“I don’t know. _Really_.”
“You got anything else good?”
“No. You have any fine young Howard rejects to spice up the ward?”
“See you in church, Doc.”
o
o
o
A stack of messages was waiting back at the office, partial results from his secretary’s phone queries. Buzz leafed through them.
Traffic ticket rebop predominated, along with some stale bread on the spics: unlawful assembly, nonfelony assault and battery resulting in Mickey Mouse juvie time. No sex shit on Samuel Tomás Ignacio Benavides, the “devil incarnate”; no political dirt on any of the three ex–White Fencers. Buzz turned to the last message slip–his secretary’s call back from the Santa Monica PD.
Mr. Meeks–
3/44–R. Loftis & another man–Charles (Eddington) Hartshorn, D.O.B.
Side 82
Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The 9/6/1897, routinely questioned during Vice Squad raid of S.M. deviant bar (Knight in Armor 1684 S. Lincoln, S.M.) This from F.I. card check. DMV/R&I on Hartshorn: no crim. rec., traffic rec. clean, attorney. Address – 419 S. Rimpau, L.A. – hope this helps
— Lois.
419 South Rimpau was Hancock Park, pheasant under glass acres, old LA money; Reynolds Loftis had a case on Claire De Haven–and now it looked like he addressed the ball from both sides of the plate. Buzz ran an electric shaver over his face, squirted cologne at his armpits and brushed a chunk of pie crust off his necktie. Filthy rich always made him nervous; filthy rich and fruit was a combo he’d never worked before.
Audrey Anders stuck with him on the ride over; he pretended his Old Spice was her Chanel #5 in just the right places. 419 South Rimpau was a Spanish mansion fronted by a huge expanse of grass dotted with rose gardens; Buzz parked and rang the bell, hoping for a single-o play: no witnesses if it got ugly.
A peephole opened, then the door. A peaches-and-cream blonde about twenty-five had her hand on the knob, wholesome pulchritude in a tartan skirt and pink button-down shirt. “Hello. Are you the insurance man here to see Daddy?”
Buzz pulled his jacket over the butt of his .38. “Yes, I am. In private, please. No man likes to discuss such grave matters in the presence of his family.”
The girl nodded, led Buzz through the foyer to a book-lined study and left him there with the door ajar. He noticed a liquor sideboard and thought about a quick one–a mid-afternoon bracer might give him some extra charm. Then
“Phil, what’s this in-private stuff?” took it out of his hands.
A short pudgy man, bald with a fringe, had pushed the door open. Buzz held out his badge; the man said, “What is this?”
“DA’s Bureau, Mr. Hartshorn. I just wanted to keep your family out of it.”
Charles Hartshorn closed the door and leaned against it. “Is this about Duane Lindenaur?”
Buzz drew a blank on the name, then remembered it from yesterday’s late-edition _Tattler_: Lindenaur was a victim in the homo killings Dudley Smith told him about–the job the Sheriff’s dick they just co-opted was set to run.
“No, sir. I’m with the Grand Jury Division, and we’re investigating the Santa Monica Police. We need to know if they abused you when they raided the Knight in Armor back in ’44.”
Veins throbbed in Hartshorn’s forehead; his voice was boardroom-lawyer cold. “I don’t believe you. Duane Lindenaur attempted to extort money from me nine years ago–spurious allegations that he threatened to leak to my family. I dealt with the man legally then, and a few days ago I read that he had been murdered. I’ve been expecting the police at my door, and now you show up. Am I a suspect in Lindenaur’s death?”
Buzz said, “I don’t know and I don’t care. This is about the Santa Monica Police.”
“No, it is not. This pertains to the spurious allegations Duane Lindenaur made against me and the non sequitur of my happening to be in a cocktail lounge frequented by certain not respectable people when a police raid occurred. I have an alibi for the newspapers’ estimated time of Duane Lindenaur’s and the other man’s deaths, and I want you to corroborate it without involving my family. If you so much as breathe a word to my wife and daughter, I will have your badge and your head. Do you understand?”