"Did you have the woman look at mugs?"
"Sure. Nothing positive. She said it
could
be the same man. Kept talking about his
eyes."
Braddock sighed. He said, softly, "Shit."
"Does that mean I've got the problem of the century in my town?"
"First, let me straighten this out. Is the woman saying that the guy was in the house all the while? That he could have been there when Winters died?"
Tatum replied, "No, I didn't get that from her statement. She's apparently convinced that Winters did indeed kill himself. Even said that she had lately been concerned that something like this may happen. Said her uncle had been severely depressed, moody — obviously under some great strain."
"Maybe he knew that Bolan was stalking him," Braddock mused. "Would that be a valid theory?"
"Nothing official," the San Diego cop replied, "but I've heard a few whispers about Winco Industries. They were under investigation once — the federal boys — but apparently nothing came of it."
"You said the dogs were still alive and active when your men got there?"
"Yeah. Very much so. So you tell me, Tim. Is Bolan good enough to climb a hundred feet of sheer rock?"
"He's no fly," Braddock replied thoughtfully. "Did you test the dogs?"
"For what?"
"Drugs."
The line between L.A. and San Diego hummed through a brief silence, then the embarrassed voice from the south admitted, "No. But I'll get a pathologist out there right away."
"That's how he'd do it," Braddock was thoughtfully deciding. "If it were Bolan, he'd know the dogs were there long before he started his move against the place. And he'd come prepared for them. You ... uh ... already know, I suppose, about the old connection between Bolan and Winters."
Another embarrassed silence, then: "What connection?"
"We ran a total make on Bolan while he was in our town," Braddock explained. "I talked to Winters myself, part of the routine. He was Bolan's combat C.O. in Vietnam for awhile."
The silence became oppressive. Finally the man in San Diego said, "You never cleared that with me, Tim."
"Sorry, there was no time for niceties. Winters wasn't suspected of any involvement with Bolan at the time. I was just looking for background on the guy. I set up the meet at the Del Mar country club. We had a drink; he told me what he knew about Bolan, supposedly; I thanked him and left. Had a hell of a hot war storming through my own town at the time, you may remember."
"Yeah," came the sour reply. "And now it's an odds-on favorite that I've got one coming up in my town."
"Could be. But don't push the theory too far, John. The impression I got from Winters, I recall, was that he was holding out on me. The height-weight-serial number routine. He gave me very damned little. Later I discovered via other sources that he and Bolan had been very close friends, forget the difference in rank."
The San Diego cop sighed heavily. He said, quietly, "How about giving me the benefit of your mistakes. If you had it to do over again, how would you have handled your Bolan invasion?"
Braddock replied, "Okay, I accept the dig. But I wouldn't change anything. Except maybe I'd move a bit faster than I did against the mob. I suggest you do that. Hit 'em with anything you can think of, but get them behind bars. And keep them there until the guy gets tired of waiting and drifts on out."
"That's a cop-out."
"Call it what you like. Just remember, Bolan doesn't stay long in one place. Part of his survival M.O. Hit quick and get out. Disappears for awhile, pops up again far away for another quick hit and git."
"You know how long I can keep these boys behind bars, Tim? Just as long as it takes their damned lawyers to hit me with a briefcase full of legal papers."
"Sure, I know that. So you turn them loose and grab them again as they're climbing into their cars. For spitting on the sidewalk, for making an obscene gesture, for sweating. And you keep it up until — "
"Yeah I know the routine," Tatum declared wearily.
"I don't
"Sure. Nothing positive. She said it
could
be the same man. Kept talking about his
eyes."
Braddock sighed. He said, softly, "Shit."
"Does that mean I've got the problem of the century in my town?"
"First, let me straighten this out. Is the woman saying that the guy was in the house all the while? That he could have been there when Winters died?"
Tatum replied, "No, I didn't get that from her statement. She's apparently convinced that Winters did indeed kill himself. Even said that she had lately been concerned that something like this may happen. Said her uncle had been severely depressed, moody — obviously under some great strain."
"Maybe he knew that Bolan was stalking him," Braddock mused. "Would that be a valid theory?"
"Nothing official," the San Diego cop replied, "but I've heard a few whispers about Winco Industries. They were under investigation once — the federal boys — but apparently nothing came of it."
"You said the dogs were still alive and active when your men got there?"
"Yeah. Very much so. So you tell me, Tim. Is Bolan good enough to climb a hundred feet of sheer rock?"
"He's no fly," Braddock replied thoughtfully. "Did you test the dogs?"
"For what?"
"Drugs."
The line between L.A. and San Diego hummed through a brief silence, then the embarrassed voice from the south admitted, "No. But I'll get a pathologist out there right away."
"That's how he'd do it," Braddock was thoughtfully deciding. "If it were Bolan, he'd know the dogs were there long before he started his move against the place. And he'd come prepared for them. You ... uh ... already know, I suppose, about the old connection between Bolan and Winters."
Another embarrassed silence, then: "What connection?"
"We ran a total make on Bolan while he was in our town," Braddock explained. "I talked to Winters myself, part of the routine. He was Bolan's combat C.O. in Vietnam for awhile."
The silence became oppressive. Finally the man in San Diego said, "You never cleared that with me, Tim."
"Sorry, there was no time for niceties. Winters wasn't suspected of any involvement with Bolan at the time. I was just looking for background on the guy. I set up the meet at the Del Mar country club. We had a drink; he told me what he knew about Bolan, supposedly; I thanked him and left. Had a hell of a hot war storming through my own town at the time, you may remember."
"Yeah," came the sour reply. "And now it's an odds-on favorite that I've got one coming up in my town."
"Could be. But don't push the theory too far, John. The impression I got from Winters, I recall, was that he was holding out on me. The height-weight-serial number routine. He gave me very damned little. Later I discovered via other sources that he and Bolan had been very close friends, forget the difference in rank."
The San Diego cop sighed heavily. He said, quietly, "How about giving me the benefit of your mistakes. If you had it to do over again, how would you have handled your Bolan invasion?"
Braddock replied, "Okay, I accept the dig. But I wouldn't change anything. Except maybe I'd move a bit faster than I did against the mob. I suggest you do that. Hit 'em with anything you can think of, but get them behind bars. And keep them there until the guy gets tired of waiting and drifts on out."
"That's a cop-out."
"Call it what you like. Just remember, Bolan doesn't stay long in one place. Part of his survival M.O. Hit quick and get out. Disappears for awhile, pops up again far away for another quick hit and git."
"You know how long I can keep these boys behind bars, Tim? Just as long as it takes their damned lawyers to hit me with a briefcase full of legal papers."
"Sure, I know that. So you turn them loose and grab them again as they're climbing into their cars. For spitting on the sidewalk, for making an obscene gesture, for sweating. And you keep it up until — "
"Yeah I know the routine," Tatum declared wearily.
"I don't
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