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datatime: 2022-10-06 12:15:16 Author:cpXrrGvo

Mad now--Kathy on a morgue slab. Yeah, you have.

Dudley sighed. Lad, I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad tidings. Last night a young lassie named Kathy Janeway was found in her motel room, raped and beaten to death. Your calling card was found in her purse. Sergeant DiCenzo took the squeal, knew you were a prot®¶g®¶ of mine and called me. I visited the crime scene, found an envelope addressed to Miss Janeway, and recognized your rather unformed handwriting immediately. Explain with brevity, lad--Sergeant DiCenzo is heading the investigation and wants you eliminated as a suspect.

And what precisely have you accomplished since that dinner meeting of ours--which is when you should have reported on Miss Janeway and Miss Benavides?

Bud shut the door. Did what? Boss, what is this?

DiCenzo shook his head. Do you routinely shake down hookers?

Lad, you didn't include mention of her in any of the reports you've filed. Which have been rather threadbare, I might add.

Bud fed the woman coffee--get her out, go see Stens at the lock-up.

Cynthia Benavides, a.k.a. 'Sinful Cindy.'

Mad now--Kathy on a morgue slab. Yeah, you have.

Bud shut the door. Did what? Boss, what is this?

Bud shut the door. Did what? Boss, what is this?

DiCenzo walked out smoking; Dudley leaned against the door. Lad, you cannot shake down prostitutes for money to pay off underaged mistresses. I understand your sentimental attachment to women, and I know that it is an essential component of your policeman's persona, but such overinvolvement cannot be tolerated, and as of this moment you are off the Cathcart and Lunceford checks and back on the Darktown end of the case. Now, Chief Parker and I are convinced that the three Negroes in custody are our perpetrators, or, at the very most, another jigaboo gang is responsible. We still have no murder weapons and no shake on Coates' car, and Ellis Loew wants more evidence for a grand jury presentation. Our fair Miss Soto will not talk, and I'm afraid we must urge her to take pentothal and endure a questioning session. Your job is to check files and question known Negro sex offenders. We need to find the men our unholy three let abuse Miss Soto, and I think the job is right up your alley. Will you do this for me?

And what precisely have you accomplished since that dinner meeting of ours--which is when you should have reported on Miss Janeway and Miss Benavides?

I'll call you.

The doorbell rang.

I'll call you.

The red sedan: the motel, Cahuenga. I don't know.

Carolyn something, she looked okay at the Orbit Lounge, morning light put ten years on her. He picked her up on a flash: he just got the word on Dick, if he couldn't find a woman he was going to find Exley and kill him. She wasn't bad in bed--but he had to think of Inez to charge up enthusiasm, it made him feel cheap, the odds on Inez ever doing it for love were about six trillion to one. He stopped thinking about her--the rest of the night was all bad talk and brandy.

Cynthia Benavides, a.k.a. 'Sinful Cindy.'

DiCenzo shook his head. Do you routinely shake down hookers?

I'll call you.

DiCenzo pointed to the bed. There's his alibi, and I didn't think he did it anyway.

A body shot--little Kathy sobbing. Bud got his lies straight. I was on the Cathcart background check and this hooker who worked for Cathcart told me the Janeway girl was Cathcart's last squeeze, but he didn't pimp her. I talked to the girl, but she didn't know nothing worth reporting. She told me the hooker was holding cash from Cathcart for her, but she wouldn't kick loose. I shook her down and mailed the money to the kid.

Carolyn said, I think I should go.

Mad now--Kathy on a morgue slab. Yeah, you have.

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