Clandestine

Mad laughter filled my sleep that night. Nagging doubts tore at me in the form of Wacky Walker and Dudley Smith twirling nightsticks and shouting obscene poetry at each other. Reuben Ramos watched, honking on his sax and offering cryptic comments like a hophead Greek chorus. Captain Bill Beckworth was there too, offering his two cents' worth—"Caution, Freddy. Improve my putting stroke and I'll make you the king of Wilshire Division. All the pussy and wonder you can stomach! I'll bring back Walker from the dead and make him a nobel laureate. Trust me!"

I woke up with a headache and the certainty that Dudley Smith was going to screw me out of all the plaudits to be earned from the Eddie Engels case. He was the ranking officer, the decision maker, the one who would file with the district attorney's office when Engels was arrested. I needed an insurance policy, and I knew exactly who to call.

I took my time dressing and eating breakfast. I fried Night Train a pound of hamburger. He wolfed it down greedily and licked the inside of his dish. I threw him a soup bone as dessert. He gnawed it while I called Information and got the number of the office of the district attorney, city of Los Angeles. It was still early. I hoped someone would be there.

I dialed. "District attorney's office," a woman's singsong voice answered.

"Good morning," I said, "may I speak to Miss Lorna Weinberg, please?"

"Your name please, sir?"

"Officer Fred Underhill."

"One moment, Officer. I'll ring."

Lorna Weinberg came on the line a moment later, sounding harried. "Hello," she said.

"Hello, Miss Weinberg. Do you remember me?"

"Yes, I do. Is this something about my father?"

"No, it's not. It's both personal and professional. I need to speak to you, as soon as possible."

"What is it?" Lorna snapped.

"I can't discuss it on the phone."

"What is this, Mr. Underhill?"

"It's something important. Something I know that you'll think is important. Can I meet you tonight?"

"All right. Briefly. How about outside city hall, the Spring Street entrance, at five o'clock? I can give you fifteen minutes."

"I'll be there."

"Good day, Officer," Lorna Weinberg said, hanging up before I could deliver the witty remark I had prepared.

It was a hot, smoggy day, and it didn't faze me in the least. I drove downtown feeling buoyant with anticipation, and parked in front of the Havana Hotel, an old, one-story red brick building with a rickety elevator in its small entrance foyer. It was 7:59 by my watch, so I leaped the stairs three at a time, knocking on the door of room 16 at exactly eight o'clock.

A stocky blond man in a short-sleeved white shirt and a shoulder holster opened it. I held out my badge to gain entrance and he nodded me inside. Dudley Smith and another man were in the middle of the dingy little room, hunched over a folding card table.

Smith looked over his shoulder and greeted me. "Freddy! Laddy! Welcome! Let me make the introductions—gentlemen, this is Officer Fred Underhill, my newest protégé. Fred, meet Sergeant Mike Breuning," he nodded toward the stocky blond man. "And Officer Dick Carlisle," he nodded toward the other man, a tall, thin, sallowfaced man with wire-rimmed glasses. I shook hands with my new colleagues and exchanged pleasantries with them until Dudley Smith cleared his throat loudly and called for our attention.

"Enough horseshit," he said. "Freddy, tell Mike and Dick your story. Omit nothing. Here, stand up in back of this table like a good toastmaster. Ahhh, yes, that's grand."

Breuning and Carlisle pulled up chairs while I assumed my position behind the folding table. Smith sat on the bed, smoking and sipping coffee and smiling at me. It took me fifteen minutes to recount my tale. I could tell that Breuning and Carlisle were impressed. They looked to Dudley Smith for confirmation, almost doglike in their deference to the big cop.

He smiled at them. "Ahhh, yes. A real live degenerate womankiller. Comments, lads? Questions?"

Carlisle and Breuning shook their heads.

"Freddy?" Smith asked.

"Only one, Dudley. When do we start?"