THE BIG NOWHERE by James Ellroy

Lesnick said, “Yes. It would have meant much unnecessary suffering for Reynolds and Coleman. Before I turned the files over in toto I checked for other Coleman references. Chaz Minear alluded to Coleman, but only elliptically, so his file I relinquished. I did that same sort of editing when I gave my files to the HUAC investigators, but I lied and told them the Loftis file had been lost. I didn’t think Ellis Loew would believe that lie, so I just secreted Reynolds’ file portion and hoped I would die before they asked me for it.”

“Why didn’t you just chuck the damn thing?”

Lesnick coughed and hunched deeper into his robe. “I had to keep studying it. It compelled me greatly. Why did you leave the grand jury? Was it moral qualms over Ellis Loew’s methods?”

“I just didn’t think UAES was worth the trouble.”

“Your statement on the newspapers gives you credibility, and I find myself wondering exactly how much you know.”

Buzz shouted over a sudden crash of waves. “I worked the killings and the grand jury! What I don’t know is the history!”

The ocean noise subsided; Lesnick coughed and said, “You know all…”

“Doc, I know the incest stuff, and the plastic surgery and all about Coleman tryin’ to frame his daddy. The only other guy who knew was that DA’s captain who was killed at the jazz club. And I think you wanta tell what you got, or you wouldn’t of pulled that juvenile ‘Trotsky’ number. Make sense, headshrinker?”

Lesnick laughed, coughed, laughed. “You understand the concept of subliminal motivation, Mr. Meeks.”

“I got a half-assed brain, boss. Wanta hear my theory why you held the files back from summer ‘49 on?”

“Please expound.”

“The UAESers who knew were talkin’ about Reynolds and Claire gettin’ married and how Coleman would take it. That right?”

“Yes. I was afraid the investigators would seize the Coleman references and try to locate him as one of their friendly witnesses. Claire tried to keep news of the wedding out of the papers so Coleman wouldn’t see it, but she did not succeed. At a terrible price, as I’m sure you know.”

Buzz stared at the water, stone quiet: his favorite trick to open suspects up. After a minute or so, Lesnick said, “When the second two victims were reported in the scandal tabloids, I knew the killer had to be Coleman. He was my analysand during the SLDC time. I knew he would have to be living somewhere near the Central Avenue jazz clubs, and I located him. We were close once, and I thought I could reason with him, get him to a locked institution and stop his senseless slaughter. Augie Duarte proved me wrong, but I tried. I tried. Think of that before you judge me too harshly.”

Buzz looked at the walking dead man. “Doc, I’m not judgin’ anybody in this fuckin’ thing. I’m just leavin’ town in a day or so, and I sure would like you to fill in what I don’t know.”

“And nobody else will be told?”

Buzz threw Lesnick some crumbs. “You tried to spare your friends grief while you played the game, and I’ve pulled tricks like that too. I’ve got these two friends who’d like to know why, but they ain’t ever gonna. So could you maybe just tell me?”

o o o

Saul Lesnick told. It took him two hours, with many long pauses to suck in air and keep himself fueled. Sometimes he looked at Buzz, sometimes he looked out at the ocean. He faltered at some of the worst of it, but he always kept telling.

1942.

Wartime blackouts in LA, 10:00 P.M. curfew. Coleman was nineteen, living on Bunker Hill with his crazy mother Delores and two of his quasi-sisters. He used the surname “Masskie” because slave breeder mommy needed a paternal monicker to get Relief payments for her son and the seven letters jibed with Sister Aimee’s dictates on numerology. Coleman dropped out of Belmont High when they wouldn’t let him play in the school band; he was heartbroken when the band teacher told him the stupid saxophone flubbing he did was just noise that indicated no talent, only strong lungs.

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