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Three nights ago, around 10:00, she’d been strolling Wursti and saw a tall man with beautiful silver hair walking back toward the garage at 2307, a “weaving drunk” on either side of him. No, she had not seen any of the three men before; no, no strange noises from the garage apartment followed; no, she didn’t know the woman who owned the front house; no, the men did not talk to each other, and she doubted she would be able to ID the silver-haired man if she saw him again.
Da
Yes, the killer staked out the pad to see if cops showed up. Yes, he had the Griffith Park dump site already pla
Da
Then everything went very fast.
An old lady opened the 2307 front house door; an unmarked prowler jammed into the driveway. Sergeant Gene Niles got out, looked across the street and saw him—a sitting duck in the car he’d had at Griffith Park yesterday morning. Niles started to head over; the old woman intercepted him, pointing toward the garage apartment. Niles stopped; the woman grabbed at his coat sleeves; Da
Dietrich was standing by the squadroom entrance, wolfing a cigarette; Da
Da
Dietrich picked up an ashtray and stubbed out his smoke. “And you didn’t call me? On a lead that hot?”
“I jumped the gun, sir. I’m sorry.”
Dietrich said, “I’m not sure I buy your story. Why didn’t you talk to the landlady before you canvassed? Poulson said Niles told him the woman was cherry—she was the one who discovered the mess.”
Da
“Poulson said she sounded like an alert old dame. Da
The question didn’t register. “What do you mean, a movie?”
“No, pussy. Your bimbo’s got a place near that doughnut stand where you heard the squeal yesterday, and Tamarind is near there. Were you shacking on County time?”
Dietrich’s tone had softened; Da
Dietrich smiled/grimaced; the phone on his desk rang. He picked it up, said, “Yes, Norton, he’s here,” listened and added, “One question. Have you got jackets on the two men?”
A long stretch of silence. Da
Da
“It’s your friendly City pipeline. Got a pencil?”
Da
“The taller man is George William Wiltsie, DOB 9/14/13. Two male prostitution arrests, booted out of the Navy in ‘43 for moral turpitude. The other man is address-verified as Wiltsie’s known associate, maybe his brunser. Duane no middle name Lindenaur, DOB 12/5/16. One arrest for extortion—June, 1941. The beef did not go to court—the complainant dropped charges. There’s no employment listed for Wiltsie; Lindenaur worked as a dialogue rewrite man at Variety International Pictures. Both men lived at 11768 Ventura Boulevard, the Leafy Glade Motel. LAPD is rolling there now, so stay clear. Does this make you happy?”
Da
From his cubicle, Da
Da
“Skakel. Speak.”
“Sergeant, this is Deputy Upshaw, West Hollywood.”
“Yeah, Deputy.”
“I’m working a homicide tied in to two City 187’s, and you arrested one of the victims back in ‘41. Duane Lindenaur. Do you remember him?”
Skakel said, “Yeah. He was working a queer squeeze on a rich lawyer named Hartshorn. I always remember the money jobs. Lindenaur got bumped, huh?”
“Yes. Do you remember the case?”
“Pretty well. The complainant’s name was Charles Hartshorn. He liked boys, but he was married and he had a daughter he doted on. Lindenaur met Hartshorn through some fruit introduction service, perved with him and threatened to snitch Hartshorn’s queerness to the daughter. Hartshorn called us in, we rousted Lindenaur, then Hartshorn got cold feet about testifying in court and dropped the charges.”