With the death letter and stag film leads ground to dust, a second consensus took over: we were never going to get the bastard. The odds on “Unsolved” dropped to even money in the squadroom pool; Thad Green told Russ and Captain Jack that Horrall was going to pull the chain on the Dahlia mess on February 5, returning a large number of officers to their normal duties. Rumor had it that I would be one of the returnees, breaking in Johnny Vogel as my partner. Bad Breath Johnny rankled, but going back to Warrants came on as Paradise regained. Betty Short would then exist the only place I wanted her to–as the spark point of my imagination.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The following Central Division and Detective Bureau officers temporarily assigned to the E. Short investigation are to return to their normal assignments, effective tomorrow, 2/6/47:
Sgt. T. Anders – ret. to Central Bunco.
Det. J. Arcola – ret. to Central Burglary.
Sgt. R. Cavanaugh – ret. to Central Robbery.
Det. G. Ellison – ret. to Central Detectives.
Det. A. Grimes – ret. to Central Detectives.
Det. C. Ligget – ret. to Central Juvenile.
Det. R. Navarette – ret. to Central Bunco.
Sgt. J. Pratt – ret. to Central Homicide. (See Lt. Ruley for assignment.)
Det. J. Smith – ret. to Central Homicide. (See Lt. Ruley.)
Det. W. Smith – ret. to Central Detectives. Chief Horrall and Deputy Chief Green wish me to thank you for your help on this investigation, most especially the many overtime hours logged in. Commendation letters will be sent to all of you.
My thanks also–
Capt. J.V. Tierney, Commander, Central Detectives.
The distance between the bulletin board and Millard’s office was about ten yards; I covered it in about a tenth of a second. Russ looked up from his desk. “Hi, Bucky. How’s tricks?”
“Why wasn’t I on that transfer list?”
“I asked Jack to keep you on the Short case.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re getting to be a damn good detective, and Harry’s retiring in ’50. Want more?”
I was wondering what to say when the phone rang. Russ picked it up and said, “Central Homicide, Millard,” then listened for a few moments and pointed to the extension on the desk across from him. I grabbed the receiver, catching a deep male voice in mid-sentence:
“. . . attached to the CID unit here at Fort Dix. I know you’ve had a lot of confessions peter out on you, but this one sounds good to me.”
Russ said, “Go on, Major.”
“The soldier’s name is Joseph Dulange. He’s an MP, attached to the headquarters company at Dix. He made the confession to his CO, coming off a bender. His buddies say he carries a knife, and he flew to Los Angeles on furlough on January eighth. On top of that, we found bloodstains on a pair of his trousers–too small an amount to type. Personally, I think he’s a bad apple. He got in a lot of brawls overseas, and his CO says he’s a wife beater.”
“Major, is Dulange near you right now?”
“Yes. He’s in a cell across the hall.”
“Do this for me, please. Ask him to describe Elizabeth Short’s birthmarks to you. If he does it accurately, my partner and I will be on the next transport flight out of Camp MacArthur.”
The major said, “Yes, sir”; the Fort Dix half of the conversation broke off. Russ said, “Harry’s got the flu. Feel like a trip to New Jersey, bright penny?”
“Are you serious?”
“If that soldier comes up with the moles on Elizabeth’s rear end, I am.”
“Ask him about the slash marks, the stuff that didn’t make the papers.”
Russ shook his head. “No. It might excite him too much. If this is legit, we’re flying out on the QT and reporting in from Jersey. If Jack or Ellis get hold of this they’ll send Fritzie, and he’ll have that soldier in the electric chair by morning, guilty or otherwise.”
The Fritzie crack irked me. “He’s not that bad. And I think Loew’s given up on the frame idea.”
“You’re an impressionable penny, then. Fritzie’s as bad as they get, and Ellis–“