L.A. Confidential (31 page)

  Call this a warning, children: he's a mensch, he's local color to the nth degree, he's the marvelous, malevolent benevolent Mickster. He's tough to kill, 'cause innocent bystanders take the hot lead with his name on it. Mickey's back, and his old gang might be forming up again. Hepcat, when you club hop on the sin-tillating Sunset Strip, bring a bulletproof vest in case Meyer Harris Cohen sits nearby.

EXTRACT: L.A. _Herald-Express_, November 10:

MOBSTER COHEN SURVIVES BOMB ATTEMPT

  A bomb exploded under the home of paroled mobster Mickey Cohen early this morning. Cohen and his wife, Lavonne, were not injured, but the bomb did destroy a wardrobe room that housed three hundred of Cohen's custom-made suits. Cohen's pet bulldog, alseep nearby, was treated for a singed tail at Westside Veterinary Hospital and released. Cohen could not be reached for comment.

Confidential letter, addendum to the outside agency investigation report required on all incoming commanders of Internal Affairs Division, Los Angeles Police Department. Requested by Chief William H. Parker.

                    11/29/57

Dear Bill--

  God, we were sergeants together! It seems like a million years ago, and you were right. I did relish the chance to slip briefly back into harness and play detective again. I felt slightly treacherous interviewing officers behind Ed and Preston's back, but again you were right: firstly in your overall policy of outside agency validation for incoming I.A. chiefs, and secondly in choosing an ex-policeman predisposed to like Ed Exley to query brother officers on the man. Hell, Bill, we both love Ed. Which makes me happy to state that, basic investigation aside (the D.A.'s Bureau is conducting it, aren't they?), I have nothing but positives to report.

  I spoke to a number of Detective Bureau men and a number of uniformed officers. One consensus of opinion held: Ed Exley is very well respected. Some officers considered his shooting of the Nite Owl suspects injudicious, most considered it bold and a few tagged it as intentionally grandstanding. Whatever, my opinion is that that act is what Ed Exley is most remembered for and that it has largely eclipsed the bad feelings he generated by serving as an informant in the Bloody Christmas matter. Ed's jump from sergeant to captain was greatly resented, but he is considered to have proven his mettle as divisional floater: the man has run seven divisions in under five years, established many valuable contacts and has earned the general respect of the men serving under him. Your basic concern: that his "not one of the boys" nature would provoke anger when it was learned that he would be running I.A., seems so far to be unfounded. Word is out that Ed will take over l.A. early in '58, and it is tacitly assumed that he will vigorously pursue the assignment. My guess is that his reputation for sternness and intelligence will deter many potentially bent cops into sticking to the straight and narrow.

  It is also known that Ed has passed the exam for promotion to inspector and is first on the promotion list. Here some notes of discord appear. It is generally viewed that Thad Green will retire in the next several years and that Ed might well be chosen to replace him as chief of detectives. The great majority of the men I spoke to voiced the opinion that Capt. Dudley Smith, older, much more experienced and more the leader type, should have the job.

  Some personal observations to supplant your outside agency report. (1) Ed's relationship with Inez Soto is physically intimate, but I know he would never violate departmental regs by cohabitating with her. Inez is a great kid, by the way. She's become good friends with Preston, Ray Dieterling and myself, and her public relations work for Dream-a-Dreamland is near briffiant. And so what if she's a Mexican? (2)1 spoke to I.A. Sgts. Fisk and Kieckner about Ed--the two worked Robbery under him, are junior straight-arrow Exley types and are positively ecstatic that their hero is about to become their C.O. (3) As someone who has known Ed Exley since he was a child, and as an ex--police officer, I'll go on the record: he's as good as his father and I'd be willing to bet that if you made a tally you'd see that he's made more major cases than any LAPD detective ever. I'm also willing to bet that he's wise to this affectionate little ploy you've initiated: all good cops have intelligence networks.

  I'll close with a favor. I'm thinking of writing a book of reminiscences about my years with the Department. Would it be possible for me to borrow the file on the Loren Atherton case? Without Preston and Ed knowing, please--I don't want them to think I've gone arty-farty in my waning years.

  I hope this little addendum serves you well. Best to Helen, and thanks for the opportunity to be a cop again.

                    Sincerely,

                    Art De Spain

LAPD TRANSFER BULLETINS

  1. Officer Wendell A. White, Homicide Division to the Hollywood Station Detective Squad (and to assume the rank of Sergeant), effective 1/2/5 8.

  2. Sgt. John Vincennes, Surveillance Detail to Wilshire Division Patrol, effective when a replacement officer is assigned, but no later than 3/15/58.

  3. Capt. Edmund J. Exley to permanent duty station: Commander, Internal Affairs Division, effective 1/2/5 8.

PART THREE

     Internal Affairs

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The Dining Car had a New Year's hangover: drooping crepe paper, "1958" signs losing spangles. Ed took his favorite booth: a view of the lounge, his image in a mirror. He marked the time--3:24 P.M., 1/2/58. Let Bob Gallaudet show up late--anything to stretch the moment.

  In an hour, the ceremony: Captain E. J. Exley assumes a permanent duty station--Commander, Internal Affairs Division. Gallaudet was bringing the results of his outside agency validation--the D.A.'s Bureau had gone over his personal life with a magnifying glass. He'd pass--his personal life was squeaky clean, putting the Nite Owl boys in the ground outgunned his Bloody Christmas snitching--he'd known it for years.

  Ed sipped coffee, eyes on the mirror. His reflection: a man a month from thirty-six who looked forty-five. Blond hair gone gray; crease lines in his forehead. Inez said his eyes were getting smaller and colder; his wire rims made him look harsh. He'd told her harsh was better than soft--boy captains needed help. She'd laughed--it was a few years ago, when they were still laughing.

  He placed the conversation: late '54, Inez analytical--"You're a ghoul for watching that man Stensland die." A year and a half post--Nite Owl; today made four years and nine months. A look in the mirror, a claim on those years--and what he'd had with Inez.

  His killings pushed Bud White out: four deaths eclipsed one death. Those first months she was all his: he'd proven himself to her specifications. He bought her a house down the block; she loved their gentle sex; she accepted Ray Dieterling's job offer. Dieterling fell in love with Inez and her story: a beautiful rape victim abandoned by her family dovetailed with his own losses-- once divorced, once widowered, his son Paul dead in an avalanche, his son Billy a homosexual. Ray and Inez became father and daughter--colleagues, deep friends. Preston Exley and Art De Spain joined Dieterling in devotion--a circle of hardcase men and a woman who made them grateful for the chance to feel gentle.

  Inez took friendships from a fantasy kingdom: the builders, the second generation--Billy Dieterling, Timmy Valburn. A chatty little clique: they talked up Hollywood gossip, poked fun at male foibles. The word "men" sent them into gales of laughter. They made fun of policemen and played charades in a house bought by Captain Ed Exley.

  All claims came back to Inez.

  After the killings, he had nightmares: were they innocent? Impotent rage made his finger jerk the trigger; the dramatic resolution made the Department look so good that little facts like "Unarmed" and "Not Dangerous" would never surface to crush him. Inez stilled his fears with a statement: the rapists drove her to Sylvester Fitch's house in the middle of the night and left her there--giving them time to take down the Nite Owl. She never told the police about it because she did not want to recount the especially ugly things that Fitch did to her. He was relieved: _guilty_ dead men shored up the justice in his rage.

  Inez.

  Time passed, the glow wore off--her pain and his heroism couldn't sustain them. Inez knew he'd never marry her: a high-ranking cop, a Mexican wife--career suicide. His love held by threads; Inez grew remote--a sometime lover in practice. Two people molded by extraordinary events, a powerful supporting cast hovering: the Nite Owl dead, Bud White.

  White's face in the green room: pure hatred while Dick Stensland sucked gas. A look at Dicky Stens dying, a look his way, no words necessary. Leave time called in so they wouldn't have to work together when he took over Homicide. He'd surpassed his brother, grown closer to his father. His major case record was astounding; in May he'd be an inspector, in a few years he'd compete with Dudley Smith for chief of detectives. Smith had always given him a wide berth and a wary respect couched in contempt--and Dudley was the most feared man in the LAPD. Did he know that his rival feared only one thing: revenge perpetrated by a thug/cop without the brains to be imaginative?

  The bar was filling up: D.A.'s personnel, a few women. The last time with Inez was bad--she just serviced the man who paid the mortgage. Ed smiled at a tall woman--she turned away.

  "Congratulations, Cap. You're Boy Scout clean."

  Gallaudet sat down--strained, nervous.

  "Then why do you look so grim? Come on, Bob, we're partners."

  "_You're_ clean, but Inez was put under loose surveillance for two weeks, just routine. Ed . . . oh shit, she's sleeping with Bud White."

o        o          o

  The ceremony--one big blur.

  Parker made a speech: policemen were subject to the same temptations as civilians, but needed to keep their baser urges in check to a greater degree in order to serve as moral exemplars for a society increasingly undercut by the pervasive influence of Communism, crime, liberalism and general moral turpitude. A morally upright exemplar was needed to command the division that served as a guarantor of police morality, and Captain Edmund J. Exley, war hero and hero of the Nite Owl murder case, was that man.

  He made a speech himself: more pap on morality. Duane Fisk and Don Kleckner wished him luck; he read their minds through his blur: they wanted his chief assistant spots. Dudley Smith winked, easy to read: "I will be our next chief of detectives--not you." Excuses for leaving took forever--he made it to her place with the blur clearing hard.

  6:00--Inez got home around 7:00. Ed let himself in, waited with the lights out.

  Time dragged; Ed watched his watch hands move. 6:50--a key in the door.

  "Exley, are you skulking? I saw your car outside."

  "No lights. I don't want to see your face." Noises--keys rattling, a purse dropped to the floor. "And I don't want to see all that faggot Dreamland junk you've plastered on the walls."

  "You mean the walls of the house you paid for?"

  "You said it, not me."

  Sounds: Inez resting herself against the door. "Who told you?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Are you going to ruin him for it?"

  "_Him?_ No, there's no way I could do it without making myself look even more foolish than I've been. And you can say his name."

  No answer.

  "Did you help him with the sergeant's exam? He didn't have the brains to pass it on his own."

  No answer.

  "How long? How many fucks behind my back?"

  No answer.

  "How long, _puta?_"

  Inez sighed. "Maybe four years. On and off, when we each needed a friend."

  "You mean when you didn't need me?"

  "I mean when I got exhausted being treated like a rape victim. When I got terrified of how far you'd go to impress me."

  Ed said, "I took you out of Boyle Heights and gave you a life." Inez said, "Exley, you started to scare me. I just wanted to be a girl seeing a guy, and Bud gave me that."

  "Don't you say his name in this house."

  "You mean in your house?"

  "I gave you a decent life. You'd be pounding tortillas on a rock if it wasn't for me."

  "_Querido_, you turn ugly so well."

  "How many other lies, Inez? How many other lies besides him?"

  "Exley, let's break this off."

  "No, give me a rundown."

  No answer.

  "How many other men? How many other lies?"

  No answer.

  "Tell me."

  No answer.

  "You fucking whore, after what I did for you. _Tell me_."

  No answer.

  "I let you be friends with my father. _Preston Exley is your friend because of me_. How many other men have you fucked behind my back? How many other lies after what I did for you?"

  Inez, a small voice. "You don't want to know."

  "Yes I do, you fucking whore."

  Inez pushed off the door. "Here's the only lie that counts, and it's all for you. Not even my sweetie pie Bud knows it, so I hope it makes you feel special."

  Ed stood up. "Lies don't scare me."

  Inez laughed. "_Everything_ scares you."

  No answer.

  Inez, calm. "The _negritos_ who hurt me couldn't have killed the people at the Nite Owl, because they were with me the whole night. They never left my sight. I lied because I didn't want you to feel bad that you'd killed four men for me. And you want to know what the _big_ lie is? You and your precious absolute justice."

  Ed pushed out the door, hands on his ears to kill the roar. Dark, cold outside--he saw Dick Stens strapped down dead.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Bud checked out his new badge: "Sergeant" where "Policeman" used to be. He put his feet up on his desk, said goodbye to Homicide.

  His cubicle was a mess--five year's worth of paper. Dudley said the Hollywood squad transfer was just temporary--his sergeantcy shocked the brass, Thad Green was juking him for his window-punching number: Dick Stens green room bound, left/right hooks into glass. A fair trade: he never became a crackerjack case man because the only cases that mattered were case closed and case/cases shitcanned. Transfer blues: leaving Bureau HQ meant no early crack at dead-body reports--a good way to keep tabs on the Kathy Janeway case and the hooker snuff string he knew tied to it.