BLOOD ON THE MOON

171

suspected Mother of killing Dave, no one ever suspected me of killing Richard Beller and if I have to kill him, no one will suspect me of ridding the world of Teddy Verplanck.”

Kathleen went shock-still at the words “Teddy Verplanck.” Caught in a benign web of her own memories, she said, “Teddy Verplanck? I knew him in high school. He was a weak, ineffectual boy. A very kind boy. He—”

Lloyd waved her quiet. “He’s your dream lover. He was one of the Kathy Klowns back in high school; you just never knew it. Two of your other classmates are involved in the killings. A man named Delbert Haines and a man who was killed last night—Lawrence Craigie. I discovered a bugging device—a tape recorder, at Haines’s apartment—that’s what put me on to Verplanck. Now listen to me . . . Teddy has killed over twenty women. What I need from you is information on him. I need your insights, your . . .”

Kathleen leaped from the bed. “You are insane,” she said softly. “After all these years you have to construct this policeman’s fantasy to protect yourself? After all these years, you—”

“I’m not your dream lover, Kathleen. I’m a police officer. I have a duty to perform.”

Kathleen shook her head frantically. “I’ll make you prove it. I still have the poem from 1964. I’ll make you copy it, then we’ll compare handwritings.”

She ran nude into the front room. Lloyd heard her murmuring to herself, and suddenly knew that she could never accept reality. He got up and pulled on his clothes, noting that in the aftermath of confession his sweatdrenched body was both relaxed and incandescently alive. Kathleen returned a moment later, holding a faded business card. She handed it to Lloyd. He read:

“6/10/64

My love for you

now etched in blood;

My tears caked in

resolute passion;

Hatred spent on me

will

metamorphose into

love

172

L.A. NOIR

Clandestinely you

will be mine.”

Lloyd handed the card back. “Teddy, you poor, twisted bastard.” He bent and kissed Kathleen’s cheek. “I have to go,” he said, “but I’ll be back when this is settled.”

Kathleen watched him walk out the door, closing it on her entire past and all her recent hopes for the future. She picked up the phone and dialed Information, securing two telephone numbers. She dialed the first one breathlessly, and when a male voice came on the line, said, “Captain Peltz?”

“Yes.”

“Captain, this is Kathleen McCarthy. Remember me? I met you at your party last night?”

“Sure, Lloyd’s friend. How are you, Miss McCarthy?”

“I . . . I . . . I think Lloyd is crazy, Captain. He told me he killed a man in the Watts Riot, and that his mother killed a man and that—”

Dutch cut in, “Miss McCarthy, please be calm. Lloyd is in a bit of a crisis within the department, and I’m sure he’s behaving erratically.”

“But you don’t understand! He’s talking about killing people!”

Peltz laughed. “Policemen talk about such things. Please have him call me. Tell him it’s important. And don’t worry.”

When she heard the receiver click, Kathleen steeled herself for the next call, then dialed. After six rings a soft tenor voice said: “Teddy’s Silverlake Camera, may I help you?”

“Y . . . Yes . . . Is this Teddy Verplanck?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Thank God! Look, you probably don’t remember me, but my name is Kathleen McCarthy, and I . . .”

The soft voice went softer. “I remember you well.”

“Good . . . Look, you may not believe this, but there’s a crazy policeman out to get you. I—”

The soft voice interrupted. “Who is he?”

“His name is Lloyd Hopkins. He’s about forty, and very big and tall. He drives a tan unmarked police car. He wants to hurt you.”

The soft voice said, “I know that. But I won’t let him. No one can hurt me. Thank you, Kathleen. I remember you very fondly. Goodbye.”

“G . . . Goodbye.”

Kathleen put down the phone and sat on the bed, surprised to find that