The pitch he’d rehearsed–verbatim. “The public will demand more than true bills, stalling tactics and dismissed indictments. Interdepartmental trial boards, suspensions and a big transfer shake-up won’t be enough. You told Officer White that heads must roll. I agree, and for the sake of the chief’s prestige and the prestige of the Department, I think we need criminal convictions and jail sentences.”
“Lad, I am shocked at the relish with which you just said that.” Ed to Parker. “Sir, you’ve brought the Department back from Horrall and Worton. Your reputation is exemplary and the Department’s has greatly improved. You can assure that it stays that way.”
Loew said, “Spill it, Exley. Exactly what does our junior officer informant think we should do?”
Ed, eyes on Parker. “Dismiss the indictments on the men with their twenty in. Publicize the transfer shake-up and give the bulk of the men trial boards and suspensions. Indict Johnny Brownell, tell him to request a no-jury venue and have the judge let him off with a suspended sentence–his brother was one of the officers initially assaulted. And indict, try and convict Dick Stensland and Bud White. Secure them jail time. Boot them off the Department. Stensland’s a drunken thug, White almost killed a man and supplied more liquor than Vincennes. Feed them to the goddamn sharks. Protect yourself, protect the Department.”
Silence, stretching. Smith broke it. “Gentlemen, I think our young sergeant’s advice is rash and hypocritical. Stensland has his rough edges, but Wendell White is a valuable officer.”
“Sir, White is a homicidal thug.”
Smith started to speak; Parker raised a hand. “I think Ed’s advice is worth considering. Ace them at the grand jury tomorrow, son. Wear a smart-looking suit and ace them.”
Ed said, “Yes, sir.” He forced himself not to shout his joy to the rafters.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Spotlights, height strips: Jack at 5’11”; Frank Doherty, Dick Stens, John Brownell the short guys, Wilbert Huff, Bud White topping six. Central Jail punks across the glass, couched with D.A.’s cops taking names.
A speaker squawked, “Left profile”; six men turned. “Right profile,” “Face the wall,” “Face the mirror”; “At ease, gentlemen.” Silence; then: “Fourteen IDs apiece on Doherty, Stensland, Vincennes, White and Brownell, four for Huff. Oh shit, the P.A.’s on!”
Stens cracked up. Frank Doherty said, “Eat shit, cocksucker.” White stayed expressionless–like he was already at the honor farm protecting Stens from niggers. The speaker: “Sergeant Vincennes to room 114, Officer White report to Chief Green’s office. The rest of you men are dismissed.”
114–the grand jury witness room.
Jack walked ahead, through curtains down to 114. A crowded room: Bloody Christmas plaintiffs, Ed Exley in a too-new suit, loose threads at the sleeves. The Xmas boys sneered; Jack braced Exley. “You’re the key witness?”
“That’s right.”
“I should’ve known it was you. What’s Parker throwing you?”
“Throwing me?”
“Yeah, Exley. _Throwing you_. The deal, the payoff. You think I’m testifying for free?”
Exley futzed with his glasses. “I’m just doing my duty.”
Jack laughed. “You’re playing an angle, college boy. You’re getting something out of this, so you won’t have to hobnob with the fucking rank-and-file cops who are going to hate your fucking guts for snitching. And if Parker promised you the Bureau, watch out, Some Bureau guys are gonna burn in this thing and you’re gonna have to work with friends of theirs.”
Exley flinched; Jack laughed. “Good payoff, I’ll admit that.”
“You’re the payoff expert. Not me.”
“You’ll be outranking me pretty soon, so I should be nice. Did you know Ellis Loew’s new girlfriend has the hots for you?”
A clerk called, “Edmund J. Exley to chambers.”
Jack winked. “Go. And clip those threads on your coat or you’ll look like a rube.”
Exley walked across the hall–primping, pulling threads.
o o o
Jack killed time–thinking about Karen. Ten days since the party; life was mostly aces. He had to apologize to Spade Cooley; Welton Morrow was pissed over him and Karen–but the lukewarm Joanie/Ellis Loew deal almost made it up for him. Hotel shacks were a strain–Karen lived at home, his place was a dive, he’d been neglecting his payments to the Scoggins kids to make the freight at the Ambassador. Karen loved the illicit romance; he loved her loving it. Aces. But Sid Hudgens hadn’t called arid L.A. was heroin dry–no Narco jollies. A year at Ad Vice loomed like the gas chamber.