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“I’m telling you maybe. Maybe real strong. He fits the killer’s description… and he fits.”
No way was Da
Person or persons unknown—a good starting point for some payback.
Buzz found Mal in Ellis Loew’s back yard, sitting on a sunbleached sofa, going over papers. He looked ski
Mal nodded and kept working. Buzz said, “I want to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Not some Commie plot, that’s for damn sure.”
Mal co
“It’s a serious piece of gravy, I’ll give you that. And I sure want my share. It’s just that I’ve got some other boogeymen on my mind right now.”
“Like who?”
“Like Upshaw.”
Mal put his paper and pencil down. “He’s LAPD’s boogeyman, not yours.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t kill Niles, boss.”
“We’ve been over that, Buzz. It was Mickey or Jack, and we’d never be able to prove it in a million years.”
Buzz sat down on the couch—it stank of mildew and some Red chaser had burned the arms with cigarette butts. “Mal, you remember Upshaw tellin’ us about his file on the queer snuffs?”
“Sure.”
“It was stolen from his apartment, and so was his copy of the grand jury package.”
“What?”
“I’m certain about it. You said LAPD sealed the pad and didn’t take nothin’, and I checked Upshaw’s desk at West Hollywood Station. Lots of old paperwork, but zilch on the 187’s and the grand jury. You been so absorbed chasin’ pinkers you probably didn’t even think about it.”
Mal tapped Buzz with his pencil. “You’re right, I didn’t, and where are you fishing? The kid’s dead and buried, he was in trouble over that B&E he pulled, he was probably finished as a cop. He could have been the best, and I miss him. But he dug his own grave.”
Buzz clamped down on Mal’s hand. “Boss, we dug his grave. You pushed him too hard on De Haven, and I… oh fuck it.”
Mal pulled his hand free. “You what?”
“The kid had a fix on Reynolds Loftis. We talked on the phone the night before he died. He’d read about Charles Hartshorn’s suicide, the paper made him as a Sleepy Lagoon lawyer and Upshaw had him as a lead on his homicides—Hartshorn was blackmailed by one of the victims. I told him Loftis was rousted with Hartshorn at a queer bar back in ‘44, and the kid went nuts. He didn’t know Hartshorn was involved with Sleepy Lagoon, and that sure did seem to set him off. I asked him if Loftis was a suspect, and he said, ‘Maybe real strong.’”
Mal said, “Have you talked to that County man Shortell about this?”
“No, he’s in Montana on vacation.”
“Mike Breuning?”
“I don’t trust that boy to answer straight. Remember how Da
“Meeks, you sure took your time telling me this.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ it over, and it took me a while to figure out what I was go
“Which is?”
Buzz smiled. “Maybe Loftis is a hot suspect, maybe he ain’t. Whatever, I’m go
Mal smiled. “And then what?”
“Then arrest him or kill him.”
Mal said, “You’re out of your mind.”
Buzz said, “I was sorta thinkin’ about askin’ you to join me. A captain out of his mind has got more juice than a loaner cop with a few loose.”
“I’ve got the grand jury, Meeks. And day after tomorrow’s the divorce trial.”
Buzz cracked his knuckles. “You in?”
“No. It’s crazy. And I don’t feature you as the dramatic gesture type, either.”
“I owe him. We owe him.”
“No, it’s wrong.”
“Think of the angles, skipper. Loftis as a psycho killer. You pop him for that before the grand jury convenes and UAES’ll go in the toilet so large they’ll hear it flush in Cleveland.”
Mal laughed; Buzz laughed and said, “We’ll give it a week or so. We’ll put together what we can get out of the grand jury file and we’ll talk to Shortell and see what he’s got. We’ll brace Loftis, and if it goes bust, it goes bust.”
“There’s the grand jury, Meeks.”
“A Commie like Loftis popped for four 187’s makes you so large that no judge in this state would fuck you over on your custody case. Think of that.”
Mal broke his pencil in two. “I need a continuance, now, and I won’t frame Loftis.”
“That mean you’re in?”
“I don’t know.”
Buzz went for the kill. “Well, shit there, Captain. I thought appealin’ to your career would get you, but I guess I was wrong. Just think about Da
Mal slapped Buzz hard in the face.
Buzz sat on his hands so he wouldn’t hit back.
Mal threw his list of names on the grass and said, “I’m in. But if this fucks up my grand jury shot, it’s you and me for real. For keeps.”
Buzz smiled. “Yessir, Captain.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Claire De Haven said, “I take it this means all pretenses are off.”
A weak intro—he knew she had Upshaw made and the grand jury on track. Mal said, “This is about four murders.”
“Oh?”
“Where’s Reynolds Loftis? I want to talk to him.”
“Reynolds is out, and I told you before that he and I will not name names.”
Mal walked into the house. He saw the front page of last Wednesday’s Herald on a chair; he knew Claire had seen the piece on Da
Claire said, “I’ll tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mal pointed to the paper. “What’s so interesting about last week’s news?”
“A sad little obituary on a young man I knew.”
Mal played in. “What kind of young man?”
“I think frightened, impotent and treacherous describes him best.”
The epitaph stung; Mal wondered for the ten millionth time what Da
Claire walked up to him, perfume right in his face. “You sent that boy to fuck information out of me and now you want to preach decency?”
Mal grabbed her shoulders and squeezed them; he got his night’s worth of report study straight in his head. “January 1, Marty Goines snatched from South Central, shot with heroin, mutilated and killed. January 4, George Wiltsie and Duane Lindenaur, secobarbital sedated, mutilated and killed. January 14, Augie Luis Duarte, the same thing. Wiltsie and Duarte were male whores, we know that certain men in your union frequent male whores and the killer’s description is a dead ringer for Loftis. Still want to play cute?”
Claire squirmed; Mal saw her as something wrong to touch and let go. She wheeled to a desk by the stairwell, grabbed a ledger and shoved it at him. “On January first, fourth, and fourteenth, Reynolds was here in full view of myself and others. You’re insane to think he could kill anybody, and this proves it.”
Mal took the ledger, skimmed it and shoved it back to her. “It’s a fake. I don’t know what the crossouts mean, but only your signature and Loftis’ are real. The others are traced over, and the minutes are like Dick and Jane join the Party. It’s a fake, and you had it out and ready. Now you explain that, or I go get a material witness warrant for Loftis.”