CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“. . . and we’re more than the moral exemplars that Chief Parker spoke of the other day. We are the dividing line between the old police work and the new, the old system of promotion through patronage and enforcement through intimidation and a new emerging system: the elite police corps that impartially asserts its authority in the name of a stern and unbiased justice, that punishes its own with a stern moral vigor should they prove duplicitous to the higher moral standards an elite corps demands of its members. And, finally, we are the protectors of the public image of the Los Angeles Police Department. Know that when you read interdepartmental complaints filed against your brother officers and feel the urge to be forgiving. Know that when I assign you to investigate a man you once worked with and liked. Know that our business is stern, absolute justice, whatever the price.”
Ed paused, looked at his men: twenty-two sergeants, two lieutenants. “Nuts and bolts now, gentlemen. Under my predecessor, Lieutenant Phillips and Lieutenant Stinson supervised field investigations autonomously. As of now, I will assume direct field command, with Lieutenant Phillips and Lieutenant Stinson serving as my execs on an alternating basis. Incoming complaints and information requests will be routed through my office first, I’ll read the material and make my assignments accordingly. Sergeant Kleckner and Sergeant Fisk will serve as my personal assistants and will meet with me every morning at 0730. Lieutenant Stinson and Lieutenant Phillips, please meet me in my office in one hour to discuss my assuming command of your ongoing investigations. Gentlemen, you’re dismissed.”
The meeting dispersed in silence; the muster room emptied. Ed replayed his speech, hitting key phrases. “Absolute justice” hit with Inez Soto’s voice.
Dump ashtrays, straighten chairs, tidy the bulletin board. Unfurl the flags by the lectern, check them for dust. Back to his speech, his father’s voice: “Duplicitous to the higher moral standards an elite corps demands of its members.” Two days ago, his speech would have been the truth. Inez Soto’s speech made it a lie.
Flags, gold-fringed. Gold-plated opportunism: he killed those men out of a weak man’s rage. As the Nite Owl killers they gave the rage meaning: absolute justice boldly taken. He twisted the meaning to support what the public was telling him: you’re L.A.’s greatest hero, you’re going to the top and beyond. Bud White’s revenge, the man too stupid to grasp it: a simple cuckold accompanied by a woman’s few words had him treading lies at the top, thrashing for a way to make his stale glory real.
Ed walked into his office: clean, neat–no order to secure. Complaint forms on his desk–he sat down, worked.
Jack Vincennes in big trouble.
1/3/58: while on a Surveillance Detail stakeout, Vincennes shot and killed two armed robbers–gunmen who had murdered three people at a southside market. Vincennes gave chase to a third gunman/robber, lost him, was approached by two patrolmen who did not know he was a police officer. The patrolmen fired at Vincennes, assuming him to be a member of the robbery gang; Vincennes dropped his gun and allowed himself to be frisked–then assaulted one of the officers and vacated the crime scene before Homicide and the coroner arrived. The third suspect remained at large; Vincennes went to a political gathering honoring D.A. Ellis Loew, his brother-in-law by marriage. Presumed to be drunk, he verbally abused Loew and threw a drink in his face–in full view of the guests.
Ed skimmed Vincennes’ personnel file. A 5/58 pension securement date–goodbye, Trashcan Jack–you were close. Stacks of his Narcotics Squad reports: thorough, detailed to the point of being padded. Between the lines: Vincennes had a hard-on for minor dope violators–especially Hollywood celebrities and jazz musicians–substantiating an old rumor: he called _Hush-Hush_ Magazine to be in on his gravy rousts. Vincennes was transferred to Administrative Vice as part of the Bloody Christmas shake-up; another stack of reports: bookmaking and liquor infraction operations, no zeal, plenty of verbal padding. Ad Vice assignment into the spring of ’53: Russ Millard commanding the division, a pornography investigation running concurrent with the Nite Owl. And a _big_ anomaly: assigned to trace smut, Vincennes repeatedly reported no leads, commented that the other men on the assignment were coming up empty, twice offered the opinion that the investigation should be dropped.