I was wrong. I waited, and waited, and waited, almost dozing off several times, until nine-thirty the next morning. When Eddie finally emerged, immaculately dressed in a fresh Hawaiian shirt, light blue cotton slacks, and sandals, I felt my enervation drop like a rock. I studied his face and body movements as he walked to his car, searching for clues to his sexual makeup. There was a selfconscious disdainfulness about him that wasn’t quite right, but I put it out of my mind.
Eddie drove fast and aggressively, deftly weaving through traffic. I stayed close behind, letting a few cars get between us. We drove this way all the way downtown to the Pasadena Freeway, out that tortuous expressway to South Pasadena, then east to Santa Anita racetrack in Arcadia.
Entering the racetrack’s enormous parking lot, I felt relieved and hopeful. It was a brilliantly clear day, not too hot, and the parking lot was already filled with cars and plenty of people to hide me as I tailed my suspect. And I remembered what an old Vice cop had once told me: racetracks were good places to brace people for information–they felt sinful and somehow guilty about being there, and cowered fast when confronted with a badge.
I parked and sprinted to the entrance turnstiles. I paid my admission, then lounged, eyes downcast, next to a souvenir stand and waited for Eddie to show up. He did, a good ten minutes later, flashing a pass at the ticket-taker and getting a big smile in return. As he passed me, consulting his racing form, I turned my back.
The giant entranceway and passages leading up to the grandstand were filling up fast, so I let a solid throng of horseplayers get between us as we maneuvered toward the escalators that led to the betting windows. Eddie was going first-class: the fifty-dollar window. He was the only one in line there. He got a warm welcome from the man in the cage, and I could hear him plainly as I stood by the ten-dollar window a few yards away.
“Howsa boy, Eddie?” the guy said.
“Not bad, Ralph. How’s the action? You got any hot ones for me?” Eddie’s voice seemed strained under the ritualistic overtones.
“Naw, you know me, Eddie. I like ’em all. That’s why I’m working here and not bettin’ here. I love ’em all, too much.”
Eddie laughed. “I hear you. I got the system though, and I feel lucky today.” He handed the man a sheet of paper and a roll of bills. “Here, Ralph, that’s for the first four races. Let’s take care of it all now. I want to check out the scenery.”
The man in the cage scooped up the scratch sheet and money and whistled. He detached a row of tickets and handed them to Eddie. He shook his head. “You might be takin’ a bath today, kid.”
“Never, pal. Seen any lookers around? You know my type.”
“Hang out at the Turf Club, kid. That’s where the class dames go.”
“Too ritzy for me. I can’t breathe in there. I’ll be back for my money at the end of the day, Ralph. Have it ready for me.”
Ralph laughed. “You bet, kid.”
I followed Eddie to his seat in one of the better sections of the grandstand. He bought a beer and peanuts from a vendor and settled in, reading his racing form and fiddling with a pair of binoculars in a leather case.
I was wondering what to do next when an idea struck me. I waited for the first race to start, and when the passageways cleared and the crowd started to yell, I made my way back down to the souvenir stand, where I bought the current issues of three magazines: _Life_, _Collier’s_, and _Ladies’ Home Journal_.
I took them into the men’s room, locked myself into a stall and thumbed through them, finding what I wanted almost immediately–five black-and-white photographs of rather ordinary women, taken from the neck up. I tore them out, left the rest of the magazines on the floor and placed the blowup photo of Maggie Cadwallader in the middle of the tear-outs.
Then I went looking for Ralph, the man at the fifty-dollar window. He wasn’t in his cage, so I strolled aimlessly through the nowdeserted passageways until I spotted him walking out of the radio broadcasters’ booth, smoking a cigar and holding a cup of coffee.