"Yes," Richard said.
"Articulate how you feel."
"I feel as if I've conquered my past, that I've broken through all my green doors with the promise of peace as my reward."
"Will you go one step further for me? It will help a beautiful woman to resolve her nightmares."
"Yes. Name it."
"Stick the gun in your mouth and pull the trigger twice."
Richard obeyed without question. The hammer clicked on empty chambers. The Night Tripper captured his finest moment on film, then ran to the dining room curtains and looked out with his blood-colored lens. Lloyd Hopkins was asleep, his head cradled into the half-open car window.
19
Lloyd awoke at dawn, startled out of a dreamless sleep by a sharp cramp in his leg. Rubbing his calf, he looked out of the car window and saw the Tudor cottage and the white Mercedes parked in the same spot as the night before. Oldfield's shackup was still in progress. He had time to go home and call for reinforcements to aid him in a continued surveillance and possible approach.
Lloyd swung his Matador around and pulled up behind the Mercedes. He wrote down the license number, then called R amp;I on his two-way radio and read it off, requesting a complete readout on both vehicle and owner. After three minutes of static crackle, the operator came back on the air with her information. FHM 363-No wants; no warrants. Registered to Richard Brian Oldfield, 4109 Windemere, L.A. 90036. No wants; no warrants; no criminal record. Discouraged and exhausted despite his hours of sleep, Lloyd drove home, thinking of a shave, shower, and lots of coffee.
A three-day accumulation of newspapers greeted him on his front porch. The previous day's L.A. Times bore a banner headline: "Policeman Murdered in Malibu." A sidebar added, "Execution Style Death for L.A.P.D. Lieutenant." Lloyd kicked the papers aside and unlocked the door, seeing the stapled together notebook pages on the floor immediately. Picking them up, he read:
Memo to: Lloyd
From: Dutch
Read now.
L.-Where have you been? Shacking? I thought you turned over a new leaf. I'm your liaison, and we were supposed to be in daily contact, remember? This info is straight from Gaffaney. I'll save the good stuff for last. *A.P.B. issued on Marty Bergen-no response as yet. *Seizure order for Big Orange Insider granted, yield-zilch. Punk kid editor had contents of M.B.'s desk destroyed after your last visit. Is threatening "police brutality" suit. *Intensive questioning of P.C.H./Temescal Cyn. area residents- zilch. *Phone-in info. on Christie-so far crank bullshit. (No eyewitnesses have come forth.) *Blood on pavement-conclusively Christie's. *Additional skull fragment and flattened slug found on beach (.357 Teflon tipped). This, + coroner's report-"Death caused by massive neurological destruction inflicted by gunshots fired at point-blank range," indicate that Christie was killed with his own gun. *Sacramento D.M.V. night info. operator (she saw account of Christie's death in papers) called in, said that Christie called at 8:30 or so on the night of the murder, requesting D.M.V. make on car license. She gave info., but cannot remember the name of the person she gave him, or the lic. #, or the make of the car. Interesting, because the M.E. fixed the time of H.C.'s death at around the time of the call. *On afternoon of his death, Christie was seen around classified file section at Avonoco. He told secretary he was meeting a "heavy hitter" at the beach that night. When secretary asked why, he clammed up. She said he seemed agitated and elated. *Re: I.A.D. interviews-Rolando, clean. Kaiser, Tucker, Murray, in protective custody, appear to be clean. ****! Important-while I.A.D. officers were checking out offices of Junior Miss Cosmetics, security guard freaked out and tried to run. He was apprehended and taken into custody. (Pos. of marijuana.) Gaffaney is convinced he has guilty knowledge. This man (Hubert Douglas, M.N., age 39) yelped for you (said you were "cool" when you busted him for G.T.A. years ago). Will talk only to you. Come to P.C. immediately (Gaffaney's orders) before Douglas makes bail or wangles a writ.
Lloyd didn't bother to shave or shower or change clothes. Still wearing his B amp;E outfit, he drove straight to a liquor store. As he recalled, Hubert Douglas was a bonded sourmash fiend. A pint of Jack Daniel's seemed like the ticket to soothe his soul and loosen his tongue. After purchasing the bottle, he raced downtown to Parker Center.
Hubert Douglas was being held in an interrogation cubicle adjoining Fred Gaffaney's office. Lloyd looked through the one-way glass and saw him sitting across a table from the captain, dressed in security guard's uniform replete with gold epaulets and a Sam Browne belt. A loudspeaker about the window crackled with his story of Come-San-Chin, the Chinese cocksucker. Gaffaney listened with his head bowed, fingering his cross-and-flag tie bar.
Lloyd walked in the door just as Douglas delivered his punch line and doubled over with laughter, slapping the table and exclaiming, "Dig it! Dig it!" Seeing Lloyd, he said, "Hopkins, my man!" and got up and extended his hand. Lloyd took it and said, "Hello, Hubert. My colleagues treating you okay?"
Douglas nodded toward Gaffaney, who looked up and glared at Lloyd. "This joker keeps asking me questions. I keep tellin' him I'll talk to you, and he keeps tellin' me you out of touch, the heavy implication bein' that you out pourin' the pork somewhere. I know my rights. I been in custody almost twenty-four hours. You gots to arraign me within twenty-four hours or cut me loose."
Lloyd looked at Gaffaney, then back at Douglas. "Wrong, Hubert. This is Saturday. We can legally hold you until Monday morning. Have a seat. I'll be back to talk to you after I have a few words with the captain."
Gaffaney got up and followed Lloyd outside. Measuring him with disdainful eyes, he said, "You need a shave and your clothes are filthy. Where have you been?"
"Out pulling burglaries," Lloyd said. "What's with Hubert?"
Gaffaney pushed the cubicle door shut. "I was at Junior Miss Cosmetics, along with an aide. We were talking to Dan Murray in his office. We had just gotten word that Christie was checking out the classified file section at Avonoco several hours before he was shot. Since my instincts regarding Murray's behavior told me he was clean, I mentioned it. Douglas was washing windows in the next room. My aide thought he looked hinky and copwise, so he kept an eye on him. He bolted when the conversation turned to files. My aide caught him with a big bag of weed in his pocket. He knows something, Hopkins. Get it out of him."
Lloyd let his mental wheels spin. "Captain, have you thrown the name Thomas Goff at that D.M.V. operator who called in about Christie?"
"Yes. I talked to her myself. She said that Goff was not the name she dug up for Christie. I also gave her the license number and a description of Goff's vehicle. Negative on that too. What do you-"
Lloyd hushed the captain with a hand on his shoulder. "Has Douglas seen the mug shots of Goff?"
"No."
"Then get me a copy of them now, and run me a complete all-police computer check on this name-Richard Brian Oldfield, white male, about thirty. Four-one-oh-nine Windemere, Hollywood. White Mercedes, FHMthree-six-three. He's clean on wants and warrants, but I need all the details I can get."
Gaffaney nodded, then said, "What are you fishing for?"
"I'll tell you after I've spoken to Douglas. Will you get me those mug shots now?"