Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [85]
I drove west toward the Tap & Cap, stopping first on Pico and Veteran to buy the L.A. Times. It was on the second page:
THREE DEAD IN PALM SPRINGS SHOTGUN KILLINGS
(A.P., U.P.I.) July 16–Palm Springs Police and Riverside County Sheriff’s spokesmen announced today that there are no clues in last night’s brutal slaying of three men, found shotgunned to death under a freeway embankment on Interstate 6 near the Palm Springs-Cathedral City border. Sheriff’s Department spokesman Sgt. A.D. Larkin said that the three men, all of whom were employed as caddies, were drinking and taking drugs at their campsite under the embankment.
“We found several empty whisky bottles and a cache of quaalude capsules,” Larkin said. “Right now we’re thinking that the killings are tied in to a drug rip off. The killer came back for the drugs and panicked after he did the killing. We’re checking out all known intimates of the deceased and expect a break at any time.”
The dead men are Stanley Gaither, 41, of West Los Angeles, Robert Marchion, a transient, and George Hansen of the Desert Flower Trailer Park, Palm Springs. The bodies were discovered by a group of Boy Scouts and their leader returning to Cathedral City from an overnight camping trip.
Not much. But the address of one George Hansen might be worth something. I ripped the article out of the paper and put it in my shirt pocket.
The Tap & Cap was almost deserted when I got there. The bartender and a crippled old black news vendor were reading the Times article aloud at the bar as I walked in. “Po’ motherfuckas,” the old newsy was saying, “po’ fuckin’ ‘Burger’ Hansen. Hungriest fuckin’ goat I ever did see. I remember when …”
I interrupted him with a stern look and an abrupt gesture. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I said, “I’m with Amalgamated Insurance and I’m looking for a Mr. Augie Dougall on a matter of urgent importance. I was told he frequents your establishment.”
The old news vendor started to say something, but the barman cut him off. “You got that all wrong, mister. Augie Dougall lives here. He gets a free room for cleaning the place up.”
“Excellent. Is Mr. Dougall here now?”
“No. He left early this morning. He said he was going up to Palm Springs on the bus. He got real shook up about those three caddies who got killed up there. He knew ’em. He said he’s gonna crack the case. He’s cracked himself. He ain’t gonna crack nothin’.”
“I see. How terrible. I have a sizeable check from a dead uncle for Mr. Dougall. Very sizeable. Do you know where Mr. Dougall will be staying in Palm Springs?”
“I don’t know, but he’s got a cousin up there, in Cat City. In fact, Augie’s got a letter from him that he forgot to pick up this morning, he was in such a hurry.” The barman rummaged beneath the bar and came up with an envelope.
I grabbed it out of his hand and tore out the door, adding theft of government property to my list of crimes. A moment later I saw the crippled newsy hobbling after me. He didn’t have a chance. When I got to my car, I tore open the envelope and read:
Dear Augie,
I hope you are doing good. I am, but it is too dam hot in Cat City. My air conditioner went on the bum and now I am roasting. Is it hot in L.A.? I bet it is. No releef for the wicked, ha! ha! Hows caddying? Do people play golf in hot weather? You wouldn’t catch me on a golf course without a six pak of cold ones and a fan. Ha! Ha! Listen. Something funny happened yesterday. This guy came by the house and said he was looking for some things that crazy fat buddy of yours might of left here. Fat Dog, the guy who wouldn’t use the spare room, who slept in the yard? The guy offered me 50 clams to let him look for the stuff. He said Fat Dog stole some valuable stuff with sentimental value from him and he wanted it back. I told him forget it!!!!! Fat Dog didn’t leave nothing here. It was real suspicious. He told me he used to caddy with you and Fat Dog, but he wouldn’t tell me his name. I went out later and when I got