L.A. Confidential (23 page)

  "Name it."

  "I want you to keep a tail on Bud White. He's gotten personally involved in the unfortunate killing of a child prostitute, and I need him stable. Will you stick to him nights, great tailer that you are?"

  Bad Bud--always a sucker for strays. "Sure, Dud. Where's he working out of?"

  "77th Street Station. He's been assigned to roust jigaboos with sex offender records. He's on daywatch at 77th, and you'll be clocking in and out there as well."

  "Dud, you're a lifesaver."

  "Would you care to elaborate on that, lad?"

  "No."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Memo:

  "From: Chief Parker. To: Dep. Chief Green, Capt. R. Millard, Lt. D. Smith, Sgt. E. Exley. Conference: Chief's Office, 4:00 P.M., 4/23/53. Topic: Questioning of witness Inez Soto." His father's note: "She's wonderful and Ray Dieterling's much taken with her. But she's a material witness and a Mexican, and I advise you not to get too attached to her. And under no circumstances should you shack up with her. Cohabitation is against departmental regs and being with a Mexican woman could seriously stall your career."

  Parker kicked things off. "Ed, the Nite Owl case is narrowing down to the Negroes in custody or some other colored gang. Now, word has it that you've gotten close to the Soto girl. Lieutenant Smith and I deem it imperative that she undergo questioning in order to clear up the time element, alibi or not alibi the three in custody, and identify the other men who assaulted her. We think pentothal is the best way to get results, and pentothal works best when a subject is at ease. We want you to convince Miss Soto to cooperate. She probably trusts you, so you'll have credibility."

  Inez post-Stensland: shell-shocked, hard-pressed to move to Arrowhead. "Sir, I think all our evidence so far is circumstantial. I think we should get other corroboration before I approach Miss Soto, and I want to try questioning Coates, Jones and Fontaine again."

  Smith laughed. "Lad, they refused to talk to you the other day, and now they have a pinko public defender who's advising them to stay mute. Ellis Loew wants a grand jury presentation--Nite Owl and Little Lindbergh--and you can facilitate it. Kid gloves has gotten us nowhere with our fair Miss Soto, and it's time we quit coddling her."

  Russ Millard: "Lieutenant, I agree with Sergeant Exley. If we keep pressing on the southside, we'll turn rape witnesses and maybe find Coates' car and the murder weapons. My instincts tell me the girl's recollections of that night might be too muddled to do us any good, and if we make her remember, it might wreck her life more than it's been wrecked already. Can you picture Ellis Loew badgering her in front of the grand jury? Not very pretty, is it?"

  Smith laughed--straight at Millard. "Captain, you politicked very hard to share this command with me, and now you advance a sob sister sensibility. This is a brutal mass murder that requires a swift and hard resolution, not a sorority party. And Ellis Loew is a brilliant attorney and a compassionate man. I'm sure he would handle Miss Soto with care."

  Millard swallowed a pill, chased it with water. "Ellis Loew is a headline-grubbing buffoon, not a policeman, and he should not be directing the thrust of this investigation."

  "Fair Captain, I deem that comment near seditious in its--"

  Parker raised a hand. "Gentlemen, enough. Thad, will you take Captain Millard and Lieutenant Smith down the hall and buy them coffee while I talk to the sergeant here?"

  Green ushered the two outside. Parker said, "Ed, Dudley's right."

  Ed kept quiet. Parker pointed to a stack of newspapers. "The press and the public demand justice. We'll look very bad if we don't clear this up soon."

  "Sir, I know."

  "Do you care about the girl?"

  "Yes."

  "You know that sooner or later she'll have to cooperatc?"

  "Sir, don't underestimate her. She's steel inside."

  Parker smiled. "Then let's see how much steel you possess. Convince her to cooperate, and if we get enough corroboration to convince Ellis Loew he's got a showstopper grand jury case, I'll jump you on the promotion list. You'll be a detective lieutenant immediately."

  "And a command?"

  "Arnie Reddin retires next month. I'll give you the Hollywood detective squad."

  Ed tingled.

  "Ed, you're thirty-one. Your father didn't make lieutenant until he was thirty-three."

  "I'll do it."

CHAPTER THIRTY

  Pervert patrol:

  Cleotis Johnson, registered sex offender, pastor of the New Bethel Methodist Episcopal Church of Zion, had an alibi for the night Inez Soto was kidnapped: he was in the 77th Street drunk tank. Davis Walter Bush, registered sex offender, alibied up by a half dozen wimesses: they were engaged in an all-night crap game in the rec room of the New Bethel Methodist Episcopal Church of Zion. Fleming Peter Hanley, registered sex offender, spent that night at Central Receiving: a drag queen bit his dick; a team of emergency room docs labored to save the organ so he could notch up a few more convictions for sodomy with mayhem.

  Pervert patrol, a call to Eagle Rock Hospital: Dwight Gilette made it there. A skate: the swish didn't die on him.

  Four more RSOs alibied; a run by the Hall of Justice Jail. Stens flying high on raisinjack--a jailer fixed him a toilet brew cocktail. Rants: Ed Exley, Danny Duck porking Ellis Loew.

  Home, a shower, DMV checks: Pierce Patchett, Lynn Bracken. Calls--a pal working Internal Affairs, West Valley Station. Good results: no Gilette complaint, three men on the Kathy snuff.

  Another shower--he could still smell the day on himself.

o        o          o

  Bud drove to Brentwood: squeeze Pierce Morehouse Patchett, no criminal record--strange for a name in a pimp's whore book. 1184 Gretna Green, a big Spanish mansion: all pink, lots of tile.

  He parked, walked up. Porch lights came on: soft focus on a man in a chair. He matched Patchett's DMV stats, looked shitloads younger than his DOB. "Are you a police officer?"

  His cuffs were hooked on his belt. "Yeah. Are you Pierce Patchett?"

  "I am. Are you soliciting for police charities? The last time, you people called at my office."

  Pinned eyes--maybe zoned on some kind of hop. Bodybuilder muscles, a tight shirt to show them off. An easy voice--he came on like he always sat in the dark waiting for cops to call. "I'm a Homicide detective."

  "Oh? Who was killed and why do you think I can help you?"

  "A girl named Kathy Janeway."

  "That's only half an answer, Mr.--?"

  "It's Officer White."

  "Mr. White, then. Again, why do you think I can help you?"

  Bud pulled up a chair. "Did you know Kathy Janeway?"

  "No, I did not. Did she claim to know me?"

  "No. Where were you last night at midnight?"

  "I was here, hosting a party. If push comes to shove, which I hope it won't, I'll supply you with a guest list. Why do you--"

  Bud cut in: "Delbert 'Duke' Cathcart."

  Patchctt sighed. "I don't know him either. Mr. White--"

  "Dwight Gilette, Lynn Bracken."

  A big smile. "Yes, I know those people."

  "Yeah? Then keep going."

  "Now let me interrupt. Did one of them give you my name?"

  "I shook down Gilette for his whore book. He tried to chew up the page that had your name and this Bracken woman's name on it. Patchett, why's a shit pimp have your phone number?"

  Patchett leaned forward. "Do you care about criminal matters peripheral to the Janeway killing?"

  "No."

  "Then you wouldn't feel obliged to report them."

  The fucker had style. "That's right."

  "Then listen closely, because I'll only say it once, and if it gets repeated I'll deny it. I run call girls. Lynn Bracken is one of them. I bought Lynn from Gilette a few years ago, and if Gilette tried to chew up my name it was because he knows that I hate and fear the police, and he thought--correctly--that I would squash him like a bug if I thought he put the police on to me. Now, I treat my girls very well. I have grown daughters myself, and I lost a baby girl to crib death. I do not like the thought of women being hurt and I frankly have a great deal of money to indulge my fancies. Did this Kathy Janeway girl die badly?"

  Beaten to death, semen in the mouth, rectum, vagina. "Yeah, very bad."

  "Then find her killer, Mr. White. Succeed, and I'll give you a handsome reward. If that goes against your moral grain, I'll donate the money to a police charity."

  "Thanks, but no thanks."

  "Against your code?"

  "I don't have one. Tell me about Lynn Bracken. She street?"

  "No, call. Gilette was ruining her with bad clients. I'm very selective who my girls truck with, by the way."

  "So you bought her off Gilette."

  "That's correct."

  "Why?"

  Patchett smiled. "Lynn looks very much like the actress Veronica Lake, and I needed her to fill out my little studio."

  "What 'little studio'?"

  Patchett shook his head. "No. I admire your intrusive style and I sense you're on your best behavior, but that's all I'll give you. I've cooperated, and if you persist I'll meet you with my attorney. Now, would you like Lynn Bracken's address? I doubt that she knows anything about the late Miss Janeway, but if you like I'll call her and tell her to cooperate."

  Bud pointed to the house. "I got her address. You get this address running call girls?"

  "I'm a financier. I have an advanced degree in chemistry, I worked as a pharmacist for several years and invested wisely. 'Entrepreneur' sums me up best, I think. And don't tweak me with criminal slang, Mr. White. Don't make me regret I leveled with you."

  Bud scoped him. Two to one he _was_ leveling, thought cops were bugs that leveling worked with sometimes. "Okay, then I'll wrap it up."

  "Please do."

  Notebook out. "You said Gilette was pimping Lynn Bracken, right?"

  "I dislike the word 'pimp,' but yes."

  "Okay, were any of your other girls street-pimped, callpimped?"

  "No, all my girls are either models or girls that I saved from general Hollywood heartbreak."

  Switcheroo. "You don't read the papers too good, right?"

  "Correct. I try to avoid bad news."

  "But you heard of the Nite Owl Massacre."

  "Yes, because I do not dwell in a cave."

  "That guy Duke Cathcart was one of the victims. He was a pimp, and lately a guy's been asking around about him, trying to get girls to do call jobs for him. Now Gilette street-pimped Kathy Janeway, and you know him. I'm thinking maybe you might do business with some other people who might give me a line on this guy."

  Patchett crossed his legs, stretched. "So you think 'this guy' might have killed Kathy Janeway?"

  "No, I don't think that."

  "Or you think he's behind that Nite Owl thing. I thought Negro youths were supposed to be the killers. What crime are you investigating, Mr. White?"

  Bud gripped the chair--fabric ripped. Patchett put his hands up, palms out. "The answer to your questions is no. Dwight Gilette is the only person of that breed I've ever dealt with. Low-level prostitution is not my field of expertise."

  "What about B&E?"

  "B and E?"

  "Breaking and entering. Cathcart's apartment was tossed, and the walls were wiped."

  Patchett shrugged. "Mr. White, you're speaking in Sanskrit now. I simply don't know what you're talking about."

  "Yeah? Then what about smut? You know Gilette, Gilette sold you Lynn Bracken, Gilette sold Kathy Janeway to Cathcart. Cathcart was supposed to be starting up a smut biz."

  "Smut" buzzed him--little eye flickers. Bud said, "Ring a bell?"

  Patchett picked up a glass, swirled ice cubes. "No bells, and your questions are getting further and further afield. Your approach has been novel, so I've tolerated it. But you're wearing me thin and I'm beginning to think that your motives for being here are quite muddled."

  Bud stood up pissed, no handle on the man. Patchett said, "One of your tangents is personal with you, isn't it?"

  "Yeah."

  "If it's the Janeway girl, I meant what I said. I may suborn women into ifficit activities, but they're handsomely compensated, I treat them very well and make sure the men they deal with show them every due respect. Good night, Mr. White."

o        o          o

  Thoughts for the ride: how did Patchett get his number so quick, did his evidence suppression bit backfire--Dudley suspicious, wise to how far he'd go to hurt Exley. Lynn Bracken lived on Nottingham off Los Feliz; he found the address easy--a modern-style triplex. Colored lights beamed out the windows-- he looked before he rang.

  Red, blue, yellow--figures cut through the beams. Bud watched his very own stag show.

  A Veronica Lake dead ringer, nude on her tiptoes: slender, full breasted. Blond--hair in a perfect pageboy cut. A man moving inside her, straining, crouching for the fit.

  Bud watched; street sounds faded. He blotted out the man, studied the woman: every inch of her body in every shade of light. He drove home tunnel-vision--nothing but her.

  Inez Soto on his doorstep.

  Bud walked over. She said, "I was at Exley's place in Lake Arrowhead. He said there was no strings, then he showed up and told me I had to take this drug to make me remember. I told him no. Did you know you're the only Wendell White in the Central Directory?"

  Bud straightened her hat, tucked a loose piece of veil under the crown. "How'd you get down here?"

  "I took a cab. A hundred of Exley's dollars, so at least he's good for something. Officer White, I don't want to remember."

  "Sweetie, you already do. Come on, I'll fix you up with a place."

  "I want to stay with you."

  "All I've got's a fold-out."

  "Fine by me. I figure there has to be a first time again."

  "Give it a rest and get yourself a college boy."

  Inez stood up. "I was starting to trust him."

  Bud opened the door. The first thing he saw was the bed-- trashed from Carolyn or whatever her name was. Inez plopped down on it--seconds later she was sleeping. Bud tucked her in, stretched out in the hail with his suitcoat for a pillow. Sleep came slow--his long strange day kept replaying. He went out seeing Lynn Bracken; toward dawn he stirred and found Inez curled up next to him.