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“What do you mean?”
“I called the DMV. Minear owns a white ‘49 Chrysler New Yorker sedan. I went by his place in Chapman Park on my way here. It was in his building’s garage, warm, and it looked just like the car at the Marmont.”
Buzz put an arm around Mal’s shoulders. “Gifts in a manger, and here’s another one. That crazy woman in the doorway ID’d Dudley from a picture I got. He’s the brogue man.”
Mal looked over at Delores. “Do you think Dudley copped Da
“No, I think he’d have faked a burglary. Coleman’s our killer, boss. All we gotta do now is find him.”
“Shit. Loftis and Claire won’t talk. I know it.”
Buzz took his arm away. “No, but I bet we could squeeze Chaz beauty. He was tight with Loftis back in ‘43, ‘44, and I know a good squeeze artist to help us. You give that lady a double-saw and I’ll go give him a call.”
Mal went for his billfold; Buzz walked into the house and found a phone by the kitchen door. He called Information, got the number he wanted and dialed it; Joh
“It’s Meeks. You wanta make some money? Number-one muscle on a strongarm job, make sure my buddy don’t go crazy and hurt someone?”
Joh
Move over Da
“Ten grand. Fifteen if they get you alive so Mickey can get his jollies.”
“Chump change. Joh
“You slay me. Next you’ll be offering me a date with Lana Turner.”
“I mean it.”
“Where you go
“I’ll have it inside two weeks. Deal?”
“What makes you think you’ll live that long?”
“Ain’t you a gambler?”
“Oh shit. Deal.”
Buzz said, “I’ll call you back,” and hung up. Mal was standing beside him, shaking his head. “Mickey knows?”
“Yeah, Mickey knows. You got a couch?”
Mal gave Buzz a soft punch in the arm. “Lad, I think people are starting to get your number.”
“Say what?”
“I figured out something today.”
“What?”
“You killed Gene Niles.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mal’s take on Joh
They were sitting in Stompanato’s car, 8:00 A.M., a cop-crook stakeout. Mal knew his scenario; Buzz had filled Joh
Mal watched the door; Stompanato gave himself a pocketknife manicure and hummed opera. At 8:09 a small man in te
They waited.
At 9:30, the doorman tipped his cap, got into a car and drove off; at 9:33 Chaz Minear walked into the building holding a newspaper. Stompanato put his knife away; Mal said, “Now.”
They quick-marched into the lobby. Minear was checking his mail slot; Joh
Minear pushed the button for three. Mal saw his door key already in his hand, grabbed it and rabbit-punched him. Minear dropped his newspaper and mail and doubled over; Joh
The door slid open; Mal saw “311” on the key and an empty hallway. He walked out, located the apartment four doorways over, unlocked the door and stood back. Stompanato forced Minear inside and released his neck; Chaz fell down rasping for breath. Mal said, “You know what to ask him. Do it while I toss for the files.”
Minear coughed words; Joh
The apartment had five rooms: living room, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, study. Mal hit the study first—it was the furthest from Stompanato and the nance. A radio went on, the dial skimming across jazz, commercial jingles and the news, stopping at an opera, a baritone and a soprano going at each other over a thunderous orchestra. Mal thought he heard Minear scream; the music was turned up.
Mal worked.
The study—desk, filing cabinets and a chest of drawers—yielded stacks of movie scripts, carbons of Minear’s political letters, correspondence to him, miscellaneous memoranda and a .32 revolver, the cylinder empty, a cordited barrel. The bedroom was pastel-appointed and filled with piles of books; there was a wardrobe closet crammed with expensive clothes and rows of shoes arrayed in trees. An antique cabinet featured drawers spilling propaganda tracts; there was nothing but more shoes under the bed.
The opera kept wailing; Mal checked his watch, saw 10:25, an hour down and two rooms clean. He gave the bathroom a cursory toss; the music stopped; Stompanato popped his head in the doorway. He said, “The pansy spilled. Tell Meeks he better stay alive to get me my money.”
The hard boy looked green at the gills. Mal said, “I’ll do the kitchen and talk to him.”
“Forget it. Loftis and Claire what’s her face got the files. Come on, you’ve gotta hear this.”
Mal followed Joh
Da
Minear, an easy mid-Atlantic accent. “Pride.”
He sounded proud. Mal said, “What do you mean?”