All closed. A gardener working around back–no way to circuit without being seen. A car door slammed; Jack ran to a front window: closed, a part in the curtains he could squint through.
The doorbell rang; Jack squinted in. Patchett walked to the door, opened it. Lynn Bracken shoved her newspaper at him– zoom into a panic duet: mute lip movements, fear very large. Jack put an ear to the glass–all he heard was his own heart thumping. No need for sound: they didn’t know Sid was dead, they’re scared anyway, they didn’t kill him.
They walked into the next room–full curtains, no way to look or listen. Jack ran to his car.
o o o
He made the Bureau ten minutes late. The Homicide pen was jam-packed _Badge of Honor_: Brett Chase, Miller Stanton, David Mertens the set man, Jerry Marsalas his nurse–one long bench crammed tight. Standing: Billy Dieterling, the camera crew, a half dozen briefcase men: attorneys for sure. The gang looked nervous; Duane Fisk and Don Kleckner paced with clipboards. No Mar Peltz, no Russ Millard.
Billy D. shot him the fisheye; the rest of the gang waved. Jack waved back; Kieckner buttonholed him. “Ellis Loew wants to see you. Booth number six.”
Jack walked down. Loew was staring out a back wall mirror–a lie detector stall across the glass. Polygraph time: Millard questioning Peltz, Ray Pinker working the machine.
Loew noticed him. “I’d rather Mar didn’t have to go through that. Can you fix it?”
Protecting a slush-fund contributor. “Ellis, I’ve got no truck with Millard. If Mar’s lawyer advised him to do it, he’ll have to do it.”
“Can Dudley fix it?”
“Dud’s got no truck with him either, Millard’s the pious type. And before you ask me, I don’t know who killed Sid, and I don’t care. Has Max got an alibi?”
“Yes, but one that he would rather not use.”
“How old is she?”
“Quite young. Would–”
“Yeah, Russ would file on him for it.”
“My God, all this for scum like Hudgens.”
Jack laughed. “Counselor, one of his little mudslings got you elected.”
“Yes, politics makes for strange bedfellows, but I doubt if he’ll be grieved. You know, we’ve got nothing. I talked to those attorneys outside, and they all assured me their clients have valid alibis. They’ll give statements and be eliminated, the rest of the _Badge of Honor_ people will be alibied and then we’ll only have the rest of Hollywood to deal with.”
An opening. “Ellis, you want some advice?”
“Yes, give me your appropriately cynical view.”
“Let it play out. Push on the Nite Owl, that’s the one the public wants cleared. Hudgens was shit, the investigation’ll be a shit show and we’ll never get the killer. Let it play out.”
The door opened; Duane Fisk put two thumbs down. “No luck, Mr. Loew. Alibis straight across, and they sound like good ones. The coroner estimated Hudgens’ death at midnight to 1:00 A.M., and these people were all in plain view somewhere else. We’ll go for corroboration, but I think it’s a wipe.”
Loew nodded; Fisk walked out. Jack said, “Let it go.”
Loew smiled. “What’s your alibi? Were you in bed with my sister-in-law?”
“I was in bed alone.”
“I’m not surprised–Karen said you’ve been moody and scarce lately. You look edgy, Jack. Are you afraid your arrangement with Hudgens will be publicized?”
“Millard wants a deposition, I’ll give him one. You buy Sid and me as lodge brothers?”
“Of course. Along with Dudley Smith, myself and several other well-known choirboys. You’re right on Hudgens, Jack. I’ll broach it to Bill Parker.”
A yawn–the bennies were losing their kick. “It’s a dog of a case, and you don’t want to prosecute it.”
“Yes, since the victim did facilitate _my_ election, and he might have left word that _you_ leaked word to him on Mr. McPherson’s quote dark desires. Jack . . .”
“Yeah, I’ll keep my nose down, and if your name turns up on paper I’ll destroy it.”
“Good man. And if I . . .”
“Yeah, there is something. Track the reports on the investigation. Sid kept some secret dirt files, and if your name’s anywhere, it’s there. And if I get a lead on where, I’ll be there with a match.”