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."