Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [38]
“But Freddy has hated Sol from the beginning, and it compounded the sickness that was already festering in him. While I was living in that crummy room in Culver City he used to come over and expose himself to me. Erect. It was sickening. I was frightened, but afraid to tell anyone for fear I’d get sent back to the orphanage. He was obsessed with me sexually then and I’m sure he still is. He writes me letters about how I’m his family and we should live together in Mexico and raise greyhounds, and about how Sol is an Israeli-Communist agent. I always read the letters out of hope that he’s changed, somehow developed some degree of humanity; but there’s no change, just hate and ugliness. I haven’t seen my brother in four or five years. I want nothing to do with him, now or ever. And now you tell me he’s an arsonist and he wants to kill Sol! Oh God, oh Christ.”
I moved to Jane’s bench and placed an arm around her shoulder. She didn’t resist, just stared at the ground, her body clenched against an onslaught of tears. “Look,” I said gently, “I understand. You’ve got a good life going for you, then this crazy non sequitur comes along. I’m a stranger, but I’m all right, really. You can check me out. I was a police officer for six years. I got involved in this thing against my will, but now that I’m involved I’m going to see it through. But I need your help. Will you help me?” I relinquished my arm from her shoulders.
Jane looked up at me and smiled, then fumbled in her purse for cigarettes and matches. Her hands were shaking, so I lit her cigarette for her. She inhaled deeply and her whole body seemed to crash in acceptance as she exhaled. “I take it that smile implied consent,” I said. “Right?”
Jane stared at the ground and blew out another lungful of smoke. “Right,” she replied.
“Good.”
“Oh God, this is so fucking crazy! Look, I know you told me, but I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Fritz Brown.”
“Look, Mr. Brown—”
“Call me Fritz.”
“Okay. Look, Fritz, I haven’t seen my brother in five years or so. Apparently this hatred for Sol that he’s been harboring all these years has come to a head. Why now, I don’t know—you can’t expect a crazy man to act logically. The police were over at the house last night, talking to Sol. They told him the cause of the fire was arson. They asked him if he had any enemies, in business or otherwise. Sol said he didn’t know of any. Sol told me the police always suspect the owner of the business when the place of business burns down. You know, setting fire to the place for the insurance money, which is ridiculous in Sol’s case, because business was booming. But if you need help on this case and if you have circumstantial evidence pointing to Freddy, why don’t you just go to the police and tell them? Get them to handle it.”
“It won’t work. All my evidence is related to another case that was solved incorrectly over a decade ago. My evidence would be disregarded because it makes too many police agencies look bad. I know the cop mentality. If I persisted in trying to convince them, I might jeopardize my license and I can’t afford that. The only way to end this thing is for me to find your brother, arrest him, and secure a confession.”
“I believe you. I hate bureaucrats, for good reason.” Jane paused reflectively. “You said that you’ve investigated Sol. Then you probably know that a long, long time ago he was involved in the crime