L.A. Confidential (29 page)

  Parker pulled out a small velvet case. "And life continues through our losses. The loss of one splendid policeman coincides with the emergence of another one. Edmund J. Exley, detective sergeant, has amassed a brilliant record in his ten years with the Los Angeles Police Department, three of those years given over to service in the United States Army. Ed Exley received the Distinguished Service Cross for gallantry in the Pacific Theater, and last week he evinced spectacular bravery in the line of duty. It is my honor to present him with the highest measure of honor this police department can bestow: our Medal of Valor."

  Exley stepped forward. Parker opened the case, took out a gold medallion hung from a blue satin ribbon and placed it around his neck. The men shook hands--Exley had tears in his eyes. Flashbulbs popped, reporters scribbled, no applause. Parker tapped the mike.

  "The Medal of Valor is a very high expression of esteem, but not one with practical everyday applications. Spiritual ramifications aside, it does not reward the recipient with the challenge of good, hard police work. Today I am going to utilize a rarely used chief's prerogative and reward Ed Exley with work. I am promoting him two entire ranks, to captain, and assigning him as the Los Angeles Police Department's floating divisional commander, the assignment formerly held by our much loved colleague Russ Millard."

  Preston Exley stood up. Civilians stood up; the Bureau men stood on cue--Thad Green flashed them two thumbs. Scattered applause, lackluster. Ed Exley stood ramrod straight; Bud stayed sprawled in his chair. He took out his gun, kissed it, blew pretend smoke off the barrel.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  A gala lawn wedding, a Presbyterian service--old man Morrow called the shots and picked up the tab. June 19, 1953: the Big V ties the knot.

  Miller Stanton best man; Joanie Loew--swacked on champagne punch--matron of honor. Dudley Smith the hit of the reception--stories, Gaelic songs. Parker and Green came at Ellis Loew's request; boy captain Ed Exley showed up. The Morrows' social circle pals rounded out the guest list--and swelled old Welton's huge backyard to bursting.

  Marriage vows for his close-out. Bad debts settled good: new calendar days, his "insurance policy deposition" stashed in fourteen different bank vaults. Scary vows: he pumped himself up at the altar.

  Parker buried the Hudgens killing. Bracken and Patchett stalemated. Dudley called off his tail on White, bought his phony reports: no Lynn, White prowling bars at night. He staked Lynn's place for a couple of days, it looked like she had a good thing going with Bud--who always was a sucker.

  Like himself

  The minister said the words; they said the words; Jack kissed his bride. Hugs, backsiaps--well wishers swept them away from each other. Parker drummed up some warmth; Ed Exley worked the crowd, no sign of his Mexican girl. Nicknames now: "Shotgun Ed," "Triggerman Eddie." "L.A.'s Greatest Hero" smiles on a bagman cop marrying up.

  Jack found a spot above the pool house--a little rise with a view. Two celebrants stuck out: Karen, Exley. Give him credit: he seized the opportunity, made the Department look bold. He wouldn't have had the stomach for it--or the rage.

  Exley. White. Himself

  Jack counted secrets: his own, whatever lived at that edge where pornography touched a dead scandal monger and lightly brushed the Nite Owl Massacre. He thought of Bud White, Ed Exley. He sent up a wedding day prayer: the Nite Owl dead and buried, safe passage for ruthless men in love.

CALENDAR

  1954

EXTRACT: L.A. _Herald-Express_, June 16:

EX-POLICEMAN ARRESTED

    FOR MURDEROUS

    ROBBERY SPREE

  Richard Alex Stensland, 40, former Los Angeles police detective and a defendant in the 1951 "Bloody Christmas" police scandal, was arrested early this morning and charged with six counts of armed robbery and two counts of first-degree murder. Arrested with him at his hideout in Pacoima were Dennis "The Weasel" Burns, 43, and Lester John Miciak, 37. The other men were charged with four armed-robbery counts and two counts of first-degree murder.

  The arrest raid was led by Captain Edmund J. Exley, divisional floating commander for the Los Angeles Police Department, currently assigned to head up the LAPD's Robbery Division. Assisting Captain Exley were Sergeants Duane Fisk and Donald Kleckner. Exley, whose testimony in the Bloody Christmas scandal sent Stensland to jail in 1952, told reporters: "Eyewitnesses identified photographs of the three men. We have conclusive proof that these men are responsible for stickups at six central Los Angeles liquor stores, including the robbery of Sol's Liquors in the Silverlake District on June 9. The proprietor of that store and his son were shot and killed during that robbery and eyewitnesses place both Stensland and Burns at the scene. Intensive questioning of the suspects will begin soon, and we expect to clear up many other unsolved robberies."

  Stensland, Burns and Miciak offered no resistance during their arrest. They were taken to the Hall of Justice Jail, where Stensland was restrained from attacking Captain Exley.

BANNER: L.A. _Mirror-News_, June 21:

STENSLAND CONFESSES, DESCRIBES

   REIGN OF ROBBERY TERROR

BANNER:          L.A. _Herald-Express_, September 23:

LIQUOR STORE KILLERS CONVICTED;

DEATH PENALTY FOR EX-POLICEMAN

EXTRACT: L.A. _Times_, November 11:

STENSLAND DIES FOR LIQUOR STORE

KILLINGS--GUNMAN FORMER POLICEMAN

  At 10:03 yesterday morning, Richard Stensland, 41 and a former Los Angeles police officer, died in the gas chamber at San Quentin Prison for the June 9 murders of Solomon and David Abramowitz. The killings took place during a liquor store holdup. Stensland was convicted and sentenced on September 22 and refused to appeal his sentence.

  The execution went off smoothly, although Stensland appeared inebriated. Present among the press and prison officials were two LAPD detectives: Captain Edmund J. Exley, the man responsible for Stensland's capture, and Officer Wendell White, the condemned killer's former partner. Officer White visited Stensland in his death row cell on execution eve and stayed through the night with him. Assistant Warden B. D. Terwilliger denied that Officer White supplied Stensland with intoxicating liquor and denied that White viewed the execution while drunk himseW. Stensland verbally abused the prison chaplain who was present and his last words were obscenities directed at Captain Exley.

1955

_Hush-Hush_ Magazine, May 1955 Issue:

WHO KILLED SID HUDGENS?

  Justice in the City of the Fallen Angels reminds us of a line from that sin-sational sepia show _Porgy and Bess_. Like "a man," it's "a sometime thing." As in for instance: if you're a well-connected contributor to demon D.A. Ellis Loew's slush fund and you get murdered--killer beware!! !--L.A. Chief of Police William H. Parker will spare no expense unearthing the fiend who put you on the night train to the Big Adios. But if you're a crusading journalist writing for this magazine and you get chopped into Ken-L Ration in your own living room--killer rejoice!! !--Chief Parker and his moralistic, misanthropic, mindless mongolians will sit on their hands (well worn from palming payoffs) and whistle "justice is a sometime thing" while the killer whistles Dixie.

  It has now been two years since Sid Hudgens was fatally slashed in his Chapman Park living room. Two years ago the LAPD had its (sticky, graft-ridden) hands full with the infamous Nite Owl murder case, which was resolved when one of their members took the law into his own (overweeningly ambitious, opportunistic) hands and shotgunned the shotgunners to the Big Au Revoir. Sid Hudgens' murder was assigned to two flunky detectives with a total of zero "made" homicide cases between them. They, of course, did not fmd the killer or killers, spent most of their days here at the _Hush-Hush_ office reading back issues for clues, scarfing coffee and doughnuts and ogling the comely editorial assistants who flock to _Hush-Hush_ because we know where the bodies are buried . . .

  We at _Hush-Hush_ tap the inside pulse of the City of the Fallen Angels, and we _have_ investigated the Sidster's death on our own. We have gotten nowhere, and we ask the Los Angeles Police Department the following questions:

  Sid's pad was ransacked. What happened to the ultra on the QT, ultra secret and ultra _Hush-Hush_ files the Sidster was supposed to be keeping--sinuendo even too scalding for us to publish?

  Why didn't D.A. Ellis Loew, elected largely on the strength of a _Hush-Hush_ article exposing the peccadillos of his incumbent opponent, give us a backscratch in return and use his legal juice to force the LAPD to track down the Sidster's slayer?

  Celebrity cop John "Jack" Vincennes, the famous dope scourge "Big V," was a close friend of Sid's and was responsible for many of his crusading exposés on the menace of narcotics. Why didn't Jack (heavily connected to Ellis Loew--we won't utter the word "bagman," but feel free to _think_ it) investigate the killing on his own, out of paiship for his beloved buddy the Sidster?

  Unanswerable questions for now--unless _you_, the reading public, take up the cry. Look for updates in future issues--and remember, dear reader, you heard it first here: off the record, on the QT and _very_ Hush-Hush.

_Hush-Hush_ magazine, December 1955 issue:

JUSTICE WATCH: BEWARE THE

LOEW/VINCENNES COMBINE!!!!

  We've pussyfooted long enough, dear reader. In our May issue we marked the second anniversary of the fiendish murder of ace _Hush-Hush_ scribe Sid Hudgens. We lamented the fact that his killing remains unsolved, gently prodded the Los Angeles Police Department, D.A. Ellis Loew and his brother-in-law by marriage LAPD Sergeant Jack Vincennes to do something about it, asked a few pertinent questions and got no response. Seven months have passed without justice being done, so here's some more questions:

  Where _are_ Sid Hudgens' _ultra_ sin-tillating and sinsational secret files--the files too hot for even scalding _Hush-Hush_ to handle?

  Did D.A. Loew quash the Hudgens murder investigation because the crusading Sidster recently published an exposé on _Badge of Honor_ producer/director Max Pelts and his bent for teenage girls, and Pelts was a (five figure!!!) contributor to Loew's 1953 D.A.'s campaign fund?

  Has Loew ignored our pleas for justice because he's too busy gearing up for his spring 1957 reelection campaign? Is Jack "We won't use the word 'Bagman"' Vincennes again shaking down Hollywoodites for contributions for brother-in-law Ellis and thus unable to investigate the Sidster's death?

  More on the Big-time Big V:

  Is Vincennes, dope-buster supreme, on the sauce and feuding with his much younger rich-girl wife, who persuaded him to leave his beloved Narco Division, but now frets over his working the hazardous LAPD Surveillance Detail????

  Fuel for thought, dear reader--and a gentle prodding for belated justice. The search for justice for Sid Hudgens continues. Remember, dear reader: you heard it first here, off the record, on the QT and _very_ Hush-Hush.

1956

"Crimewatch" feature, _Hush-Hush_ Magazine, October 1956 issue:

GANGLAND DROUGHT AS COHEN

PAROLE APPROACHES: WILL FEAST

  FOLLOW FAMINE WITH THE

    MICKSTER REDUX?

  You, dear reader, probably haven't noticed, since you're a law-abiding citizen who relies on _Hush-Hush_ to keep you abreast of the dark and sin-sational side of life. This publication has been accused of being sin-ical, but we're also sin-cere in our desire to inform you of the perils of crime, organized and otherwise, which is why this periodical periodically offers a "Crimewatch" feature. This month we offer a palpably percolating potpourri centering on malicious L.A. mob activity or the lack of it, our focus the currently incarcerated Meyer Harris Cohen, 43, also known as the misanthropic Mickster, the inimitable Mickey C.

  The Mick has been reposing at McNeil Island Federal pen since November of 1951, and he should be paroled sometime next year, certainly by the end of 1957. You all know Mickey by reputation: he's the dapper little gent who ruled the L.A. rackets circa '45 to '51, until Uncle Sammy popped him for income tax evasion. He's a headline grabber, he's a big mocher, face it: he's a mensch. And he's up at McNeil, freezing his toches in the admittedly plush cell, his pet bulldog Mickey Cohen, Jr., keeping his tootsies warm, his money man Davey Goldman, also convicted of tax beefs, warming a cell down the hail. L.A. gangland activity has been--enjoying? _enduring?_--a strange lull since Mickey packed his PJs for Puget Sound, and we at _Hush-Hush_, privy to many unnamable insider sources, have a theory as to what's been shaking. Listen close, dear reader: this is off the record, on the QT and _very_ Hush-Hush.

  November '51: adios Mickey, pack a toothbrush and don't forget to write. Before catching the McNeil Island Express, the Mickster informs his number two man, Morris Jahelka, that he (Mo) will remain titular boss of Kingdom Cohen, which Mickey has "long-term loan" divested to various legit, non-criminal businessmen that he trusts, to be quietly run by out-of-town muscle on a drastically scaled-down basis. Mickey may come off like a vicious buffoon, but Mrs. Cohen's little boy has a head on his simian shoulders.

  Are you on our wavelength so far, dear reader? Yes? Good, now listen even more closely.

  Mickey languishes in his cell, living the prison life of Riley, and time goes by. The Mick gets percentage fees from his "franchise holders," funneled straight to Swiss bank accounts, and when he's paroled he'll get "giveback fees" and have Kingdom Cohen returned to him on a platter. He'll rebuild his evil empire and happy days will be here again.

  Such is the power of the ubiquitous Mickey C. that for several years no upstart gangsters try to crash his lulled-down, on-siesta rackets. Jack "The Enforcer" Whalen, however, a well-known thug/gambler, somehow knows of Mickey's plan to let sleeping dogs snooze while he's stuck in stir and the police are gratefully twiddling their thumbs with no mobster nests to swat. Whalen does not attack the diminutized Kingdom Cohen--he simply builds up a rival, strictly bookmaking kingdom with no fear of reprisals.