Sounds: Inez resting herself against the door. "Who told you?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Are you going to ruin him for it?"
"_Him?_ No, there's no way I could do it without making myself look even more foolish than I've been. And you can say his name."
No answer.
"Did you help him with the sergeant's exam? He didn't have the brains to pass it on his own."
No answer.
"How long? How many fucks behind my back?"
No answer.
"How long, _puta?_"
Inez sighed. "Maybe four years. On and off, when we each needed a friend."
"You mean when you didn't need me?"
"I mean when I got exhausted being treated like a rape victim. When I got terrified of how far you'd go to impress me."
Ed said, "I took you out of Boyle Heights and gave you a life." Inez said, "Exley, you started to scare me. I just wanted to be a girl seeing a guy, and Bud gave me that."
"Don't you say his name in this house."
"You mean in your house?"
"I gave you a decent life. You'd be pounding tortillas on a rock if it wasn't for me."
"_Querido_, you turn ugly so well."
"How many other lies, Inez? How many other lies besides him?"
"Exley, let's break this off."
"No, give me a rundown."
No answer.
"How many other men? How many other lies?"
No answer.
"Tell me."
No answer.
"You fucking whore, after what I did for you. _Tell me_."
No answer.
"I let you be friends with my father. _Preston Exley is your friend because of me_. How many other men have you fucked behind my back? How many other lies after what I did for you?"
Inez, a small voice. "You don't want to know."
"Yes I do, you fucking whore."
Inez pushed off the door. "Here's the only lie that counts, and it's all for you. Not even my sweetie pie Bud knows it, so I hope it makes you feel special."
Ed stood up. "Lies don't scare me."
Inez laughed. "_Everything_ scares you."
No answer.
Inez, calm. "The _negritos_ who hurt me couldn't have killed the people at the Nite Owl, because they were with me the whole night. They never left my sight. I lied because I didn't want you to feel bad that you'd killed four men for me. And you want to know what the _big_ lie is? You and your precious absolute justice."
Ed pushed out the door, hands on his ears to kill the roar. Dark, cold outside--he saw Dick Stens strapped down dead.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Bud checked out his new badge: "Sergeant" where "Policeman" used to be. He put his feet up on his desk, said goodbye to Homicide.
His cubicle was a mess--five year's worth of paper. Dudley said the Hollywood squad transfer was just temporary--his sergeantcy shocked the brass, Thad Green was juking him for his window-punching number: Dick Stens green room bound, left/right hooks into glass. A fair trade: he never became a crackerjack case man because the only cases that mattered were case closed and case/cases shitcanned. Transfer blues: leaving Bureau HQ meant no early crack at dead-body reports--a good way to keep tabs on the Kathy Janeway case and the hooker snuff string he knew tied to it.
Stuff to take with him:
His new nameplate--"Sergeant Wendell White," a picture of Lynn: brunette, goodbye Veronica Lake.
A Mobster Squad photo: him and Dud at the Victory Motel. Mobster Squad goodies--brass knuckles, a ball-bearing sap--he might leave them behind.
Lock and key stuff:
His FBI and forensics class diplomas; Dick Stensland's legacy: six grand from his robbery take. Dick's last words--a note a guard passed him.
Partner--
I regret the bad things I done. I especially regret the people I hurt when I was a policeman who just got in my way when I was feeling mean and the Christmas guys and the liquor store man and his son. It's too late to change it all. So all I can do is say I'm sorry, which don't mean anything worthwhile. I'll try to take my punishment like a man. I keep thinking it could be you instead of me who did what I did, that it was just the luck of the draw and I know maybe you've thought the same thing. I wish being sorry counted for more with guys like you and me. I payed the piper and called the tune and all that, but Exley kept the piper tune going when he didn't have to and if I got a last request it is that you get him for his share and don't be stupid and do something dumb like I would have did. Use your brains and that money I told you where to find and give it to him good, a good one in the keester from Sergeant Dick Stens. Good luck, partner. I can't hardly believe that when you read this I'll be dead.
Dick
Double-locked in the bottom drawer:
His file on the Janeway/hooker snuffs, his private Nite Owl file--textbook pure, like he learned in school.
Two cases that proved he was a real detective; Dick's shot at Ed Exley. He pulled them out, read them over--college boy stuff all the way.
The Janeway string.
When things sizzled down with Lynn, he started looking for stuff to jazz him. Prowling for women didn't cut it--ditto his on-and-off thing with Inez. He flunked the sergeant's exam twice, paid his way through school with Dick's stash, worked the Mobster Squad part-time: meeting trains, planes, buses, taking would-be racketeers to the Victory Motel, beating the shit out of them and escorting them back to planes, trains, buses. Dud called it "containment"; he called it too much to take and still like looking at yourself in the mirror. Good cases never came his way at Homicide: Thad Green bootjacked them, assigned different men. His classes taught him interesting stuff about forensics, criminal psychology and procedure--he decided to apply what he'd learned to an old case that still simmered with him: the Kathy Janeway job.
He read Joe DiCenzo's case file: no leads, no suspects, written off as a random sex kill. He read the autopsy reconstruction: Kathy beaten to death, face blows, a man with rings on both fists. B + secretor semen in the mouth, rectum, vagina--three separate ejaculations, the bastard took his time. He got a flash backed up by case histories: a sex fiend like that doesn't kill just once, then go back to twiddling his thumbs.
He started paper-prowling--the kind of thing he used to hate.
No similar solveds or unsolveds anywhere in the LAPD and Sheriff's Department files--the search took him eight months. He worked his way through other police agencies--Stens' money for a stake. Zero for Orange County, San Bernardino County; four months in and a match with the San Diego PD: Jane Mildred Hamsher, 19, hooker, DOD 3/8/51, the same handwork and three-way rape: no clues, no suspects, case closed.
He read LAPD and SDPD M.O. files and got nowhere; he remembered Dudley warning him off the Janeway case--ragging him for going crazy on woman basher jobs. He went ahead anyway; paydirt on a tn-state teletype: Sharon Susan Palwick, 20, hooker, DOD 8/29/53, Bakersfield, California. The same specs: no suspects, no leads, case closed. Dud never mentioned the teletype--if he knew it existed.
He went to Diego and Bakerfield--read files, pestered detectives who worked the cases. They were bored with the jobs--and gave him the brush. He tried reconstructing the time and place element: who was in those cities on the dates of the killings. He checked old train, bus and airplane records, got no crossover names, put out standing tri-state teletypes requesting information on the killer's M.O., asking for call-ins should his killer ply that M.O. again. Nothing came in on the info request; three dead-body reports trickled in oven the years: Sally NMI DeWayne, 17, hooker, Needles, Arizona, 11/2/55; Chrissie Virginia Renfro, 21, hooker, San Francisco, 7/14/56; Mania NMI Waldo, 20, hooker, Seattle two months ago: 11/28/57. The call-ins logged in late, the same results: goose egg. Every angle, every schoolboy approach tapped--for nothing. Kathy Janeway and five other prostitutes raped, beaten to death--open stuff only with him.