L.A. Confidential (38 page)

  Loew coughed. "Ed, I think your shooting those thugs was a noble act, whatever your motives. But I think giving you the command would just make the press and the public more resentful. I think you should take a subsidiary role in this investigation."

  Outrage down pat. "I'm tired of being the bad guy on the six o'clock news and I'm tired of my sex life in the papers. I'm also the best detective in the--"

  Parker cut in. "You are the best detective we have, and I understand your need to cut your losses. But Ellis is right, this is too personal with you. I've given Dudley the command. He'll recruit a team from Homicide and various squadrooms and take it from there."

  "And me? Do I get a piece of the case?"

  Parker nodded. "I'll give you anything within reason."

  The kill. "I want the chance to develop my own evidence with I.A. autonomy. I want the use of my two personal aides from I.A. and my choice of two officers to serve as field runners."

  "That's fine by me. Dudley?"

  "Yes, I think that's fair. Lad, who did you have in mind for runners?"

  "Jack Vincennes and Bud White."

  Smith almost gawked. Parker said, "Strange bedfellows, but then it's a strange case. Twelve days, gentlemen. Not one minute longer."

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Jack woke up on the couch, wrote Karen a note.

Sweetie--

  Fairs fair & yeah I screwed up with Ellis. But this goddamn sofa for two months isn't fair & if the Department can forgive me then you should be able to too. I haven't had a drink for six weeks, which if you checked the calendar by my closet you'd know. I don't expect you to think that makes everything right with us, but give me some credit for trying. I'll try--you want to go to law school, great, but I bet you'll hate it. In May I'll retire, maybe I can get a police chief job in some hick town near a good law school. I'll try, but cut me some slack because this deep freeze number is driving me crazy & right now I can't afford to be crazy because I've been detached back to work plainclothes on something that's very important to me. I'll probably be working late for the next week or so, but I'll call & check in.

                    J.

  He dressed, waited for the phone to ring. Coffee in the kitchen, a note from Karen.

J.--

  I've been a bitch lately. I'm sorry and I think we should try to figure some things out. You were asleep when I got home or I would have invited you into the boudoir.

XXXXX--K

  P.S. A girl at work showed me this magazine that I thought you might be interested in seeing. I know you know that man Exley it mentions and it certainly is pertinent to what's been in the papers lately.

  On the table: _Whisper_--"All the Dirt That's Fit to Print." Jack thumbed it smiling, caught a Nite Owl spread.

  Hopped-up stuff--"Crusading Private Eye," "Duke Cathcart impersonator," smut speculation. Ed Exley raked over hot coals--Exley hatred big. A snap take: "P.I." Bud White shivs Exley--a February issue on sale in January, out before the Englekling brothers got clipped and that shine up at Quentin dropped that alibi. East Coast circulation, you probably couldn't find the rag in L.A. Exley and the high brass couldn't have seen it--or _he_ would have heard.

  The phone rang--Jack grabbed it. "Exley?"

  "Yes, and you're officially detached. White talked to Lynn Bracken. She's agreed to be pentothaled, and I want you to bring her in. She'll be waiting at that Chinese restaurant across from the Bureau in an hour. Meet her there and bring her up to I.A., and if she's got a lawyer get rid of him."

  "Look, I saw something I think you should see."

  "Just bring me the woman."

o        o          o

  The woman five years post-file burning--Lynn Bracken sipping tea at Al Wong's. Jack watched her through the window.

  Still a showstopper. A brunette now, a thirty-fivish beauty drawing stares. She saw him. Jack got flutters: his file.

  She walked out. Jack said, "I didn't want this to happen."

  "You let it. And aren't you afraid of what I know about you?" Something skewed: she was too calm five minutes from a bracing. "I've got this scary captain looking after me. If it came out, I'm betting he'd kibosh it."

  "Don't make any bets you can't cover. And I'm only doing this because Bud told me he'd get hurt if I didn't."

  "What else did Bud tell you?"

  "Bad things about your scary captain. Can we go now? I want to get this over with."

  They walked across the street, up the back Bureau stairs. Fisk met them outside I.A., steered them to Exley's office. A scary set-up: scary Captain Ed. Ray Pinker, a desk covered with medical stuff--vials, syringes. A polygraph machine--backup if the truth juice failed.

  Pinker filled a hypo. Exley pointed Lynn to a chair. "Please, Miss Bracken."

  Lynn sat down. Pinker swabbed her left arm, fitted a tourniquet. Exley, all business. "I don't know what Bud White told you, but essentially this is an investigation involving several interrelated criminal conspiracies. If you provide us with viable information we're prepared to grant you immunity on any possible criminal charges you might accrue."

  Lynn made a fist. "I can't very well lie. Can we get this over with, please?"

  Pinker took her arm, injected her. Exley punched a tape machine. Lynn went dreamy-eyed--not quite pentothal gaga. Exley talked into a hand mike. "Witness Lynn Bracken, March 22, 1958. Miss Bracken, please count backward from one hundred."

  Slurs right off. "Hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninetysev, nine-six . .

  Pinker checked her eyes, nodded. Jack grabbed a chair. Still too calm--he could taste it.

  Exley coughed. "3/22/58, present with the witness are myself, Sergeant Duane Fisk, Sergeant John Vincennes and forensic chemist Ray Pinker. Duane, transcribe in shorthand."

  Fisk grabbed a notepad. Exley said, "Miss Bracken, how old are you?"

  A slight slur. "Thirty-four."

  "And your occupation?"

  "Businesswoman."

  "Do you own Veronica's Dress Shop in Santa Monica?"

  "Yes."

  "Why did you choose the name 'Veronica's'?"

  "A personal joke."

  "Please elaborate."

  "It's a name from my old life."

  "How specifically?"

  A dreamy smile. "I used to be a prostitute made up to resemble Veronica Lake."

  "Who convinced you to do that?"

  "Pierce Patchett."

  "I see. Did Pierce Patchett kill a man named Sid Hudgens in April 1953?"

  "No. I mean I don't know. Why would he?"

  "Do you know who Sid Hudgens was?"

  "Yes. A scandal-sheet writer."

  "Did Patchett know Hudgens?"

  "No. I mean if he did know him, he would have told me, a famous man like that."

  A lie--she couldn't be full on the juice. She had to know he knew she was lying--she was thinking he'd cover her to protect himself.

  Exley: "Miss Bracken, do you know who killed a girl named Kathy Janeway in the spring of 1953?"

  "No."

  "Do you know a man named Lamar Hinton?"

  "Yes."

  "Please elaborate."

  "He worked for Pierce."

  "In what capacity?"

  "As a driver."

  "And when was this?"

  "Several years ago."

  "Do you know where Hinton is now?"

  "No."

  "Elaborate on your answer, please."

  "No, he went away, I don't know where he went."

  "Did Hinton attempt to kill Sergeant Jack Vincennes in April 1953?"

  "No."

  She told him no back then.

  "Who did try to kill him?"

  "I don't know."

  "Who else worked or works as a driver for Patchett?" "Chester Yorkin."

  "Please elaborate."

  "Chet, Chester Yorkin, he lives in Long Beach somewhere."

  "Does Pierce Patchett suborn women into prostitution?"

  "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 prostitutes 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 pornography 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 passed the note. Exley scanned it, passed 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 whore."

o        o          o

  San Berdoo in an uproar: Exley breaking that whore as a slide show. "Hilda Lefferts" in the phone book, directions, the house: white shingles, 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 crawlspace flush with the ground--so there.

  It fucking 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, mothballs, 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 whore.

  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."