Clandestine

"Well, lad," he said, "you've got us a killer. That's for damn sure. The Cadwallader dame, a certainty. The other woman, what was her name?"

"Leona Jensen."

"Ahhh, yes. Well, there I'm not so sure. What was the cause of death, do you know?"

"The M.E. at the scene said asphyxiation."

"Ahhh, yes. Who handled it for Wilshire dicks?"

"Joe DiCenzo."

"Ahhh, yes. I know DiCenzo. Freddy, lad, what are your feelings about this degenerate Engels?"

"I think he knocked off Cadwallader and Jensen and God knows who else."

"God knows? Are you a religious man, lad?"

"No, sir, I'm not."

"Well, you should be. Ahhh, yes. Divine Providence is certainly at work in this case."

Captain Jurgensen came onto the porch holding a beer.

"Ahhh, John. Thank you," the lieutenant said. "Give us ten more minutes, will you, lad?"

The captain muttered, "Sure, Dud," and retreated again.

"I was about to say, lad," Dudley Smith went on, "that I concur wholeheartedly with you. How old are you? Twenty-seven, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir, call me Dudley."

"All right, Dudley."

"Ahhh, grand. Well, lad, I'm forty-six, and I've been a cop for half my life. I was in the O.S.S. during the war. I was a major in Europe and I came back to my sergeancy in the department, expecting to rise very fast. I caught a lot of killers, and I killed a few myself. I made lieutenant, and I expect I'll always be a lieutenant. I'm too tough and smart and valuable to be a captain and sit on my ass all day and read Shakespeare like our friend John."

Dudley Smith leaned toward me and clamped his huge right hand over my knee. He lowered his tenor voice a good three octaves, and said, "In Ireland, the brothers taught me an abiding love and respect for women. I've been married to the same woman for twenty-eight years. I've got five daughters. There's a lot of the beast in me, lad, God knows. What gentleness there is I owe to the brothers and the women I've known. I hate killers, and I hate woman-killers more than I hate Satan himself. Do you share my hatred, lad?"

It was his first test, and I wanted to pass it with honors. I tightened my whole face and whispered hoarsely, "With all my heart."

Smith tightened his grip on my knee. He wanted me to show pain in acquiescence, so I winced. He released my knee, and I rubbed it gingerly. He smiled. "Ahhh, yes," he said. "Grand. He's ours, Freddy. Ours. He's claimed his last victim, God mark my words."

Smith leaned back and slouched bearlike into his chair. He picked up his bottle of beer and drained it. "Ahhh, yes. Grand. Detective Officer Underhill. Do you like the sound of that, lad?"

"I like it fine, Dudley."

"Grand. Tell me, lad, how did you feel after you gunned down those two pachucos who killed your partner?"

"I felt angry."

"Did you weep, later?"

"No."

"Ahhh, grand."

"When do we start, Dudley?"

"Tomorrow, lad. There'll be four of us. Two fine young protégés of mine from the bureau, and us. As of now, John is out. As of now, I am your commanding officer. During the war, we in the O.S.S. had a word we used to describe our activities: clandestine. Isn't that a grand word? It means 'in secret.' That's what our investigation is going to be—in secret. Just the four of us. I can get hold of anything, any file we need from within the department or any other police agency. The case is all ours, the glory all ours, the plaudits all ours, the commendations and advancements to be earned, all ours—once we get an airtight case and a confession from this monster Eddie Engels."

"And then?"

"Then we go to the grand jury, lad, and let the people of our grand Republic of California decide the fate of handsome Eddie, which, of course, will be to send the dirty son-of-a-whore to the gas chamber."

"He's as good as in the little green room right now, Dudley."

"Indeed he is, lad. Now you listen. Our command post will be at the Havana Hotel, downtown at Eighth and Olive. I've already rented us a room, number sixteen. You be there tomorrow morning at eight sharp. Wear civvies. Get a good night's sleep. Say your prayers. Thank God that you're free, white, twenty-one and a splendid young copper. You go home now. John will be miffed at not being in on this, and I want to soft-pedal his pride. Now, shoo."

I got up and stretched my legs. I stuck out my hand to Dudley Smith. "Thanks, Dudley," I said. "This means a lot to me."

Smith shook my hand firmly. "I know it does, lad. I can tell we are going to be grand friends. God bless you. When you say your prayers, send one up for old Dudley."

"I will."

Smith laughed. "No, you won't," he said, "you'll go out and find yourself some grand piece of tail and show her your badge and tell her you're the next chief of police. Ha-ha-ha! I know you, lad. Now go and leave me to placate old John."

I walked back to my car feeling touched by madness and wonder. Mad, wonderful laughter trailed after me as I drove off,