L.A. Confidential Part 24
He parked, walked up. Porch lights came on: soft focus on a man in a chair. He matched Patchett's DMV stats, looked s.h.i.tloads 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 wh.o.r.e book. He tried to chew up the page that had your name and this Bracken woman's name on it. Patchett, why's a s.h.i.t 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 f.u.c.ker 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, s.e.m.e.n in the mouth, r.e.c.t.u.m, v.a.g.i.n.a. "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 Ma.s.sacre."
"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 prost.i.tution 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 s.m.u.t? You know Gilette, Gilette sold you Lynn Bracken, Gilette sold Kathy Janeway to Cathcart. Cathcart was supposed to be starting up a s.m.u.t biz."
"s.m.u.t" buzzed him--little eye flickers. Bud said, "Ring a bell?"
Patchett picked up a gla.s.s, 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 p.i.s.sed, 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."
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.
He let her stay.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
He knew he was dreaming, knew he couldn't stop. He kept flinching with the replay.
Inez at the cabin: "Coward," "Opportunist," "Using me to further your career." Her out-the-door salvo: "Officer White's ten times the man you are, with half the brains and no big-shot daddy." He let her go, then chased: back to L.A., the Soto family shack. Three pachuco brothers came on strong; old man Soto supplied an epitaph: "I don't have that daughter no more."
The phone rang. Ed rolled over, grabbed it. "Exley."
"It's Bob Gallaudet. Congratulate me."
Ed pushed his dream away. "Why?"
"I pa.s.sed the bar exam, making me both an attorney and a D.A.'s Bureau investigator. Aren't you impressed?"
"Congratulations, and you didn't call at 8:00 A.M. to tell me that."
"Right you are, so listen close. Last night a lawyer named Jake Kellerman called Ellis Loew. He's representing two witnesses, brothers, who say they've got a viable Duke Cathcart connection to Mickey Cohen. They say they can clear the Nite Owl. They've got some outstanding L.A. warrants for pushing Benzedrine, and Ellis is giving them immunity on that, plus possible immunity on any conspiracy charges that might stem from their connection to the Nite Owl. We're having a meeting at the Mirimar Hotel in an hour--the brothers and Kellerman, you, me, Loew and Russ Millard. Dudley S. won't be there. Thad Green's orders--he thinks Millard's the better man for this."
Ed swung out of bed. "So who are these brothers?"
"Peter and Baxter Englekling. Heard of them?"
"No. Is this an interrogation?"
Gallaudet laughed. "Wouldn't you love that. No, it's Kellerman reads a prepared statement, we hobk.n.o.b with Loew over whether to let them turn state's and take it from there. I'll brief you. Mirimar parking lot in forty-five minutes?"
"I'll be there."