was sitting here in this office, telling us he didn’t know anything about where Estrellita Juarez had run off to.”
“Must have been two other guys,” I told him.
“Must have been. But don’t worry, we’ll check the files. Probably have lots of pictures waiting for you by the time you get down here.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. We aim to please.”
I hung up. I was just forcing ten bucks on Dr. Engebrusher when the squad car arrived for me.
After that, we went into action.
I’ve got to hand it to the boys; maybe they were having a little trouble finding a murderer, but there was nothing wrong with their methods.
They didn’t take me right in. They took me back to the place where I got slugged. They made me reconstruct the action, took down a full description of everything. They contacted the State Highway Patrol about covering the scene in daylight to look for the bullets. The bulletin about the car and the description of Fritz and his little friend had already gone out.
There were three men in the car, and we had quite a chat as we finally drove downtown. They wanted to know all about the Foster case, of course. One of them, off the record, seemed to disagree with my theory that the killing was the work of a cold-blooded, calculating murderer.
“He must have been nuts,” he told me. “Anybody that breaks in on a dish like that Polly Foster just to shoot her has to be crazy.”
He turned to me. “You’re the one who found her, isn’t that so? What kind of a story is that, about going out there to get her autograph?”
“It’s the truth,” I said. “So help me.”
“What kind of a dame was she? I mean, on the level.”
“Sorry. I only met her once. And our relations were strictly vertical.”
He didn’t get it, but the cop who was driving laughed.
“I guess they’re all alike,” he said. “All them Hollywood people. Bunch of screwballs, in one mess after another.”
“You know better than that,” I answered. “There’s hundreds who never get into any trouble. Lots of nice, decent citizens in the movie colony, just as there’s lots of nice, decent citizens down on Olive, or Main. But the few exceptions, the wrongos, are the only ones you ever hear about. That’s what gives a bad reputation to the whole bunch.”
“Pretty funny talk, coming from a guy who’s just been beat up the way you have.”
“Maybe so, but it’s the truth. What about your Department? There’ve been cases where a couple of cops went off the deep end. But does that mean you’re all crooked?”
“He’s right, Evans,” said the man sitting next to me. “And I’m sorry I sounded off that way about Polly Foster. But you know how you get after a few years in this game.”
We reached our destination, but I didn’t see Thompson waiting for me. My business was with another department. They had everything ready for me to swear out a complaint, and they took down the story and the description again, and then a sergeant brought out the file and I started to look at faces.
As I said before, all very efficient and quite polite. It was nice to be on the other side of the fence for a change, after the grilling I’d taken when they heard about Polly Foster.
I was even beginning to relish the attention a little, enjoy the way they hovered over me as I checked the photos. Then they took the play away from me. Somebody buzzed the sergeant and he hit the phone.
After a minute, he turned to me. “They’ve found your car,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Highway Patrol located it backed off the road near the gun club, below Santa Monica. Right near Washington Boulevard. Everything’s okay, I guess. You can check and see if anything is missing. They’ll be bringing it in later.”
“Nothing on the two men?”
“Nothing so far. They’re on the lookout. Meanwhile, here’s some more pictures.”
I looked at pictures. As I looked, I began to wonder about my previous remarks concerning the integrity
“Must have been two other guys,” I told him.
“Must have been. But don’t worry, we’ll check the files. Probably have lots of pictures waiting for you by the time you get down here.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. We aim to please.”
I hung up. I was just forcing ten bucks on Dr. Engebrusher when the squad car arrived for me.
After that, we went into action.
I’ve got to hand it to the boys; maybe they were having a little trouble finding a murderer, but there was nothing wrong with their methods.
They didn’t take me right in. They took me back to the place where I got slugged. They made me reconstruct the action, took down a full description of everything. They contacted the State Highway Patrol about covering the scene in daylight to look for the bullets. The bulletin about the car and the description of Fritz and his little friend had already gone out.
There were three men in the car, and we had quite a chat as we finally drove downtown. They wanted to know all about the Foster case, of course. One of them, off the record, seemed to disagree with my theory that the killing was the work of a cold-blooded, calculating murderer.
“He must have been nuts,” he told me. “Anybody that breaks in on a dish like that Polly Foster just to shoot her has to be crazy.”
He turned to me. “You’re the one who found her, isn’t that so? What kind of a story is that, about going out there to get her autograph?”
“It’s the truth,” I said. “So help me.”
“What kind of a dame was she? I mean, on the level.”
“Sorry. I only met her once. And our relations were strictly vertical.”
He didn’t get it, but the cop who was driving laughed.
“I guess they’re all alike,” he said. “All them Hollywood people. Bunch of screwballs, in one mess after another.”
“You know better than that,” I answered. “There’s hundreds who never get into any trouble. Lots of nice, decent citizens in the movie colony, just as there’s lots of nice, decent citizens down on Olive, or Main. But the few exceptions, the wrongos, are the only ones you ever hear about. That’s what gives a bad reputation to the whole bunch.”
“Pretty funny talk, coming from a guy who’s just been beat up the way you have.”
“Maybe so, but it’s the truth. What about your Department? There’ve been cases where a couple of cops went off the deep end. But does that mean you’re all crooked?”
“He’s right, Evans,” said the man sitting next to me. “And I’m sorry I sounded off that way about Polly Foster. But you know how you get after a few years in this game.”
We reached our destination, but I didn’t see Thompson waiting for me. My business was with another department. They had everything ready for me to swear out a complaint, and they took down the story and the description again, and then a sergeant brought out the file and I started to look at faces.
As I said before, all very efficient and quite polite. It was nice to be on the other side of the fence for a change, after the grilling I’d taken when they heard about Polly Foster.
I was even beginning to relish the attention a little, enjoy the way they hovered over me as I checked the photos. Then they took the play away from me. Somebody buzzed the sergeant and he hit the phone.
After a minute, he turned to me. “They’ve found your car,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Highway Patrol located it backed off the road near the gun club, below Santa Monica. Right near Washington Boulevard. Everything’s okay, I guess. You can check and see if anything is missing. They’ll be bringing it in later.”
“Nothing on the two men?”
“Nothing so far. They’re on the lookout. Meanwhile, here’s some more pictures.”
I looked at pictures. As I looked, I began to wonder about my previous remarks concerning the integrity
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