A good handshake. “Sir, an honor. And congratulations.”
“Thank you, and I share those congratulations with your father. Preston, your son has an eye for the ladies, doesn’t he?”
Preston laughed. “Miss Soto, Edmund has rarely evinced such good taste.” He handed Ed a slip of paper. “A Sheriff’s officer called the house looking for you. I took the message.”
Ed palmed the paper; Inez blushed through her veil. Dieterling smiled. “Miss Soto, did you enjoy Dream-a-Dreamland?”
“Yes, I did. Oh God, yes.”
“I’m glad, and I want you to know that you have a good job here anytime you wish. All you have to do is say the word.”
“Thank you, thank you, sir”–Inez wobbly. Ed steadied her, looked at his message: “Stensland on toot at Raincheck Room, 3871 W. Gage. Felony assembly, parole off. alerted. Waiting for you–Keefer.”
The partners walked off bowing; Inez waved to them. Ed said, “I’ll take you back, but I’ve got a little stop to make first.”
o o o
They drove back to L.A., the radio going, Inez beating time on the dashboard. Ed played scenes: Stensland crushed with snappy one-liners. An hour to Raincheck Room–Ed parked behind a Sheriff’s unmarked. “I’ll only be a few minutes. You stay here, all right?”
Inez nodded. Pat Keefer left the bar; Ed got out, whistled.
Keefer came over; Ed steered him away from Inez. “Is he still there?”
“Yeah, skunk drunk. I’d just about given up on you, you know.”
A dark alley by the bar. “Where’s the Parole man?”
“He told me to take him, this is county jurisdiction. His pals took off, so there’s just him.”
Ed pointed to the alley. “Bring him out cuffed.”
Keefer went back in; Ed waited by the alleyway door. Shouts, thuds, Dick Stens muscled out: smelly, disheveled. Keefer pulled his head back; Ed hit him: upstairs, downstairs, flails until his arms gave out. Stens hit the ground retching; Ed kicked him in the face, stumbled away. Inez on the sidewalk. Her one-liner: “Officer White’s the thug?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bud fed the woman coffee–get her out, go see Stens at the lock-up.
Carolyn something, she looked okay at the Orbit Lounge, morning light put ten years on her. He picked her up on a flash: he just got the word on Dick, if he couldn’t find a woman he was going to find Exley and kill him. She wasn’t bad in bed–but he had to think of Inez to charge up enthusiasm, it made him feel cheap, the odds on Inez ever doing it for love were about six trillion to one. He stopped thinking about her–the rest of the night was all bad talk and brandy.
Carolyn said, “I think I should go.”
“I’ll call you.”
The doorbell rang.
Bud walked Carolyn over. Across the screen: Dudley Smith and a West Valley dick–Joe DiCenzo.
Dudley smiled; DiCenzo nodded. Carolyn ducked out–like she knew they knew the score. Bud scoped his front room: the fold-out down, a bottle, two tumblers.
DiCenzo pointed to the bed. “There’s his alibi, and I didn’t think he did it anyway.”
Bud shut the door. “Did _what?_ Boss, what is this?”
Dudley sighed. “Lad, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings. Last night a young lassie named Kathy Janeway was found in her motel room, raped and beaten to death. Your calling card was found in her purse. Sergeant DiCenzo took the squeal, knew you were a protégé of mine and called me. I visited the crime scene, found an envelope addressed to Miss Janeway, and recognized your rather unformed handwriting immediately. Explain with brevity, lad–Sergeant DiCenzo is heading the investigation and wants you eliminated as a suspect.”
A body shot–little Kathy sobbing. Bud got his lies straight. “I was on the Cathcart background check and this hooker who worked for Cathcart told me the Janeway girl was Cathcart’s last squeeze, but he didn’t pimp her. I talked to the girl, but she didn’t know nothing worth reporting. She told me the hooker was holding cash from Cathcart for her, but she wouldn’t kick loose. I shook her down and mailed the money to the kid.”
DiCenzo shook his head. “Do you routinely shake down hookers?”