I ripped it all up.

I hit my siren out of pure f.u.c.king joy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

One Susan Ann Glynn DMV-listed--Ocean View Drive, Redondo Beach.

Twenty minutes south. A clapboard shack, no view-- a pregnant woman on the porch.

I parked and walked up. Blond, mid-twenties--DMV stat bullseye.

"Are you Susan Ann Glynn?"

She patted a sit-down place. Expectant: cigarettes, magazines.

"You're the policeman Doug called about?"

I sat down. "He _warned_ you?"

"Uh-huh. He said you looked through an old trick file that had my name on it. He said you might come to see me and make trouble like you did with him. I said I sure hope he makes it before three-thirty, when my husband gets home."

Noon now. "Your husband doesn't know what you used to do?"

A kid yelping inside--she lit a cigarette on reflex. "Uh-uh. And I bet if I cooperate with you, you won't tell him."

"That's right."

She coughed, smiled. "The baby kicked. Now, uh, Doug said the trick was Joseph Arden, so I put on my thinking cap. This isn't for murder or anything like that, is it? Because that man behaved like a gentleman."

"I'm investigating a burglary."

Cough, wince. "You know, I remember that I liked that man. I remember him good because Doug said be nice 'cause this other service girl gave him the clap, and he had to get it treated."

"Did he tell you his real name?"

"No. I used _my_ real name at the service for a while, but Doug accused me of trying to recruit customers for myself, so I stopped."

"What did Joseph Arden look like?"

"Nice looking. Cultured looking. Maybe in his late forties. He looked like he had money."

"Tall, short, heavy, slender?"

"Maybe six feet. I guess you'd say he had a medium build. Blue eyes, I think. What I guess you'd call medium-brown hair."

I showed the sketch. "Does this look like him?"

"This man looks too young. The chin sort of reminds me of him, though."

Noise inside--Susan winced. Check her magazines: _Photoplay_, _Bride's_. "Do you know what mug shots are?"

"Uh-huh, from the TV. Pictures of criminals."

Soft: "Would you--?"

"No" shakes--emphatic. "Mister, this man was no criminal. I could look at your pictures until this new baby of mine has her sweet sixteen and never see his face."

"Did he mention a son named Richie?"

"We didn't talk much, but on like our second date he said his wife just tried to kill herself. At first I didn't believe it, 'cause lots of men tell you sad things about their wives so you'll feel sorry for them and pretend you like it more."

"You said at first you didn't believe him. What convinced you?"

"He told me he and his wife had this fight a few weeks back, and she just started screaming and picked up a can of Drano and started drinking it. He said he stopped her and fetched this doctor neighbor of his so he wouldn't have to take her to the hospital. Believe me, that story was so awful that I knew he didn't make it up."

"Did he say that she went to a hospital for follow-up treatment?"

"No. He said the neighbor doctor took care of all of it. He said he was glad, 'cause that way n.o.body knew how crazy his wife was."

One dead lead. "Did he tell you his wife's name?"

"No."

"Did he mention the names of any other family members?"

"No, he sure didn't."

"Did he mention any other girls who worked for Doug Ancelet?"

Nods--eager. "Some girl with one of those foreign-type I-A-N names. It seemed to me he had--"

"Lacey Kartoonian?"

"Riiight."

"What did he say about her?"

"That she loved it. That's a big thing with call-service customers. They think they're the only ones who can make you love it."

"Be more specific."

"He said, 'Do it like Lacey does.' I said, 'How's that?' He said, 'Love it.' That's all he said about her, I'm sure."

"He didn't mention her as the one who gave him a dose?"

"Uh-uh, that's all he said. And I never met that girl myself, and n.o.body else ever brought her up to me. And if she didn't have such a funny call name I wouldn't have remembered her at all."

Chrono links: Christmas '57: peeper's mother with the suicide blues _again_. Susan Glynn/Joseph Arden--trick dates 9/56. Mrs. Arden, Drano drinker-- private treatment. Police agencies sealed suicide files. Arden, wealthy--_if_ his wife killed herself, he'd buy _extra_ legal closure.

Linkage: Letters, peeper tapes, Ancelet.

Quotes: Joseph Arden to Lucille: "that dose you gave me."

Mom to Champ/peeper: "Your father gave me what that prost.i.tute gave him."

Conclusive: The peeper peeped his own father f.u.c.king Lucille.

Susan: "Penny for your thoughts."

"You don't want to know."

"Ask me one."

Try her: "When you worked for the service, did you know a girl named Gloria Benson? Her real name's Glenda Bledsoe."

Smiling, pleased: "I remember her. She quit Doug's to become a movie star. When I read she was under contract to Howard Hughes it made me so happy."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Wilshire Station--wait, work.

I dusted the Mom-peeper envelopes--two prints surfaced. I checked Jack Woods' Vice sheet--match-up-Jack pawed the goods.

No post-Christmas letters box-stashed--why?

I buzzed Sid Riegle: check white female attempted suicides/suicides Christmas '57 up. a.s.sume Coroner's file closure; inquire station squad to squad--City/County. Look for: middle-aged/affluent/husband/son/ daughters. Sid said I'll help you part time--_you_ never show up--_I'm_ running Ad Vice by default.

I called the Arden Dairy--a shot at a Joseph Arden make. Strikeout: no Arden-surname owners/employees; the founder dead, heirless.

I called University Station--4:00--night.w.a.tch roll call in progress. Via intercom hookup: Did any of you men trick-card Joseph Arden--white male alias?

One taker--"I _think_ I carded that alias"--no real name, vehicle or description recalled.

Joseph Arden--dead for now.

A teletype check: no Topanga Canyon 187s--Pincushion Miciak decomposing.

Dinner: candy bars from a vending machine. Grab a sweat room, wait.

I tilted a chair back--sleep waves. .h.i.t me. Half dreaming: Mr. Third Party says hi!

The Red Arrow Inn--peeper jimmies Lucille's door. Jimmy marks _on the peeper's door_--nonmatching. Kafesjian 459: watchdogs chopped and blinded--eyes shoved down their throats.

The peeper sobbing, listening to: Lucille with odd tricks--and his own father.

Read the peeper pa.s.sive.

Read the burglar brutal.

Silverware stolen, found: the peeper's bed stabbed and ripped. a.s.sumed: the peeper himself. My new instinct: third party/door chopper = burglar/bed slasher = One separate fiend.

Half dreaming--s.e.x-fiend gargoyles chasing me. Half waking-- "Doubleheader, Lieutenant"--Joe Plainclothes shoving two punks in.

One white, one colored. The plainclothesman cuffed them to chairs, their hands racked to the slats.

"Blondie's Patrick Orchard, and the Negro guy's Leroy Carpenter. My partner and me checked Stephen Wenzel's place, and it looked like he cleaned it out in a hurry."

Orchard--skinny, pimples. Carpenter--purple suit, this c.o.o.n fashion plate.

"Thanks, Officer."

"Glad to oblige"--smile--"Glad to earn a few points with Chief Exley."

"Did you run them for warrants?"

"Sure did. Leroy's a child-support skip, and Pat's a Kern County probation absconder."

"If they cooperate, I'll cut them loose."

He winked. "Sure you will."

I winked. "Check the jail roster tomorrow if you don't believe me."

Orchard smiled. Leroy said, "Say what?" Plainclothes--huh?--back out shrugging.

Showtime.

I reached under the table-bingo--a sap taped on. "I meant what I said, and this has got _nothing_ to do with you. This is about a policeman named George Stemmons, Jr. He was observed rousting you two and a guy named Stephen Wenzel, and all I want is for you to tell me about it."