Jack kept watching. Timmy pranced hands-on-hips; Billy brought a big muscle guy back. Muscles forked over goodies: pill vials, a glassine bag full of weed. Jack sprinted for the street. A Buick sedan at the curb-mud on the front and back plates. Locked doors--kick glass or go home empty.
Jack kicked out the driver's-side window. Glass on his front seat booty--a single brown paper bag.
He grabbed it, ran to his car.
Valburn's door opened.
Jack peeled rubber-east on 5th, zigzags down to Western and a big bright parking lot. He ripped the bag open.
Absinthe--190 proof on the label, viscous green liquid.
Hashish.
Black-and-white glossies: women in opera masks blowing horses.
"Whatever You Desire."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Parker said, "Ed, you were brilliant the other day. I disapprove of Officer White's intrusion, but I can't complain with the results. I need smart men like you, and . . . direct men like Bud. And I want both of you on the Nite Owl job."
"Sir, I don't think White and I can work together."
"You won't have to. Dudley Smith's heading up the investigation, and White will report directly to him. Two other men, Mike Breuning and Dick Carlisle, will work with White--however Dudley wants to play it. The Hollywood squad will be in on the job, reporting to Lieutenant Reddin, who'll report to Dudley. We've got divisional contacts assigned, and every man in the Bureau is caffing in informant favors. Chief Green says Russ Millard wants to be detached from Ad Vice to run the show with Dud, so that's a possibility. That makes twenty-four full-time officers."
"What specifically do I do?"
Parker pointed to a case graph on an easel. "One, we have not found the shotguns or Coates' car, and until that girl those thugs assaulted clears them on the time element we have to assume that they are still our prime suspects. Since White's little escapade they've refused to talk, and they've been booked on kidnap and rape charges. I think--"
"Sir, I'd be glad to have another try at them."
"Let me finish. Two, we still have no IDs on the other three victims. Doc Layman's working overtime on that, and we're logging in four hundred calls a day from people worried about missing loved ones. There's an outside chance that this might be more than just a set of robbery killings, and if that proves to be the case I want you on that end of things. As of now, you're liaison to SID, the D.A.'s Office and the divisional contacts. I want you to go over every field report every day, assess them and share your thoughts with me personally. I want daily written summaries, copies to Chief Green and myself."
Ed tried not to smile--the stitches in his chin helped. "Sir, some thoughts before we continue?"
Parker leaned his chair back. "Of course."
Ed ticked points. "One, what about searching for comparable shell samples in Griffith Park? Two, if the girl clears our suspects on the time element, what was that purple car doing across from the Nite Owl? Three, how likely are we to turn the guns and the car? Four, the suspects said they took the girl to a building on Dunkirk first. What kind of evidence did we get there?"
"Good points. But one, shell samples to compare is a long shot. With breech-load weapons the rounds might have expelled back into the car those punks were driving, the actual locations listed in the crime reports were vague, Griffith Park is all hillsides, we've had rain and mudslides over the past two weeks and that park ranger has waffled on ID'ing the three in custody. Two, the news vendor who ID'd the car by the Nite Owl says now that maybe it was a Ford or a Chevy, so our registration checks are now a nightmare. If you're thinking the car was placed there as a plant, I think that's nonsense--how would anyone know _to_ plant it there? Three, the 77th Street squad is tearing up the goddamn southside for the car and the guns, muscling K.A.'s, the megillah. And four, there was blood and semen all over a mattress in that building on Dunkirk."
Ed said, "It all comes back to the girl."
Parker picked up a report form. "Inez Soto, age twenty-one. A college student. She's at Queen of Angels, and she just came out of sedation this morning."
"Has anyone spoken to her?"
"Bud White went with her to the hospital. Nobody's talked to her in thirty-six hours, and I don't envy you the task."
"Sir, can I do this alone?"
"No. Ellis Loew wants to prosecute our boys for Little Lindbergh--kidnapping and rape. He wants them in the gas chamber for that, the Nite Owl, or both. And he wants a D.A.'s investigator and a woman officer present. You're to meet Bob Gallaudet and a Sheriff's matron at Queen of Angels in an hour. I don't have to mention that the course of this investigation will be determined by what our Miss Soto tells you."
Ed stood up. Parker said, "Off the record, do you make the coloreds for the job?"
"Sir, I'm not sure."
"You cleared them temporarily. Did you think I'd be angry with you for that?"
"Sir, we both want absolute justice. And you like me too much."
Parker smiled. "Edmund, don't dwell on what White did the other day. You're worth a dozen of him. He's killed three men line of duty, but that's nothing compared to what you did in the war. Remember that."
o o o
Gallaudet met him outside the girl's room. The hall reeked of disinfectant--familiar, his mother died one floor down. "Hello, Sergeant."
"It's Bob, and Ellis Loew sends his thanks. He was afraid the suspects would get beaten to death and he wouldn't get to prosecute."
Ed laughed. "They might be cleared on the Nite Owl."
"I don't care, and neither does Loew. Little Lindbergh with rape carries the death penalty. Loew wants those guys in the ground, so do I, so will you once you talk to the girl. So here's the sixty-four-dollar question. Did they do it?"
Ed shook his head. "Based on their reactions, I'd lean against it. But Fontaine said they drove the girl around. 'Sold her out' was the phrase he reacted to. I think it could have been Sugar Coates and a little pickup gang, maybe two of the guys they sold her to. None of the three had money on them when they were arrested, and either way--Nite Owl or gang rape--I think that money is stashed somewhere, covered with blood--like the bloody clothes Coates burned."
Gallaudet whistled. "So we need the girl's word on the time element _and_ IDs on the other rapers."
"Right. _And_ our suspects are clammed, _and_ Bud White killed the one witness who could have helped us."
"That guy White's a pisser, isn't he? Don't look so spooked, being scared of him means you're sane. Now come on, let's talk to the young lady."
They walked into the room. A Sheriff's matron blocked the bed--tall, fat, short hair waxed straight back. Gallaudet said, "Ed Exley, Dot Rothstein." The woman nodded, stepped aside.
Inez Soto.
Black eyes, her face cut and bruised. Dark hair shaved to the forehead, sutures. Tubes in her arms, tubes under the sheets. Cut knuckles, split nails--she fought. Ed saw his mother: bald, sixty pounds in an iron lung.
Gallaudet said, "Miss Soto, this is Sergeant Exley."
Ed leaned on the bed rail. "I'm sorry we couldn't have given you more time to recuperate, and I'll try to make this as brief as possible."
Inez Soto stared at him--dark eyes, bloodshot. A raspy voice: "I won't look at any more pictures."
Gallaudet: "Miss Soto identified Coates, Fontaine and Jones from mugshots. I told her we might need her to look at some mugshots for IDs on the other men."
Ed shook his head. "That won't be necessary right now. Right now, Miss Soto, I need you to try to remember a chronology of the events that happened to you two nights ago. We can do this very slowly, and for now we won't need details. When you're more rested, we can go over it again. Please take your time and start when the three men kidnapped you."