Ed thought it through. “Chester Yorkin told me Patchett had a booby-trapped safe outside his house. The house is being guarded now, the West L.A. squad has a team on it. In a day or so, I’ll go lift the guards. There might be something in that safe that nails Dudley.”
White said, “So right now, what? No evidence, and Stompanato’s leaving for Acapulco today with Lana Turner. What now?”
Ed opened the door–Fisk was outside drinking coffee. “Duane, get back in touch with Valburn, Stanton, Billy Dieterling and Pelts. Change the meeting to the downtown Statler at 8:00. Call the hotel and set up three suites and call Bob Gallaudet and tell him to call me here–tell him it’s urgent.”
Fisk went for a phone. Vincennes said, “You’re hitting the Hudgens end.”
Ed turned away from White. “_Think_. Dudley’s a policeman. We need evidence, and we may get it tonight.”
“I’ll take Stanton. We used to be friends.”
Line it–a Dieterling kid star, Preston Exley. “No . . . I mean are you up to it?”
“It’s my case too, Captain. I’ve come this far, and I went up against Patchett for you and damn near got killed.”
Weigh the risk. “All right, you take Stanton.”
Trash rubbed his face–pale, stubbled. “Did I . . . I mean when Karen was here and I was unconscious . . . did I . .
“She doesn’t know anything you don’t want her to. Now go home, I want to talk to White.”
Vincennes walked out–ten years older in a day. White said, “The Hudgens end is bullshit. It’s all Dudley now.”
“No. First we buy some time.”
“Protecting Daddy? Jesus, and I thought I was dumb on women.”
“_Just think_. Think what Dudley is and what taking him down means. Think, and I’ll make you a deal.”
“I told you _never_.”
“You’ll like this one. You keep quiet about my father and the Atherton case and I’ll let you have Dudley and Perkins.”
White laughed. “The collars? I got them anyway.”
“No. I’ll let you kill them.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Exley’s rule rankled: no hitting, Billy and Timmy were too upscale to take muscle. Hotel good guy/bad guy rankled–they should be muscling Dudley at the Victory. Bob Gallaudet took Max Pelts; Trashcan was grilling Miller Stanton. Gallaudet got briefed by Exley–everything but the Atherton angle. He thought he could prosecute Dudley Smith, Exley didn’t tell him Dud and Deuce Perkins were paid for. Fucking Exley wouldn’t let him out of his sight–he took him through every piece of the case step by step, like they were partners who could trust each other. The case all put together was amazing, Exley had an amazing fucking brain–but he was stupid if he didn’t know one thing: after Dudley and Deuce, Preston E. was next. Easy: Dick Stens wouldn’t have it otherwise.
Bud watched–a crack in the bathroom doorway.
The queers sat side by side; Mr. Good Guy pussyfooted. Yes, they bought Fleur-de-Lis dope; yes, they knew Pierce Patchett “socially.” Yes, Pierce snorted “H,” we heard rumors he sold pornographic books–but we never indulged in such things. Kid gloves: the fruits thought the Patchett snuff was why they got the royal hotel treatment. Captain Exley would never be nasty– Preston Exley was running for governor, Ray Dieterling throwing hot financial backup.
Exley, loud. “Gentlemen, there’s an old homicide that might tie in to the Patchett killing.”
Bud walked in. Exley said, “This is Sergeant White. He has a few questions for you, then I think we can wrap it up.”
Timmy Valburn sighed. “Well, I’m not surprised. Miller Stanton and Max Pelts are down the hall, and the last time the police questioned all of us was when that awful man Sid Hudgens was killed. So _I’m_ not surprised.”
Bud pulled a chair up. “Why’d you say ‘awful’? You kill him?”
“Oh, Sergeant _really_. Do I look like the killer type to you?”
“Yeah, you do. Guy who makes his living playing a mouse has gotta be capable of anything.”
“Sergeant, _really_.”
“Besides, _you_ weren’t called in on the Hudgens job. Billy tell you about it? A little pillow talk, maybe?”
Billy Dieterling to Exley. “Captain, I don’t like this man’s tone.”