Three hours of report writing followed. I wrote the arresting officer’s summary longhand; Lee typed it up, omitting mention of our break-in at Coleman Maynard’s apartment. Ellis Loew hovered around the cubicle as we worked, muttering, “Great collar” and “I’ll kill them in court with the kid angle.”
We finished our paperwork at 7:00. Lee made a check mark in the air and said, “Chalk another one up for Laurie Blanchard. You hungry, partner?”
I stood up and stretched, food suddenly a great idea. Then I saw Fritz Vogel and Bill Koenig approaching the cubicle. Lee whispered, “Make nice, they’ve got juice with Loew.”
Up close, the two resembled gone-to-seed refugees from the LA Rams’ middle line. Vogel was tall and fat, with a huge flat head that grew straight out of his shirt collar and the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen; Koenig was plain huge, topping my six foot three by a couple of inches, his linebacker’s body just starting to go soft. He had a broad, flattened nose, jug ears, a crooked jaw and tiny chipped teeth. He looked stupid, Vogel looked shrewd, they both looked mean.
Koenig giggled. “He confessed. The kiddie porks and the burglaries. Fritzie says we’re all gonna get commendations.” He stuck out his hand. “Good fight you gave blondie.”
I shook the big fist, noticing fresh blood on Koenig’s right shirt cuff. I said, “Thanks, Sarge,” then extended my hand to Fritz Vogel. He took it for a split second, bored into me with coldly furious eyes and dropped it like it was a hot turd.
Lee slapped my back. “Bucky’s aces. Smarts and cojones. You talked to Ellis about the confession?”
Vogel said, “He’s Ellis to lieutenants and up.”
Lee laughed. “I’m a privileged character. Besides, you call him kike and Jewboy behind his back, so what do you care?”
Vogel flushed; Koenig looked around with his mouth open. When he turned, I saw blood spatters on his shirtfront. Vogel said, “Come on Billy”; Koenig dutifully followed him back to the squadroom.
“Make nice, huh?”
Lee shrugged. “Shitbirds. If they weren’t cops they’d be in Atascadero. Do as I say, not as I do, partner. They’re afraid of me, and you’re just a rookie here.”
I racked my brain for a snappy reply. Then Harry Sears, looking twice as sloppy as he did in the morning, poked his head in the doorway. “I heard something I thought you should know, Lee.” The words were spoken without a trace of a stutter; I smelled liquor on the man’s breath.
Lee said, “Shoot”; Sears said, “I was over at County Parole, and the supervisor told me Bobby De Witt just got an ‘A’ number. He’ll be paroled to LA around the middle of January. Just thought you should know.”
Sears nodded at me and took off. I looked at Lee, who was twitching like he did up in room 803 of the Versailles. I said, “Partner–”
Lee managed a smile. “Let’s get ourselves some chow. Kay’s making pot roast, and she said I should bring you home.”
o o o
I tagged along for the woman and was astounded by the pad: a beige Deco-streamline house a quarter mile north of the Sunset Strip. Going in the door, Lee said, “Don’t mention De Witt; it’ll upset Kay.” I nodded and took in a living room straight out of a movie set.
The wainscoting was polished mahogany, the furniture was Danish Modern–gleaming blond wood in a half dozen shades. There were wall prints representing hotshot twentieth-century artists, and carpets embroidered with modernistic designs, mist-hung skyscrapers or tall trees in a forest or the spires of some German Expressionist factory. A dining area adjoined the living room, and the table held fresh flowers and chafing dishes leaking the aroma of good eats. I said, “Not bad on a cop’s pay. You taking a few bribes, partner?”
Lee laughed. “My fight stash. Hey babe, you here?”
Kay Lake walked in from the kitchen, wearing a floral dress that matched the tulips on the table. She took my hand and said, “Hello, Dwight.” I felt like a punk kid crashing the junior prom.
“Hello, Kay.”
With a squeeze she dropped my hand, ending the longest shake in history. “You and Leland partners. It makes you want to believe in fairy tales, doesn’t it?”