sealed the crib tight, with only Danny and the knife leaving the premises. Two, the night before he died, Danny called him: he was amazed that his two cases had crossed at the juncture of Charles Hartshorn and Reynolds Loftis.
“Deputy, are you tellin’ me Loftis is a suspect for your killin’s?”
“I’m telling you maybe. Maybe real strong. He fits the killer’s description . . . and he fits.”
No way was Danny Upshaw a murder victim. No way did the file thief wreck his apartment. Dudley Smith had a strange fix on the kid, but there was no reason for him to steal the files, and if he did he would have faked a burglary.
Person or persons unknown–a good starting point for some payback.
o
o
o
Buzz found Mal in Ellis Loew’s back yard, sitting on a sunbleached sofa, going over papers. He looked skinny beyond skinny, like he was starving himself to make the bantamweight limit. “Hey, boss.”
Mal nodded and kept working. Buzz said, “I want to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Not some Commie plot, that’s for damn sure.”
Mal connected a series of names with pencil lines. “I know you don’t take this seriously, but it is serious.”
“It’s a serious piece of gravy, I’ll give you that. And I sure want my share. It’s just that I’ve got some other boogeymen on my mind right now.”
“Like who?”
“Like Upshaw.”
Mal put his paper and pencil down. “He’s LAPD’s boogeyman, not yours.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t kill Niles, boss.”
“We’ve been over that, Buzz. It was Mickey or Jack, and we’d never be able to prove it in a million years.”
Buzz sat down on the couch–it stank of mildew and some Red chaser had burned the arms with cigarette butts. “Mal, you remember Upshaw tellin’ us about his file on the queer snuffs?”
“Sure.”
“It was stolen from his apartment, and so was his copy of the grand jury package.”
“What?”
“I’m certain about it. You said LAPD sealed the pad and didn’t take nothin’, and I checked Upshaw’s desk at West Hollywood Station. Lots of old paperwork, but zilch on the 187’s and the grand jury. You been so absorbed chasin’ pinkers you probably didn’t even think about it.”
Mal tapped Buzz with his pencil. “You’re right, I didn’t, and where are you fishing? The kid’s dead and buried, he was in trouble over that B&E he pulled, he was probably finished as a cop. He could have been the best, and I miss him. But he dug his own grave.”
Buzz clamped down on Mal’s hand. “Boss, we dug his grave. You pushed him too hard on De Haven, and I . . . oh fuck it.”
Mal pulled his hand free. “You what?”
“The kid had a fix on Reynolds Loftis. We talked on the phone the night before he died. He’d read about Charles Hartshorn’s suicide, the paper made him as a Sleepy Lagoon lawyer and Upshaw had him as a lead on his homicides–Hartshorn was blackmailed by one of the victims. I told him Loftis was rousted with Hartshorn at a queer bar back in ’44, and the kid went nuts. He didn’t know Hartshorn was involved with Sleepy Lagoon, and that sure did seem to set him off. I asked him if Loftis was a suspect, and he said, ‘Maybe real strong.'”
Side 161
Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The Mal said, “Have you talked to that County man Shortell about this?”
“No, he’s in Montana on vacation.”
“Mike Breuning?”
“I don’t trust that boy to answer straight. Remember how Danny told us Breuning fluffed the job and was jerkin’ his chain?”
“Meeks, you sure took your time telling me this.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ it over, and it took me a while to figure out what I was gonna do.”
“Which is?”
Buzz smiled. “Maybe Loftis is a hot suspect, maybe he ain’t. Whatever, I’m gonna get me that queer slasher, whoever he is.”
Mal smiled. “And then what?”
“Then arrest him or kill him.”
Mal said, “You’re out of your mind.”
Buzz said, “I was sorta thinkin’ about askin’ you to join me. A captain out of his mind has got more juice than a loaner cop with a few loose.”