I checked the den–framed photos–Dudley Smith, Bureau toastmaster. Pull them, look behind–
No safe.
Upstairs–three bedrooms–more walls, more pictures: Dudley Smith as Santa Claus–a polio ward, ’53.
Dudley Smith, guest speaker–Christian Anti-Communist Crusade.
Dudley Smith at a crime scene: ogling a dead jigaboo.
Three bedrooms–twenty Dudley Smith pictures–Exley hate fuel.
No safe.
Back downstairs-check the kitchen–nothing.
Check the carpets–every one tacked flat. Upstairs–hallway throw rugs–pull them–
A hinged panel under a red Persian.
Inset with a tumbler dial and handle.
Trembly–34L–16R–31L–two run-throughs, snap/thunk–yank the handle.
Drawstring bank bags. Five. Nothing else.
Hundreds, fifties, twenties. Old bills.
I shut the lid, spun the dial and fixed the rugs. Downstairs, the kitchen–
Cutlery right there. I grabbed a cleaver–heebie-jeebies–Chick.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“Davey. . . please.”
Psychic: begging me two seconds in the door. A tattoo on his right hand: “Sally 4-Ever.”
“Davey, please.”
683 grand and that cleaver. Pete out chasing Madge, Fred asleep in the bedroom.
Chick, cuffed down–panic spritzing:
We go back, we had laughs, I’m sorry I got fresh with Glenda, but how can you blame me? We had laughs, we made money, Pete wants to kill me, he’s a fucking Side 223
Ellroy – White Jazz
neon sign….
“Davey, please.”
Pillow bullet mufflers. Curtains for a makeshift shroud.
“Davey . . . Jesus Christ. . . Davey.”
Tired–no stones for it–yet.
Dead man talking:
I’ll disappear … you can trust me…. Glenda’s great … Sid Frizell says she’s star stuff. Frizell. . . what a chump. . . no ideas. . . that camera guy Wylie Bullock’s got twice the smarts, and he couldn’t direct traffic on Mars.
You and Glenda. . . I wish you the best. . . . Davey, I know what you got planned, I can see it in your eyes….
Tired.
No stones for it–yet.
The phone rang–I cradled it up. “Yeah?”
“It’s Pete.”
“And?”
“And I found Madge Kafesjian.”
“_Where?_”
“The Skyliner Motel, Lankershim and Croft in Van Nuys. She’s in room 104, and the desk man says she’s on a hankie binge.”
“You’re staking her?”
“I’m on your payroll, and I’m watching that room till you say otherwise.”
“_Just stay there_. I’ll be out soon, so–”
“Look, I talked to Mr. Hughes. He said the Sheriff’s found a witness who saw Glenda by the Hollywood Hills fuck pad like the approximate night that Miciak bought it. They think she’s hinky, and they’re looking for her as a suspect. It looks like she blew town, but–”
“_Just stick at the motel_.”
“Your payroll, boss. How’s Chick–”
I hung up and dialed Chino direct.
“Deputy Warden Clavell’s office.”
“Is he in? It’s Lieutenant Klein, LAPD.”
“Oh, _yes_, sir. Mr. Clavell left me a list of names to read you.”
“Read off the released inmates first.”
“Current addresses too?”
“The names first, I want to see if something grabs me.”
“Yes, sir”–slow, precise:
“Altair, Craig V…. Allegretto, Vincent W…. Anderson, Samuel NMI…. Bassett, William A…. Beltrem, Ronald D…. Bochner, Kurt NMI…. Bonestell, Chester Side 224
Ellroy – White Jazz
W…. Bordenson, Walter S…. Bosnitch, Vance B.. . . Bullock, Wylie D.–”
Tilt/click/snap-SOMETHING missing/SOMETHING there: Wylie Bullock.
_Vampire_ cameraman.
Idea man–pressing gore on Sid Frizell.
“Burdsall, John C. . . . Cantrell, Martin NMI–”
“Go back to Wylie Bullock. Give me his parole date and his last known address.”
“Um . . . he was paroled on November 9, 1957, and his parole disposition address is the Larkview Trailer Court, Arroyo and Brand in Glendale.”
Freddy in the hallway–yawning.
“Sir, do you want the rest of these names?”
I put the phone down. “Was there a guy named Wylie Bullock in your class at Chino?”
“Yeah . . . riiight . . . he was that guy following Richie Herrick around.”
Adrenaline–_zoooom_.
Chick: “Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee.”
Stay of execution: dumb guinea luck.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
R&I/DMV:
Bullock, Wylie Davis– DOB 7/16/25. Brown/brown, 5’10”, 165. Popped 3/56–
pornography beefs–3 to 5, Chino.
Occupation: photographer-cameraman. Vehicle: ’54 Packard Clipper, white & salmon, Cal. GHX 617.
Freeways out to Glendale–my rat’s-ass car belched smoke. Wylie/
Madge/Dudley–TELL ME THINGS.
Arroyo off-ramp, south to Brand–the Larkview Trailer Court.
Parking slots: and no two-tone Packard tucked in. A map out front: “W