Joan Renfrew Herrick—secret boozer Suicide attempts, suicide. A neighbor doctor told me:

Joanie burned herself, and begged morphine. Demerol prescribed; selfinflicted burns kept it coming. Zombie matron—all-day jazz on cloud nine.

“She drank Drano, Lieutenant. Her ultimate suicide was inevitable, and a merciful relief for the people who cared about her”

Richie Herrick—shy boy, chump musician. One friend—”This hood Tommy,” “Oil and watei him and Tommy—I think Richie had a crush on Tommy’s sister “ Neighborhood shock expressed: shy Richie the dope peddler The Bakersfield PD queried: Richie was bagged dead to rights, openand-shut. No co-defendants, no Tommy involved—three-to-four Chino.

Richie ‘s prison file—missing. Misplaced? Misfiled? Stolen ?—possible suspect Dan Wilhite—just a hunch.

Warden’s aides searching for it: I wanted to nail Richie’s Chino K4s.

Escape reports 9/57—adios, Richie—no details, no leads.

Mike Breuning—no call from him yet—my B&.E lead was tapped out.

Phillip Herrick:

No record, no Vice Squad sheets City/County

Chemist.

Chemical manufacturer.

PH Solvents, Inc.—dry-cleaning supplies.

Stelfactiznide chloride—made in-house.

Distributed statewide—to dry-cleaning shops and industrial plants.

NOT a customer: E-Z Kleen/J C Kafesjian.

PH employees alibi-checked—-clean straight across.

Cross-family background check:

Phillip Herrick—DOB 5/14/06—Scranton, Pennsylvania.

John Charles Kafesjian—DOB 1/15/03—Scranton, Pennsylvania.

No Pennsylvania criminal records/State Police employment check:

1930—32—Balustrol Chemicals, Scranton. Phillip Herrick: solvent analyst; .L C Kafesjian: laborer/mixer

California DMV check:

6/32—both men glom drivers permits.

Birth record check:

1932—37: Tommy/Lucille, Richie/Laura/Christine born.

Time ticking—RUN——custody looming.

Running separate—Exley and Noonan—chasing bank writs.

Noonan moving east—furtive—petitioning Fed jurists. Exley sticking west—slower, no connections.

Name it ALL. the Kafesjian/Herrick case.

Breaking now—CRAAAZY volition.

Crazy fake press leaks—my idea.

We announced a fake APB, then fake withdrew it. One fake suspect fed to the press: an unnamed psycho. Bait: to calm Richie down and lure Tommy to him.

A help: Richie ‘s mug shot on page one—a bum likeness, peeper sketch imperfect.

A hindrance: Feds dogging THEM.

Exley, page-one tweaks:

“Dave Klein is a very savvy detective.”

“He has worked on a burglary case that may be tangentially connected.”

Bait: push THEM toward Richie/push THEM toward me.

One glitch: Fed lockstep surveillance on the Kafesjians.

RUN—

Juniors funeral—mandatory Bureau attendance. Exley there for PR, Dudley Smith somber Stemmons, Sr, still distraugh4 sedative bombed.

Father-son farewell: Sad-ass Bible readings. Thirty years since First Dutch Lutheran, catch the gist: mercy for the sick and insane.

RUN—Sheriff’s Homicide chasers—“routine” questions, two sessions’ worth:

Were you hired to tail Glenda Bledsoe?

Did you become intimate with her?

Did she steal from Howard Hughes ‘guest homes?

Yes, yes, no—one cop smirking.

Did you argue with Harold John Miciak?

Yes—this cop-hater shitbird. Instant empathy, a smirky punch line: don’t you think Mr Hughes might try to fuck you for taking his money and his girlfriend?

Running with me—Sid Riegle/six IA men: background checks/ interviews/shitwork. Meg working on a title search—4980 Spindrift/”Why meet there?” My own sister: searching records, tracing money—Phillip Herrick ‘s fortune, find me filth—

Kafesjian/Herrick—Mom to Richie: “Long history of insanity both our families.”

Killer Richie—no.

Killer Tommy—doubtful.

Leaning toward: Mr Third Party insane.

Narco men running scared—persistent Bureau rumors. Mass cop divestment: Kafesjian gratuities dumped. Rumors had Dan Wilhite begging Exley: say something, do something.

Exley noncommittal; Fed rumors: nineteen subpoenas headed Narco way.

My subpoenas on hold—via Fed custody extortion. Key witness Dave Klein, compromisable: if that movie showed up on Noonan ‘s desk. Call “if” wishful thinking—I kept waiting the delivery out—time ticking slow.

Running thinking:

THEY made the film—Chick Vecchio their point man. Make him snitch: THEY coerced my starring role.

Conspiracy indictments potentially pending—“maybe” one tainted witness skates.

Maybe wishful thinking.

Running, watching:

THEIR house—night surveillance, parked three doors down. SRO: Feds in front, Feds out back. Family tantrums inside—my nostalgia soundtrack—

The Two Tonys—pomade spatter off point-blank head shots. “No, my children “—a clip victim weeping. Rape-o double-header—buckshot tore this nigger faceless.

Silk dresses for Meg-penance gifts. Meg with Jack Woods now—her own killer Meg holding ten grand—Jack stuffed, Junior otherwise dead. A stray thought Abe Voldrich snuffed, a car spotted. Jack’s car: that make, that model.

Music to watch by: car-radio bop night one. Night two-straight Champ Dineen.

Soft: Richie and Lucille, maybe lovers. Soft: Glenda turning my way off a skid, all this courage.

Champ Dineen—my car radio on low. Echoed out Lucille ‘s window—the same station.

Lucille in her window—no makeup, new hair—Richie’s bedroom pictures life-size.

A nightgown on—almost prim.

Feds on the street—family close.

Johnny begging—constant refrains—unshakable.

Two days down, two days left before custody. Two late nights with Glenda.

She said, “We might not walk.”

I said, “You will.”

She said, “You’re tired.”

She said, “You want to confess.”

Part Four.

Money Jungle

Chapter Thirty-Five

Well, this writ does appear to be in order. But what’s this stamp on the bottom?”

Agent Henstell: “It’s a routing stamp. The U.S. attorney here sent the paperwork to a judge back east.”

“Was there a reason for that?”

To bypass Exley-friendly jurists—open the vault, you officious little shit.

“No, Mr. Noonan simply knew that the Federal judge for this district was too busy to read writ requests.”

“I see. Well, I suppose—”

I goosed him: “The writ’s valid, so let’s move this along.”

“There’s no need to be brusque. This way, gentlemen.”

Teller cages, guard station, walk-in vault. Unlocked—a Pinkerton at parade rest. Henstell: “Before we go in, I want to recap Mr. Noonan’s instructions.”

“I’m listening.”

“One, you’re allowed to keep any money you might find. Two, you’re allowed to go through any personal papers you might find, alone, in an examination cubicle here on bank property. After you go through them, they are to be turned over to me, for booking as Federal evidence. Three, any contraband items such as narcotics, or firearms, will be seized as evidence immediately.”

“Firearms”—icy tingles. “Agreed.”

“All right, then. Mr. Welborn, after you.”

Quick march—Welborn leading. Gray metal aisles—safe-deposit boxes recessed floor to ceiling. Left turn, right turn, stop.

Welborn, dangling keys: “5290 and 5291. There’s an examination room around the corner.”

“And you’re to leave Agent Henstell and me alone.”

“As you wish.”

Two boxes knee-high; four key slots. Tingles—I stuck my keys in.

Welborn—master keys in—clicks simultaneous.

Handkerchiefs up my sleeves.

Welborn, prissy: “Good day, Officers.”

Quick now—Henstell picking a cuticle, bored—