There had, he admitted, been some off-the-record discussion concerning changing of a zoning ordinance in connection with a tract of land. The city council had the matter under informal advisement.
Crosset stated that he had at no time received any money or ever expected to receive any money for any matter in connection with his duties as city councilman. He was, however, in politics, and as a politician he was entitled to accept campaign contributions. He had accepted a campaign contribution from Drude Nickerson. The amount had been two thousand dollars. At the time Nickerson had given him the money, he had understood there were no strings attached to it, but he was going to call for an investigation. If it should appear that Nickerson was in any way interested in this zoning matter, it was all news to Crosset, and, as a matter of principle, Crosset intended to vote against any change in the zoning ordinance so that there could be no question of any money being paid to him in connection with any pending ordinance.
The newspaper account went on to state that Drude Nickerson, who had been named by Crosset as having made a campaign contribution in an amount of two thousand dollars, was the same Drude Nickerson who was a witness in the Endicott murder case and, because of developments in the murder case, was at the moment unavailable for questioning.
The Santa Ana papers carried the story about a big eastern manufacturer looking for a suitable location and stated that, while it was rumored Citrus Grove had been tentatively chosen by the manufacturer, there were now indications that property adjacent to Santa Ana was being considered for this big industrial expansion.
Stella Karis called me on the phone. She was so mad she could hardly talk. “What in hell have you done to me?” she asked. “Why, you double-crossing rat! You—!”
“Pipe down,” I said. “I told you that any information you gave me wasn’t confidential.”
“Those may have been your words, but the way you told me you... you—”
“Listen,” I said. “Keep your shirt on! The last time I saw you they were trying to put the squeeze on you for ten grand in addition to the fifteen you’ve already paid. You haven’t heard any more about that additional squeeze, have you?”
“No,” she admitted.
“You won’t,” I told her. “Sit tight. Don’t be a damn fool. Go to a bank. Turn your property over to the bank for management and start painting nudes.”
I hung up.
Another call came through. The voice was suave, polished.
“Mr. Lam?”
“Right.”
“I am Homer Garfield, President of the Citrus Grove Chamber of Commerce.”
“How are you, Mr. Garfield?”
“Very well, thank you, Mr. Lam. I have read various statements in the public press concerning a potential expansion of Citrus Grove. The authority for those statements seems to have come from you.”
“That’s right.”
“May I ask if you have some actual information?”
“You may.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“Can you tell me what it is?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I can’t give you any information that I haven’t given the press,” I said. “However, I can tell you this: your evening paper carries a statement from Bailey Crosset about a campaign contribution made to him by Drude Nickerson. Why not get in touch with Drude Nickerson and find out about that campaign contribution? Why not interrogate the other members of the Trustees and see if campaign contributions have been made to them?”
“Nickerson is unavailable.”
“What the hell?” I said. “You’re representing the Chamber of Commerce. Who’s going to tell you that Drude Nickerson is unavailable? Are you going to sit back and let a plant with a twenty-million-dollar annual payroll go to Santa Ana because your city is so damn crooked a concern can’t get a reasonable change in your zoning ordinance? Are you going to let a bunch of cheap politicians keep twenty million dollars out of the pockets of your merchants because they want a two-bit contribution to election expenses?”
He cleared his throat. “That is a point I want to discuss, Mr. Lam. I want to find out more about that.”
“Then you’re calling the wrong person,” I said. “Your district attorney holds an elective office. Your sheriff holds an elective office. Who the hell is going to make Drude Nickerson unavailable to you in a matter of this sort? You sit around there and twist your fingers and Santa Ana will wind up with the plant.”
Again he cleared his throat. “May I ask where you got that twenty-million-dollar payroll figure, Mr. Lam?”
“Out of my head,” I told him and hung up.
I went out and went to work chasing down the secretary Karl Carver Endicott had fired, the one who had gone to Mrs. Endicott with the story about John Ansel being sent out on a suicide expedition.
She wasn’t hard to find.
Her name was Helen Manning. She wasn’t bad looking, a blonde with blue eyes, a little heavy in the seat, but she certainly could play tunes on a typewriter.
She was working in an office where her employer didn’t want her to talk on the job and she didn’t want to talk on the job.
We wound up making a dinner date.
I went back to the office and checked in.
“There’s a telegram,” Elsie Brand told me.
It was from Barney Quinn. It said simply: “Good. Keep it up.”
A reporter for the Citrus Grove Clarion called up. He wanted an interview.
“I can’t talk about the murder case,” I said. “You’ll have to get in touch with Mr. Quinn and—”
His voice showed nerve strain. “To hell with the murder case,” he said. “What about this factory?”
“Have you,” I asked, “talked with the president of your Chamber of Commerce about that factory?”
“Have I talked with him!” the voice said. “He’s talked with us!”
“Have you interviewed Drude Nickerson?” I asked.
“Now listen,” he said, “what’s all this about Drude Nickerson?”
“I simply asked if you’d interviewed him.”
“No,” he said shortly.
“I would suggest that you do so.”
“Now look,” he said, “something’s happening. Another member of the Trustees has stated that he received a two-thousand-dollar contribution from Nickerson for campaign expenses. He insists that there was nothing that could possibly be a tie-in with any zoning ordinance. He says that he’s going to investigate the facts in the case, and, if the money was in any way connected with any attempt to get him to vote for a change in the zoning ordinance, he’s going to be against it.”
“A fine bunch of Trustees you have!” I said.
“Is that sarcasm?”
“Is that sarcasm!” I said. “What are you talking about? The men have accepted campaign contributions. They state that if those contributions were connected in any way with pending ordinances they’re going to vote against the ordinances.”
“Now wait a minute,” the reporter said. “Do you think that’s fair?”
“What’s fair?”
“For them to vote against an ordinance that way if the change in the ordinance might bring an influx of prosperity to this community?”
I said, “That’s putting the matter on a dollars-and-cents basis. These Trustees have put it on a basis of personal integrity. I’m surprised that you’d even consider any financial argument in connection with a decision involving the personal integrity of any member of your city council. I have no further comment to make.”