bud drove to Hollywood Station--Inez on his mind, Dudley, Dick Stens along with her. Guts: she tried to claw herself off the gurney to get at Sylvester Fitch, strapped dead to a morgue cot; she screamed: "I'm dead, I want them dead!" He hustled her to the ambulance, filched morphine and a hypo, shot her up while no one was looking. The worst of it should have been over--but the worst was still coming.

  Exley would interrogate her, make her spit out details, look at sex offender pix until she cracked. Ellis Loew wanted an airtight case--that meant show-ups, courtroom testimony. Inez Soto: the first headliner witness for the most ambitious D.A. who ever breathed--all he could do was see her at the hospital, say "Hi," try to muffle the blows. A brave woman shoved at Ed Exley-- fodder for a cowardly hard-on.

  Inez to Stens.

  Good revenge: Danny Duck masks, Exley whimpering. The photo good insurance; Dick still jacked up on blood--a taste that told him he was still on the muscle. His job at Kikey T.'s deli stunk--the dump was a known grifter hangout, a probation rap waiting to happen. Stens sleeping in his car, boozing, gambling--jail taught him absolutely shit.

  Bud cut north on Vine; sunlight picked up his reflection in the windshield. His necktie stood out: LAPD shields, 2's. The 2's stood for the men he killed; he'd have to get some new ties made up--3's to add on Sylvester Fitch. Dudley's idea: _esprit de corps_ for Surveillance. Snappy stuff: women got a kick out of them. Dudley was a kick--in the teeth, in the brains.

  He owed him more than he owed Dick Stens--the man frosted Bloody Christmas, got him Surveillance, then Homicide. But when Dudley Smith brought you along you belonged to him--and he was so much smarter than everyone else that you were never sure what he wanted from you or how he was using you--shit got lost in all his fancy language. It didn't quite rankle, but you felt it; it scared you to see how Mike Breuning and Dick Carlisle gave the man their souls. Dudley could bend you, shape you, twist you, turn you, point you--and never make you feel like some dumb lump of clay. But he always let you know one thing: he knew you better than you knew yourself.