Lieutenant Juan walked up and cornered them there. Dudley followed him. He read their fear, close-up. Lieutenant Juan got blast-oven close. Each and every one of them screamed.
Lieutenant Juan hit the on switch. Flames shot up and out. He fried each and every one of them alive.
47
(Los Angeles, 8:00 A.M., 1/31/42)
Crash Squad confab. Jack Horrall’s office. It’s a double cop snuff. There’s fanfare and razzmatazz.
The squad ran ten strong. Folding chairs fanned the Chief’s desk. Dudley Smith was down in Baja. He pledged daily call-ins and/or Teletypes.
They signed a check-in log. It was big-job de rigueur. The duty roster ran thus:
Captain W. H. Parker: Traffic Division/commanding officer.
Captain D. L. Smith (Army SIS): executive officer/Spanish-speaking consultant.
Lieutenant T. B. Brown: Homicide Division/squad whip.
Sergeant M. D. Breuning: Homicide Division.
Sergeant R. S. Carlisle: Homicide Division.
Norton Layman, M.D.: medical consultant.
Lieutenant H. J. Ashida (Army SIS): crime lab supervisor/on-leave consultant.
Miss J. W. Conville: crime lab/forensic biologist.
Sergeant E. V. Jackson: Vice Division/Alien Squad.
Officer L. C. Blanchard: Central Division Detectives/Alien Squad.
Sergeant T. R. Meeks: Robbery Division/detached for current duty.
They sat ten across. They smoked and sipped coffee. They wore that down-for-the-count look. They were forty-four hours in.
Joan glanced at Parker. He glanced back. She smelled his dumb lime cologne. She was antsy. The Santa Barbara Sheriff’s file arrived. She wanted to jump on it.
She stroked her gold cuff links. She was distracted. The Chief said something. She missed the lead-in.
“...and if you’re wondering why you don’t see Ray Pinker, it’s because he’s in Dutch with the Fed probe, and he’s running raw these days. That means Lieutenant Ashida’s our top lab dog, until Dud S. pulls some strings and hauls him back to Mexico. There’s a war on, you know. Things like that tend to supersede.”
The gang laughed. Breuning and Carlisle smirked. They hated Ashida. Dud loved him more than them.
Call-Me-Jack drummed his desk. “We all know why we’re here, so let’s get to it. Will someone please tell me something I don’t know?”
Dr. Nort raised his hand. “I found large quantities of carbolic acid in the three victims’ livers. This indicates that the terp they were smoking just prior to their deaths had been spiked. They were deliberately poisoned — but organ saturation indicates that all three men were habitual terp smokers.”
Call-Me-Jack rolled his eyes. “We can’t defame our fallen colleagues as terp fiends. Let’s keep that fact away from any and all reporters you might be talking to. As far as reporters go, this is gospel. The inside dirt goes exclusively to Sid Hudgens and his legman Jack Webb, and that’s it. They’ve done us proud before, and they’ll do us proud here. Given the state of the klubhaus, I’d say we’re looking at a Fifth Column job. I want Sid and Jack to play up that angle, because Fifth Column hoo-ha’s the rage now, and that sort of emphasis will make us look good with Fourth Interceptor and the Feds.”
Elmer waved his cigar. “What about a command post, boss? There’s no room at Central, and there’s no room here at the Hall.”
Call-Me-Jack sipped coffee. He spiked it with schnapps. It’s PD-certified dish.
“You got lucky here. I’m giving you Lyman’s back room, until we clear this thing. You’ll all have keys, and it’ll be off-limits to rank-and-file PD. I’m putting cots in, and you’ll have food and booze twenty-four hours.”
Carlisle said, “Suppose we have to...”
Elmer woofed him. “Put some hurt on a suspect or witness, Dick? That what you’re thinking?”
Breuning said, “You’ve got shit for brains and shit for tact, Jackson. And it’s not like people don’t know it.”
Elmer woofed him. Here’s your fucking tact.
“People? You mean like a certain Irishman, well known to folks in this room?”
Joan held her breath. Buzz blew Elmer an Okie-redneck kiss. Hideo Ashida gasped.
Call-Me-Jack banged his ashtray. Desk clutter hopped.
“Not in my office, and not on my time card. You’re policemen investigating a double cop killing, and I’ve got no time for pique from any of you. To the point of Dick’s question, I’ll add this. There’s a storeroom two floors up from Lyman’s, and I’m having a chair bolted to the floor. It’s nice and quiet. If you need to stretch someone, do it up there.”
Breuning and Carlisle smirked. Elmer winked at Meeks. Thad Brown coughed.
“What about the victims’ families? At the very least, we should interview the wives.”
Call-Me-Jack made the cutoff sign. “I paid condolence calls, and unless something pertinent comes up, I want them left alone. I don’t want to aggravate them and get them thinking they should slap a wrongful death suit on the PD. There’s that, and there’s the undisputed fact that their dutiful hubbies were skirt chasers and God knows what else, given a certain klubhaus on East 46th.”
Parker said, “We’ve got to ID the Mexican. That’s our first priority.”
Blanchard said, “I’ll be checking mug books against the DB pix.”
Ashida said, “I’ll start checking print cards immediately.”
Joan said, “I want to redust, resweep, and rephotograph the premises. There has to be something there.”
Ashida shot his shirt cuffs. Joan saw his new gold watch. He evinced drag-queen taste.
“I found a series of semen stains on the bedsheets upstairs, and I’ve already typed them. All four of the men were secretors. I’ll be checking my samples against blood samples from our victims.”
Elmer whooped. “That’s the sort of bed traffic you see in your everyday whorehouse.”
Parker said, “Elmer’s speaking as an expert witness here.”
Buzz said, “I found an address book under a piece of carpet upstairs. Ray Pinker swooped by and dusted it for me. He turned up two latents. They match to a hot-prowl hump named Tommy Glennon.”
Breuning and Carlisle went lockjawed. Elmer woof-woofed them.
“Tommy the G. Does it get you all nostalgic for New Year’s Eve?”
Call-Me-Jack said, “Tommy G. That Irish cocksucker has been a thorn in my side since God was a pup.”
Buzz said, “The Chief knows from Irish cocksuckers, given his long-standing friendship with Dudley Smith.”
Call-Me-Jack went tut-tut. Breuning and Carlisle trembled. Elmer blew Buzz an Okie-redneck kiss.
Joan laughed outright. Pinch me. What am I doing—
Thad Brown said, “Jackson, Blanchard, Meeks. You take the address book. Jump on the names, jump on Glennon, and jump on all of it now.”
Call-Me-Jack yawned. I’m half-gassed, I need a nap, you’re wearing me thin.
“Get out of here. All of you. Find the guy who killed our pals Wendell and George, and try not to kill him until he’s confessed.”
Parker dashed for the door. He detoured and slipped Joan a note. It read “Tonight?”
Joan whistled and brought him up short. Parker turned and faced her. Heads shot their way. Joan spoke full vibrato. Damn circumspection. Let the world know.
“Yes, Bill. I’d love to see you tonight.”
The all-clear horn blew. The Army searchlights kept swirling. They lit up clouds you just never saw. False-alarm nights moved her. The war had its upsides.