The Patrolman - 31

 

 

31.

 

 

 

‘Calling Car Three King, Car Three King.’

Lacey welcomed the intrusion.

‘Car Three King receiving,’ he said.

‘Roll Code 2 to Hollywood Reservoir. One WFA DB reported. Looks cold. No signs of trouble. The scene is secure, and a unit's standing by. Acknowledge.’

‘Car Three King rolling,’ he said. ‘Over and out.’

He replaced the mic. They were in business. The killer had been right - it had only been a matter of time until someone found his next victim.

They rode through Hollywood and listened to the news on the car radio. When the call came in, they had been heading north on La Brea. Carruthers still took the right onto Sunset but drove past Wilcox. A block over, he hooked left onto Cahenga and started the climb toward the reservoir.

When they made the turn, Lacey noticed a car tailing them in the mirror. He told Carruthers, and he stepped on it.

The news commentator ran through the headlines on last night's riots. Bishop McGucken blamed the press for instigating further violence. Accused the Department of overreacting and making the situation worse.

‘This’ll be the riot to end all riots,’ Carruthers said.

‘I doubt that,’ Lacey said. ‘This is the first. There’ll be more.’

‘Careful there, pal.’

‘It’s true. Better jobs and opportunities would go much further in this city. And I’m not talking about bus drivers. I mean real work. Work that matters.’

‘Watch it, Lacey. You’re starting to sound like one of those Fifth Columnists.’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll mind it. But you know these riots didn’t start over rationing wool.’

Carruthers grunted. ‘Fair point. I’ll take it.’

He came off the Cahuenga Pass Freeway and threaded through the residential streets. Charming places. Low-slung hacienda-style villas tucked into the hills. Palm trees hid the tired apartment blocks down by the boulevard.

'Still being followed?'

Lacey caught a flash of chrome in the side-view mirror. ‘You got it.’

Carruthers huffed. They were gaining altitude. 'I've got an idea,' he said. 'Hold onto your hat.'

He punched the gas.

The Lincoln ate up the next couple of miles. It wasn't smooth, it threw them around. They came up on a shoulder. Carruthers drove into it and spun the car back around, charging back down the hill. He found a pinch-point where the road was at its most narrow. With a fir tree on the right, four white bollards, and a telegraph pole. Beyond them, a sheer drop onto the haciendas below. The left side was worse. A sharp hill with a 50-degree incline. The other car had nowhere to go.

Carruthers stopped, turned the car back up, and pulled forward again. It was square across the asphalt. They got out and checked. It was a good roadblock, there was no room to get around it. Whoever was tailing them would come tearing round the curve and have to slam the brakes. There might be enough time for them to make a complete stop.

‘Use it for cover,’ Lacey said. ‘I’ll head up there.’ He drew his sidearm out of its holster, scrambled up the rockets to the left, and crouched low.

Time moved slow. A minute. Two. Three. The sun climbed over the hill behind him, painting the sky gold. Crickets chirped. Carruthers breathed hard.

'Won't be long.'

'No, it won't.'

Lacey estimated the speed the tail had been going. No way near as fast as they had been, but it would be imminent. It was less than a mile away. Soon he could hear a motor revving fast.

Carruthers stopped dead, checked his magazine, and took aim.

'Thirty seconds,' Lacey called.

The engine got louder. He could hear the tires and gearbox. The growl of rubber on the road.

Eight seconds. Five.

The car raced around the bend. Then he heard the squeal of the brake rotors and the howl of locked rubber on asphalt. It came to a stop twenty feet from the Lincoln.

It was a Buick, clear white, now dusty from the climb. Only one person inside. They sat there for a second, still. Staring ahead. Staring at the roadblock with Lacey’s .45 aimed straight at them. He heard the gear shift click into park. He could smell the exhaust, the heat off the hood. The Buick was that close.

The door opened. The driver climbed out and waited behind the door. Then - hands raised - they stepped out into the open.

Lacey's grip tightened around the gun.

The driver was a woman.

Veronica Welles.

‘Welles,’ he said. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Waddaya think?’ she said. ‘I saw you miss the station and followed you here. Not like a dozen cherry-red Lincolns are cruising the Strip. Even in Hollywood.’

‘You could’ve gotten yourself shot,’ Carruthers said. He stood up and holstered his weapon. He looked like Lacey felt - dumb.

‘Forget it, boys,’ she said. ‘I could’ve handled it better, sure. But I want an exclusive for my trouble.’

Lacey shot Carruthers a look and climbed down the hill.

‘No can do,’ he said. ‘It’s active. Anything we tell you could tip off the killer. We can't have that.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Welles said. ‘First, you slash my tires. Then you stonewall me on Bunker Hill. Now you’re dodging me again. Give me something and I’ll back off. Is it the same guy? The work of the Zoot Suit Strangler?’

‘Catchy,’ Carruthers said. ‘Little too tabloid for my taste. Old Barclay must be proud.’

‘Not so much,’ she said. ‘The paper’s in chaos after that Times piece on his son.’

A flash passed between the two men. She didn’t know they’d been to Barclay Junior’s place.

‘I bet it is,’ Carruthers said.

Not bad, Lacey thought. But not airtight either.

‘Anyhoo,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave this out of the story - if I ride up there with you fellas. Deal?’

Carruthers came around the Lincoln.

Lacey held up a hand. ‘We can't do it, Veronica.’

‘Veronica?’ she said. ‘We're on a first-name basis now, Lacey?’

‘You bet. And here’s the deal. When we have the suspect in custody, you get the exclusive. Twenty-four hours.’

‘On the record?’

‘Can’t promise that,’ Carruthers said. ‘Would screw up the whole case.’

‘But we can tell you where to look,’ Lacey continued. ‘You’re smart. You’ll piece it together.’

She narrowed her eyes.

‘I want your word, Lacey. Not that it means much anymore.’

He could feel Carruthers burning holes through him.

‘You’ve got my word, Ms. Welles.’

‘Good,’ she said, smoothing her skirt. ‘When you’ve got your man, I want to be the first to know. You hear me?’

‘We hear you.’

Her narrow eyes perched on the freckled cheeks frowning. Seeming satisfied, she gave them one last glance, then climbed back behind the wheel.

An awkward exchange followed next, as Carruthers backed the Lincoln up. He brought it around so she could pull a three-point turn on the shoulder. She didn't linger – taking off down the hill, dust trailing behind her.

‘Twenty hours, huh?’ Carruthers said. ‘You Army boys are sure of yourselves.’

Lacey pulled off his fedora and wiped his face. ‘We’ve got even less,’ he said. ‘We’ve got until 02:30 to save the next one.’

 

© J. A. Stapleton 2025 - Image Source: Wikimedia Commons