She came up off the pavement spitting and beating at my chest; I grabbed her tiny fists, twisted them behind her back and cuffed her wrists. Lorna tried kicking then, well-aimed little shots at my legs. One kick connected with my shinbone; the girl, off balance from the cuffs, hit the ground ass-first. I helped her up, catching a wad of spittle on my shirtfront. Lorna yelped, “I’m an emancipated minor and if you touch me without a matron present I can sue you!” Catching my breath, I push-pulled her over to where her purse was lying.
I picked it up, surprised by the bulk and weight. Looking inside, I saw a small metal film can. I said, “What’s the movie about?” The girl stammered, “P-P-Please, mister, my p-pparents.”
A horn tooted; I saw Johnny Vogel leaning out the window of the cruiser. “Millard said to bring the girl to Georgia Street juvie.”
I hauled Lorna over and shoved her into the backseat. Fritzie hit the siren, and we leadfooted.
o o o
The run to downtown LA took thirty-five minutes.
Millard and Sears were waiting for us on the steps of Georgia Street Juvenile Hall. I led the girl in while Vogel and Vogel strode ahead. Court matrons and juvie dicks cleared a path for us inside; Millard opened a door marked DETENTION INTERVIEWS. I removed Lorna’s cuffs, Sears walked into the room, pulled out seats and arranged ashtrays and notepads. Millard said, “Johnny, you go back to University and work the phones.”
Fat Boy started to protest, then looked at his father. Fritzie nodded yes; Johnny exited, looking wounded. Fritzie announced, “I’m gonna call Mr. Loew. He should be in on this.”
Millard said, “No. Not until we have a statement.”
“Give her to me, I’ll get you a statement.”
“A voluntary statement, Sergeant.”
Fritzie flushed. “I consider that a goddamn insult, Millard.”
“You consider it what you damn well like, but you do what I damn well say, Mr. Loew or no Mr. Loew.”
Fritz Vogel stood perfectly still. He looked like a human A-bomb about to explode, his voice the fuse: “You whored with the Dahlia, didn’t you, girlie? You peddled your little twat with her. Tell me where you were during her lost days.”
Lorna said, “Screw you, Charlie.”
Fritzie stepped toward her; Millard moved between them. “I’ll ask the questions, Sergeant.”
You could have heard a pin drop. Vogel stood toe to toe with Millard. Seconds stretched, and then Fritzie squeaked, “You’re a goddamned bleeding heart Bolshevik.”
Millard took one step forward; Vogel took one step back. “Get out, Fritzie.”
Vogel took three steps backward. His heels hit the wall, and he pivoted out the door, slamming it. The echo reverberated; Harry disarmed the remnants of the bomb: “How does it feel to be the object of such a fuss, Miss Martilkova?”
The girl said, “I’m Linda Martin,” and tugged at the pleats of her skirt.
I took a seat, caught Millard’s eye and pointed to the purse resting on the table, the film can poking out. The lieutenant nodded and sat down next to Lorna. “You know this is about Betty Short, don’t you, sweetheart?”
The girl lowered her head and began sniffling; Harry handed her a Kleenex. She tore it into strips and smoothed them out on the table. “Does this mean I’ll have to go back to my folks?”
Millard nodded. “Yes.”
“My dad hits me. He’s a dumb Slovak, and he gets drunk and hits me.”
“Sweetheart, when you get back to Iowa you’ll be on non-court probation. You tell your probation officer your father hits you and he’ll put a stop to it damn quick.”
“If my dad finds out what I did in LA, he’ll hit me bad.”
“He won’t find out, Linda. I told those other two officers to leave to make sure what you say stays confidential.”
“If you send me back to Cedar Rapids, I’ll just run away again.”
“I’m sure you will. Now the sooner you tell us what we want to know about Betty and the sooner we believe you, the sooner you’ll be on the train and able to escape. So that gives you a good reason to be truthful with us, doesn’t it, Linda?”