o o o
Dieterling ended it. “And all of this is my rather pathetic happy ending.”
Mountains, rockets, rivers–they all seemed to smile. “My father never knew about Douglas? He really thought Paul was guilty?”
“Yes. Will you forgive me? In your father’s name.”
Ed took out a clasp. Gold oak-leafs–Preston Exley’s inspector’s insignia. A hand-me-down–Thomas got it first. “No. I’m going to submit a report to the county grand jury requesting that you be indicted for the murder of your son.”
“A week to get my affairs in order? Where could I run to, someone as famous as I am.”
Ed said, “Yes,” walked to his car.
o o o
The freeway model gone–replaced by campaign posters. Art De Spain unpacking leaflets, no arm bandage–a textbook bullet scar. “Hello, Eddie.”
“Where’s Father?”
“He’ll be back soon. And congratulations on inspector. I should have called you, but things have been hectic around here.”
“Father hasn’t called me either. You’re all pretending everything’s fine.”
“Eddie . . .”
A bulge on Art’s left hip-he still carried a piece. “I just spoke to Ray Dieterling.”
“We didn’t think you would.”
“Give me your gun, Art.”
De Spain handed it over butt first. Silencer threads, S&W .38s.
“Why?”
“Eddie . .
Ed dumped the shells. “Dieterling told me everything. And you were Father’s exec back then.”
The man looked proud. “You know my M.O., Sunny Jim. It was for Preston. I’ve always been his loyal adjutant.”
“And you knew about Paul Dieterling.”
De Spain took his gun back. “Yes, and I’ve known for years that he wasn’t the real killer. I got a tip back in ’48 or so. It placed the kid somewhere else at the time of the Wennerholm snatch. I didn’t know if Ray gave Paul over legitimately or not, and I couldn’t break Preston’s heart by telling him he killed an innocent boy. I couldn’t upset his friendship with Ray–it just would have hurt him too much. You know how the Atherton case has always driven me. I’ve always had to know who killed those kids.”
“And you never found out.”
De Spain shook his head. “No.”
Ed said, “Get to the Englekling brothers.”
Art picked up a poster: Preston backdropped by building grids. “I was visiting the Bureau. I know it was ’53, right in there. I saw these pictures on the Ad Vice board. Nice-looking kids, like a stag-shot daisy chain. The design reminded me of the pictures Loren Atherton took, and I knew that just Preston and I and a few other officers had seen them. I tried to track down the pictures and didn’t get anywhere. A while later I heard how the Englekling brothers gave that smut testimony for the Nite Owl investigation, but you didn’t follow up on it. I figured they were a lead, but I couldn’t fmd them. Late last year I got a tip that they were working at this printshop up near Frisco. I went up to talk to them. All I wanted was to find out who made that smut.”
White’s notes: God-awful torture. “Just to talk to them? I know what happened there.”
Awful pride glaring. “They took it for a shakedown. It went bad. They had some old smut negatives, and I tried to get them to ID the people. They had some heroin and some antipsychotic drugs. They said they knew a sugar daddy who was going to push some horse blend that would set the world on fire, but they could do better. They laughed at me, called me ‘pops.’ I got this notion that they had to know who made that smut. I don’t know . . . I know I went crazy. I think I thought they killed all those children. I think I thought they’d hurt Preston somehow. Eddie, they _laughed_ at me. I figured they were dope pushers, I figured next to Preston they were nothing. And this old man took them both out.”
He’d fretted the poster to shreds. “You killed two men for nothing.”
“Not for nothing. For Preston. And I beg you not to tell him.”
“Just another victim”–maybe the victim that justice lets slide.
“Eddie, he can’t know. And he can’t know that Paul Dieterling was innocent. Eddie, please.”