“Do you know Eddie Engels, Mr. Brubaker?” I asked.
“Yes, I know Eddie.”
“Does he frequent your bar?”
“Not really, not for a while.”
“But he did in the past?”
“Yes,”
“When?”
“The first few years I owned the Cabin.”
“Why did he quit coming here?”
“I don’t know. He moved out of the area. He broke up with the woman he was living with. She used to come here frequently, and when they broke up Eddie stopped coming around.”
“Eddie Engels used to live here in Venice?” I asked mildly.
“Yes, he and Janet lived in a house near the canals, around Twenty-ninth and Pacific.”
I let my breath out slowly. “When was this?”
“The late forties. From sometime in ’47 to early ’49, as I recall. Why all this interest in Eddie?” Brubaker inched his feet closer to my outstretched legs so that they touched my ankles. I felt a queasy sort of revulsion come up, but I didn’t move.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dudley swivel his neck. “Enough horseshit!” he bellowed. “Brubaker, are you and Eddie Engels lovers?”
“What the world, are you–” Brubaker exclaimed.
“Shut up, you goddamned degenerate! Yes or no?”
“I don’t have to–”
“The hell you say. This is an official police investigation, and you will answer our questions!”
Dudley got up and advanced toward Brubaker, who fell over in his chair, got up and backed himself into the wall, trembling.
I came between them as Dudley closed his hands into fists. “Easy, Dud,” I said, pushing him gently at the shoulders. “Mr. Brubaker is cooperating, and we’re investigating bookmaking, not homosexuality.”
“The hell you say, Freddy, I want to get a handle on this degenerate Engels. I want to know what makes him tick.”
I sighed, and released Dudley. Then I sighed again. I took Brubaker by the arm and led him to the couch. He sat down and I sat down beside him, letting our knees touch lightly. “Mr. Brubaker, I apologize for my partner, but he has a point. Could you tell us about your association with Eddie Engels?”
Brubaker nodded assent. “Eddie and I go back to the war. We were stationed together down at Long Beach. We became friends. We went to the races together. We stayed friends after the war. Eddie is a very popular guy at the racetrack, and he brought lots of people here to the Cabin. Lots of beautiful women, gay and straight. I introduced him to Janet, Janet Valupeyk, and they moved in together, here in Venice. He still comes by here once in a while, but not so much since he broke it off with Janet. We’re still friends. That’s about it.”
“And he likes boys, right?” Dudley hissed.
“That’s none of my business, Officer.”
“You tell me, Brubaker, now!”
“He’s a switch-hitter,” Brubaker said, and stared into his lap, ashamed at divulging that intimacy. Dudley snorted in triumph and cracked his knuckles.
“What does Eddie do for a living, Mr. Brubaker?” I asked gently.
“He gambles. He gambles big and he usually wins. He’s a winner.”
Dudley caught my eye and nodded toward the door. Brubaker continued to stare downward.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Brubaker. You’ve been very helpful. Good day.” I got up from the sofa to leave.
Dudley got in a parting shot: “You don’t breathe a word of this to a soul; you got that, you scum?”
Brubaker moved his head in acquiescence. I gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as I followed Dudley out the door.
Walking back to my car, Dudley let out a big whoop. “Freddy, lad, you were brilliant! As was I, of course. And we got solid evidence–handsome Eddie was living two blocks away when that tragic young woman was croaked in ’48. Just think, lad!”
“Yeah. Are we going to put someone on that?”
“We can’t, lad. Mike and Dick are tailing Engels twenty-four hours a day. There’s just the four of us on this investigation, and besides, the trail’s too cold–three and a half years cold. But don’t worry, lad. When we pop Eddie for Margaret Cadwallader, he’ll confess to all his sins, don’t you fear.”