L.A. Confidential (53 page)

  Gallaudet said, kill yourself instead, that's what you'd be doing.

  They decided to wait it out, do it right.

  Bud White made the wait unbearable.

  He had tubes in his arms, splints on his fingers. His chest held three hundred stitches. Bullets had shattered bones, ripped arteries. He had a plate in his head. Lynn Bracken tended to him--she could not meet Ed's eyes. White could not talk--being able to talk in the future was doubtful. His eyes were eloquent: Dudley. Your father. What are you going to do about it? He kept trying to make the V-for-victory sign. Three visits, Ed finally got it: the Victory Motel, Mobster Squad HQ.

  He went there. He found detailed notes on White's prostitutekilling investigation. The notes were a limited man reaching for the stars, puffing most of them down. Limits exceeded through a briffiantly persistent rage. Absolute justice--anonymous, no rank and glory. A single line on the Englekling brothers that told him their killer still walked free. Room 11 at the Victory Motel--Wendell "Bud" White seen for the first time.

  Ed knew why he sent him there--and followed up.

  A phone company check, one interview--all it took. Confirmation, an epigraph to build on it: Absolute Justice. The TV news said Ray Dieterling walked through Dream-a-Dreamland every day-casing his grief in a deserted fantasy kingdom. He'd give Bud White a full day of his justice.

o        o          o

  Good Friday, 1958. The A.M. news showed Preston Exley entering St. James Episcopal Church. Ed drove to City Hall, walked up to Ellis Loew's office.

  Still early--no receptionist. Loew at his desk, reading. Ed rapped on the door.

  Loew glanced up. "Inspector Ed. Have a chair."

  "I'll stand."

  "Oh? Is this business?"

  "Of sorts. Last month Bud White called you from San Francisco and told you Spade Cooley was a sex killer. You said you'd put a D.A.'s Bureau team on it, and you didn't. Cooley has donated in excess of fifteen thousand dollars to your slush fund. You called the Biltmore Hotel from your place in Newport and talked to a member of Cooley's band. You told him to warn Spade and the rest of the guys that a crazy cop was going to come around and cause trouble. White braced Deuce Perkins, the real killer. Perkins sent him after Spade, he probably thought he'd kill him and save him from the rap. Perkins was warned by you and went into hiding. He stayed out long enough to turn White into a vegetable."

  Loew, calm. "You can't prove any of that. And since when are you so concerned about White?"

  Ed laid a folder on his desk. "Sid Hudgens had a file on you. Contribution shakedowns, felony indictments you dismissed for money. He's got the McPherson tank job documented, and Pierce Patchett had a photograph of you sucking a male prostitute's dick. Resign from office or it all goes public."

  Loew--sheet white. "I'll take you with me."

  "Do it. I'd enjoy the ride."

o        o          o

  He saw it from the freeway: Rocketland and Paul's World juxtaposed--a spaceship growing out of a mountain, a big empty parking lot. He took surface streets to the gate, showed the guard his shield. The man nodded, swung the fence open.

  Two figures strolled the Grand Promenade. Ed parked, walked up to them. Dream-a-Dreamland stood hear-a-pin-drop silent.

  Inez saw him--a pivot, a hand on Dieterling's arm. They whispered; Inez walked off.

  Dieterling turned. "Inspector."

  "Mr. Dieterling."

  "It's Ray. And I'm tempted to say what took you so long."

  "You knew I'd be coming?"

  "Yes. Your father disagreed and went on with his plans, but I knew better. And I'm grateful for the chance to tell it here."

  Paul's World across from them--fake snow near blinding. Dieterling said, "Your father, Pierce and I were dreamers. Pierce's dreams were twisted, mine were kind and good. Your father's dreams were ruthless--as I suspect yours are. You should know that before you judge me."

  Ed leaned against a rail, settled in. Dieterling spoke to his mountain.

o        o          o

  1920.

  His first wife, Margaret, died in an automobile accident--she bore his son Paul. 1924--his second wife, Janice, gave birth to son Billy. While married to Margaret, he had an affair with a disturbed woman named Faye Borchard. She gave him son Douglas in 1917. He gave her money to keep the boy's existence secret--he was a rising young filmmaker, wished a life free of complications, was willing to pay for it. Only he and Faye knew the facts of Douglas' parentage. Douglas knew Ray Dieterling as a kindly friend.

  Douglas grew up with his mother; Dieterling visited frequently, a two-family life: wife Margaret dead, sons Paul and Billy ensconced with himself and wife Janice--a sad woman who went on to divorce him.

  Faye Borchard drank laudanum. She made Douglas watch pornographic cartoons that Raymond made for money, part of a Pierce Patchett scheme-cash to finance their legitimate dealings. The films were erotic, horrific--they featured flying monsters that raped and killed. The concept was Patchett's--he put his narcotic fantasies on paper, handed Ray Dieterling an inkwell. Douglas became obsessed with flight and its sexual possibilities.

  Dieterling loved his son Douglas--despite his rages and fits of strange behavior. He despised his son Paul--who was petty, tyrannical, stupid. Douglas and Paul greatly resembled each other.

  Ray Dieterling grew famous; Douglas Borchard grew wild. He lived with Faye, watched his father's cartoon nightmares-- birds plucking children out of schoolyards--Patchett fantasies painted on film. He grew into his teens stealing, torturing animals, hiding out in skid row strip shows. He met Loren Atherton on the row--that evil man found an accomplice.

  Atherton's obsession was dismemberment; Douglas' obsession was flight. They shared an interest in photography, were sexually aroused by children. They spawned the idea of creating children to their own specifications.

  They began killing and building hybrid children, photographing their works in progress. Douglas killed birds to provide wings for their creations. They needed a beautiful face; Douglas suggested Wee Willie Wennerholm's--it would be a kindly nod to kindly "Uncle Rat--whose early work he found so exciting. They snatched Wee Willie, butchered him.

  The newspapers called the child killer "Dr. Frankenstein"--it was assumed there was only one assailant. Inspector Preston Exley commanded the police investigation. He learned of Loren Atherton, a paroled child molester. He arrested Atherton, discovered his storage garage abattoir, his collection of photographs. Atherton confessed to the crimes, said that they were his work solely, did not implicate Douglas and stated his desire to die as the King of Death. The press lauded Inspector Exley, echoed his appeal: citizens with information on Atherton were asked to come forth as witnesses.

  Ray Dieterling visited Douglas. Alone in his room, he discovered a trunk full of slaughtered birds, a child's fingers packed in dry ice. He _knew_ immediately.

  And felt responsible--his quick-buck obscenities had created a monster. He confronted Douglas, learned that he might have been seen at the school near the time Wee Willie was kidnapped.

  Protective measures:

  A psychiatrist bribed to silence diagnosed Douglas: a psychotic personality, his disorder compounded by chemical brain imbalances. Remedy: the proper drugs applied for life to keep him docile. Ray Dieterling was friends with Pierce Patchett--a chemist who dabbled in such drugs. Pierce for inner protection--Pierce's friend Terry Lux for the outer.

  Lux cut Douglas a whole new face. Atherton's lawyer stalled the trial. Preston Exley kept looking for witnesses--a wellpublicized search. Ray Dieterling treaded panic--then formed a bold plan.

  He fed drugs to Douglas and young Miller Stanton. He coached them to say they saw Loren Atherton, alone, kidnap Wee Willie Wennerholm--they were afraid to come forth until now-- afraid Dr. Frankenstein would get them. The boys told Preston Exley their story; he believed them; they identified the monster. Atherton did not recognize his surgically altered friend.

  Two years passed. Loren Atherton was tried, convicted, executed. Terry Lux cut Douglas again--destroying his resemblance to the witness boy. Douglas lived in Pierce Patchett sedation, a room at a private hospital--guarded by male nurses. Ray Dieterling became even more successful. Then Preston Exley knocked on his door.

  His news: a young girl, older now, had come forth. She had seen Dieterling's son Paul with Loren Atherton--at the school the day Wee Willie was kidnapped.

  Dieterling knew it was really Douglas--his resemblance to Paul was that strong. He offered Exley a large amount of money to desist. Exley took the money--then attempted to return it. He said, "Justice. I want to arrest the boy."

  Dieterling saw his empire ruined. He saw the petty and mindless Paul exonerated. He saw Douglas somehow captured-- destroyed for the grief his art had spawned. He insisted that Exley keep the money--Exley did not protest. He asked him if there was no other way.

  Exley asked him if Paul was guilty.

  Raymond Dieterling said, "Yes."

  Preston Exley said, "Execution."

  Raymond Dieterling agreed.

  He took Paul camping in the Sierra Nevada. Preston Exley was waiting. They dosed the boy's food; Exley shot him in his sleep and buried him. The world thought Paul was lost in an avalanche--the world believed the lie. Dieterling thought he would hate the man. The price of justice on his face told him he was just another victim. They shared a bond now. Preston Exley gave up police work to build buildings with Dieterling seed money. When Thomas Exley was killed, Ray Dieterling was the first one he called. Together they built from the weight of their dead.

o        o          o

  Dieterling ended it. "And all of this is my rather pathetic happy ending."

  Mountains, rockets, rivers--they all seemed to smile. "My father never knew about Douglas? He really thought Paul was guilty?"

  "Yes. Will you forgive me? In your father's name."

  Ed took out a clasp. Gold oak-leafs--Preston Exley's inspector's insignia. A hand-me-down--Thomas got it first. "No. I'm going to submit a report to the county grand jury requesting that you be indicted for the murder of your son."

  "A week to get my affairs in order? Where could I run to, someone as famous as I am."

  Ed said, "Yes," walked to his car.

o        o          o

  The freeway model gone--replaced by campaign posters. Art De Spain unpacking leaflets, no arm bandage--a textbook bullet scar. "Hello, Eddie."

  "Where's Father?"

  "He'll be back soon. And congratulations on inspector. I should have called you, but things have been hectic around here."

  "Father hasn't called me either. You're all pretending everything's fine."

  "Eddie . . ."

  A bulge on Art's left hip-he still carried a piece. "I just spoke to Ray Dieterling."

  "We didn't think you would."

  "Give me your gun, Art."

  De Spain handed it over butt first. Silencer threads, S&W .38s.

  "Why?"

  "Eddie . .

  Ed dumped the shells. "Dieterling told me everything. And you were Father's exec back then."

  The man looked proud. "You know my M.O., Sunny Jim. It was for Preston. I've always been his loyal adjutant."

  "And you knew about Paul Dieterling."

  De Spain took his gun back. "Yes, and I've known for years that he wasn't the real killer. I got a tip back in '48 or so. It placed the kid somewhere else at the time of the Wennerholm snatch. I didn't know if Ray gave Paul over legitimately or not, and I couldn't break Preston's heart by telling him he killed an innocent boy. I couldn't upset his friendship with Ray--it just would have hurt him too much. You know how the Atherton case has always driven me. I've always had to know who killed those kids."

  "And you never found out."

  De Spain shook his head. "No."

  Ed said, "Get to the Englekling brothers."

  Art picked up a poster: Preston backdropped by building grids. "I was visiting the Bureau. I know it was '53, right in there. I saw these pictures on the Ad Vice board. Nice-looking kids, like a stag-shot daisy chain. The design reminded me of the pictures Loren Atherton took, and I knew that just Preston and I and a few other officers had seen them. I tried to track down the pictures and didn't get anywhere. A while later I heard how the Englekling brothers gave that smut testimony for the Nite Owl investigation, but you didn't follow up on it. I figured they were a lead, but I couldn't fmd them. Late last year I got a tip that they were working at this printshop up near Frisco. I went up to talk to them. All I wanted was to find out who made that smut."

  White's notes: God-awful torture. "Just to talk to them? I know what happened there."

  Awful pride glaring. "They took it for a shakedown. It went bad. They had some old smut negatives, and I tried to get them to ID the people. They had some heroin and some antipsychotic drugs. They said they knew a sugar daddy who was going to push some horse blend that would set the world on fire, but they could do better. They laughed at me, called me 'pops.' I got this notion that they had to know who made that smut. I don't know . . . I know I went crazy. I think I thought they killed all those children. I think I thought they'd hurt Preston somehow. Eddie, they _laughed_ at me. I figured they were dope pushers, I figured next to Preston they were nothing. And this old man took them both out."

  He'd fretted the poster to shreds. "You killed two men for nothing."

  "Not for nothing. For Preston. And I beg you not to tell him."

  "Just another victim"--maybe the victim that justice lets slide.

  "Eddie, he can't know. And he can't know that Paul Dieterling was innocent. Eddie, please."

  Ed pushed him aside, walked through the house. His mother's tapestries made him think of Lynn. His old room made him think of Bud and Jack. The house felt filthy--bad money bought and paid for. He walked downstairs, saw his father in the doorway.