Mal said, “Duarte went to see Charles Hartshorn right before his alleged suicide, to see if he could get the cops to put some juice into investigating Augie’s murder. Hartshorn said he’d been ditzed on Duane Lindenaur’s killing–you, partner–and he read about the zoot stick mutilations on the other victims in a scandal sheet and thought the snuffs might be SLDC connected. Hartshorn called the LAPD then, and talked to a Sergeant Breuning, who said he’d be right over. Duarte left, and the next morning Hartshorn’s body was found. Bingo.”
Buzz said it first. “Dudley Smith. He was the big white man and he joined the team so he could keep the SLDC testimony watchdogged. That’s why he was interested in Upshaw. Danny was hipped on the zoot stick mutilations, and Augie Duarte–Juan’s cousin–was on his surveillance list. That’s why Dudley blew off the tails. He went with Breuning to see Hartshorn, and somebody said the wrong thing. Necktie party, bye-bye, Charlie.”
Mal hit the dashboard. “I can’t fucking believe it.”
“I can. Now here’s a good question. You been around Dudley lots more than I have lately. Is he tied to the queer snuffs?”
Mal shook his head. “No. I’ve been racking my brain on it, and I can’t put the two together. Dudley wanted Upshaw to join the team, and he couldn’t have cared less about dead homos. It was when Danny pushed on ‘zoot stick’ and ‘Augie Duarte’ that Dudley got scared. Wasn’t José Diaz a zooter?”
Buzz said, “His threads were slashed with a zoot stick, I think I remember that. You got a motive for Dudley killin’ Diaz?”
“Maybe. I went with Dudley to visit his niece. Apparently she’s got a bent for Mexes and Dudley can’t stand it.”
“Pretty slim, boss.”
“Dudley’s insane! What the fuck more do you want!”
Buzz squeezed his partner’s arm. “Whoa, boy, and just listen to my stuff. Coleman Masskie’s crazy mama and I had a little chat. She had lots of different kids by different daddies, she don’t know who’s whose. Coleman left home in the late fall of ‘42. He was a burglar, he loved jazz, he worked at that dental lab. All that fits Upshaw’s scenario. Now, dig this: fall of ‘42, a big man with a brogue comes around askin’ for Coleman. I describe Dudley, the ginch gets terrified and clams. I say Coleman’s the one runnin’ from the big white man, who’s Dudley, who bumped José Diaz– and Coleman saw it. I say we stretch Gordean now–then go back and ply that old girl and try to tie her to Reynolds Loftis.”
Mal said, “I’m taking Dudley down.”
Buzz shook his head. “You take another think on that. No proof, no evidence on Hartshorn, an eight-year-old spic homicide. A cop with Dudley’s juice. You’re as nuts as he is if you think that plays.”
Mal put on a lilting tenor brogue. “Then I’ll kill him, lad.”
“The fuck you will.”
“I’ve killed a man before, Meeks. I can do it again.”
Buzz saw that he was out to do it–enjoying the view off the cliff. “Partner, a Nazi in the war ain’t the same thing.”
“You knew about that?”
“Why’d you think I was always afraid it was you ‘stead of Dragna set me up? A mild-mannered guy like you kills once, he can do it again.”
Mal laughed. “You ever kill anyone?”
“I stand on the Fifth Amendment, boss. Now you wanta go roust that queer pimp?”
Mal nodded. “7941’s the address–I think it’s back in the bungalow part.”
“You be the bad guy tonight. You’re good at it.”
“After you, lad.”
Buzz took the lead. They walked through the lobby and out a side door to the courtyard; it was dark, and high hedges hid the individual bungalows. Buzz tracked the numbers marked on wrought-iron poles, saw 7939 and said, “It’s gotta be the next one.”
Gunshots.
One, two, three, four–close, the odd-numbered side of the walkway. Buzz pulled his .38; Mal pulled and cocked his. They ran to 7941, pinned themselves to the wall on opposite sides of the door and listened. Buzz heard footsteps inside, moving away from them; he looked at Mal, counted one, two, three on his fingers, wheeled and kicked the door in.