Brown's Requiem - James Ellroy [95]
From the Times, January 29, 1964:
TWO DIE AS CAR EXPLODES ON FREEWAY
A young married couple met their death on the San Bernardino Freeway yesterday in a freak accident when a leaky gas tank and sparks from an overheated engine combined to send the car exploding into flames near an offramp in Arcadia. The couple, recently married, were Mr. and Mrs. Willard D. Jamison of Santa Monica. A passing motorist saw the blazing car and flagged down a nearby Highway Patrolman, but by then it was too late. Fire engines arrived on the scene minutes later and put out the fire. Funeral services for the Jamisons will be held at Gates, Kingsley and Gates Mortuary, Forest Lawn, on February 2.
Below were Fat Dog’s comments: “The Fat Dog is everywhere! I can see everywhere!!! I roast ’em, toast ’em and make the most of ’em!!!!!”
On and on it went. The scrapbook contained clippings in chronological order of fires up until last year. Fires that took lives, fires that destroyed homes, cars, industrial property. All flawlessly executed. Sol Kupferman and Louisa Jane Hall had spawned a genius: malignant, clever beyond belief, and evil beyond comprehension.
I had reached the year 1972, and had counted 16 deaths, when I couldn’t go on. I was as still as a leaf, but inside I was screaming. Tears of anger and disbelief began to stain the yellow pages. The evil was staggering, the brilliance behind it unfathomable. Given enough time, Fat Dog Baker would have burned Los Angeles County to the ground. And he had chosen me, Fritz Brown, “detective in name only,” to help implement his plan of revenge, blackmail, and God knows what else, directed at Kupferman, Ralston, and God knows who else. God. That was funny. There was no God. But for the first time I found myself wishing there were. I took deep breaths for a minute or so. They actually helped; I felt slightly calmed as I went on to the blue pages.
The first several were devoted to newspaper clippings of the Club Utopia firebombing. I pored over them, looking for something I didn’t already know. There was nothing, just the initial accounts of the tragedy, the apprehension of the bombers, their “fourth man” story, their trial, appeals, and eventual execution. Lt. Haywood Cathcart was highly praised for “almost singlehand-edly bringing the culprits to justice”—Mayor Sam Yorty. Cathcart called the “fourth man” story “pure hogwash. A cheap ploy to avoid the green room at San Quentin that isn’t going to work.”
Cathcart’s involvement in the Baker-Ralston-Kupferman mess had to date from the bombing; it was only logical. He had to be the lever, the buffer, the balance between Fat Dog and Solly K. I turned the page and found out just how monstrous his culpability was. Following the Utopia clippings were notes on Cathcart:
“Something bad happened, but it’s going to be okay. Cop—H.C., hassled me today. Says he thinks he can pin me to 4th man in Utopia torch. Says he remembers seeing me in area. Said I’m hard to forget. True—there is only one Fat Dog!!!! Says he don’t care—guys who threw bomb will fry. Asks me—You know about book at Utopia? All caddies bet the horses. I tell him I don’t book action with no Jews. Says he don’t like Jews, either. Why? Why, why, why, did you torch the joint? he says. So I figure it out. He wants something. He’s got something in mind. He hates Jews (big blond German-looking guy!!!) and he knows about Solly Kike being in mob. So I tell him about Solly Kike. I hate him!!!! He smiles. You going to be my watchdog, he says. We’ll do real good together. Then he says—you firebug? I try to say no, but he hits me. I can read your mind, he says. Don’t fuck with me and you’ll be able to do whatever you want in peace. Just keep your mouth shut and you’ll make money!!!! He scares me. He can read my mind. He knows. After I did toy store in Valley, he gives Hot Rod letter to give me: ‘You got a thing about toy stores, Fat Dog?’ it says. ‘Remember, I