THE BIG NOWHERE by James Ellroy

Tap, tap, tap. Jump, jump, jump.

Dudley Smith was a big white man with a bone-deep cruel streak. He joined the grand jury team out of a desire to keep incriminating Sleepy Lagoon testimony kiboshed, thinking that with access to witnesses and case paperwork, he could get the jump on damaging evidence about to come out. Hartshorn’s zoot stick call to Mike Breuning scared him; he and Breuning or one of them alone drove over from Wilshire Station to talk to the man; Hartshorn got suspicious. Either premeditatedly or on the spur of the moment, Smith and/or Breuning killed him, faking a suicide. Tap, tap, tap-thunder loud–with the door still closed on the most important question: How did Smith killing José Diaz, his attempts to keep possible evidence quashed and his killing Charles Hartshorn connect to the Goines/Wiltsie/Lindenaur/Duarte murders? And why did Smith kill Diaz?

Danny looked around at set doors spilling glimpses: the wild west, jungle swampland, trees in a forest. He said, “Vaya con Dios,” left Duarte sitting there and drove home to hit the grand jury file, thinking he’d finally made detective in the eyes of Maslick and Vollmer. He walked in his building, light as air; he pushed the elevator button and heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw two big men with guns drawn. He reached for his own gun, but a big fist holding a set of big brass knucks hit him first.

o o o

He came awake handcuffed to a chair. His head was woozy, his wrists were numb and his tongue felt huge. His eyes homed in on an interrogation cubicle, three fuzzy men seated around a table, a big black revolver lying square in the middle. A voice said, “.38’s are standard issue for your Department, Upshaw. Why do you carry a .45?”

Danny blinked and coughed up a bloody lunger; he blinked again and recognized the voice man: Thad Green, LAPD Chief of Detectives. The two men flanking Green fell into focus; they were the biggest plainclothes cops he’d ever seen.

“I asked you a question, Deputy.”

Danny tried to remember the last time he had a drink, came up with Chinatown and knew he couldn’t have gone crazy while fried on bonded. He coughed dry and said, “I sold it when I made detective.”

Green lit a cigarette. “That’s an interdepartmental offense. Do you consider yourself above the law?”

“No!”

“Your friend Karen Hiltscher says otherwise. She says you’ve manipulated her for special favors ever since you made detective. She told Sergeant Eugene Niles you broke into 2307 Tamarind and knew that two murder victims had recently been killed there. She told Sergeant Niles that your story about a girlfriend near the doughnut stand on Franklin and Western is a lie, that she phoned you the information off the City air. Niles was going to inform on you, Deputy. Did you know that?”

Danny’s head woozed. He swallowed blood; he recognized the man to Green’s left as the knuck wielder. “Yeah. Yes, I knew.”

Green said, “Who’d you sell your .38 to?”

“A guy in a bar.”

“That’s a misdemeanor, Deputy. A criminal charge. You really don’t care much for the law, do you?”

“Yes, yes, I care! I’m a policeman! Goddamn it, what is this!”

The knuck man said, “You were seen arguing with a known homo procurer named Felix Gordean. Are you on his payroll?”

“No!”

“Mickey Cohen’s payroll?”

“No!”

Green took over. “You were given command of a Homicide team, a carrot for your grand jury work. Sergeant Niles and Sergeant Mike Breuning found it very strange that a smart young officer would be so concerned about a string of queer slashes. Would you like to tell us why?”

“No! What the fuck is this! I B&E’d Tamarind! What do you fucking want from me!”

The third cop, a huge bodybuilder type, said, “Why did you and Niles trade blows?”

“He was ditzing me with Tamarind Street, threatening to rat me.”

“So that made you mad?”

“Yes.”

“Fighting mad?”

“Yes!”

Green said, “We heard a different version, Deputy. We heard Niles called you a queer.”

Danny froze, reached for a comeback and kept freezing. He thought of ratting Dudley and kiboshed it–they’d never believe him–yet. “If Niles said that, I didn’t hear it.”

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