city’s biggest political figures. Heck, he might even be mayor one of these days.”
“He said it in all seriousness, Captain!” said Wafer. “Come listen for yourself.” As Dullea monitored the open line, Egan explained how he’d establish an alibi the night of Josie’s “accident.” “I would go to the Friday night fights,” he said. “I would have a ringside seat, and make myself very conspicuous. The whole hit-and-run thing could happen while I was there.” Housman asked who would do the job for him. “Oh, there are several guys that I got out of the pen I could call on. If they didn’t do what I told them I could send them back.”
Dullea put down the earphone feeling morally obligated to warn the intended victim. “I sat back,” said Dullea, “and pondered on what could be done to prevent Egan from carrying out his murderous plan. I could not arrest him. He had committed no crime. And we had no legal proof that it was his voice we had heard over the wires. Besides, the whole plot was so incredible for a man in his position, that even if we could prove that it was he who had done the talking, he would have no difficulty in making it appear that he had been merely joking.”
Dullea spun out Josie’s number on the rotary dial. He had decided that to tell her who he was would do no good and might do some harm. As Egan’s benefactor, she might take it for granted that Dullea, Egan’s political enemy, was trying to do him a personal injury. If she were to tell Egan, he, as an exceedingly clever lawyer, would seize the situation and turn it to his own advantage. “Egan would compel me,” decided Dullea, “through a slander suit, to reveal the source of my information—and thus deprive me of my secret means of learning anything further about his plans or Earl Leter’s murder.”
“This is a friend,” Dullea told Josie. “I want to warn you against Frank Egan. He’s after your money. He wants your insurance. You are in grave danger if you have anything further to do with him.”
“Warn me against Frank Egan?” Josie burst into laughter. “Why he’s the best friend I have.” She slammed down the phone.
Because Josie hadn’t taken his warning seriously, Dullea wrote her an anonymous letter detailing Egan’s plot to carry out her hit-and-run murder. This had one effect. The following day Josie complained to Alexander Keenan, her physician, “Nephew has all my money and I do not even have the scratch of a pen to show for it. Instead of me, you should present your next medical bill to Frank Egan.”
When Dr. Keenan did, Egan told him Josie’s funds had been exhausted. This shocked Josie who began calling Egan’s office every hour or going there and pestering his steno, Marion Lambert.
Over the Dictaphone Dullea heard Egan say, “Aunty’s driving me crazy to return her money. Now she’s threatening to take me before the Bar Association. I can’t stand it any longer. It’s her life or mine.” Dullea doubled the guard around her and penned another warning note, which had no effect. Finally, he dismissed the men stationed outside 41 Lakewood Drive, Josie’s home, and began standing guard himself. He hadn’t been able to save Clara Newman and all the other landladies from the Gorilla Man, but forewarned he could save Josie Hughes.
The next Friday night, Dullea drove to Josie’s home in Ingleside Terraces. He passed Cerritos Avenue and Moncado Way, the site of the old Ingleside Steeplechase Race Track. It was gone now. Nearly twenty years earlier, developers had purchased the land for $2,500 per acre and constructed housing tracts around the site, following its straightaways and turns. Urbano Drive, built over the track, duplicated its lozenge shape, running east to west. Dullea turned onto the road and soon reached Egan’s “charming many-gabled three-story” on the straightaway. He saw Egan in the window. Dullea drove on to the clubhouse turn. Nestled in the vee of Entrada
“He said it in all seriousness, Captain!” said Wafer. “Come listen for yourself.” As Dullea monitored the open line, Egan explained how he’d establish an alibi the night of Josie’s “accident.” “I would go to the Friday night fights,” he said. “I would have a ringside seat, and make myself very conspicuous. The whole hit-and-run thing could happen while I was there.” Housman asked who would do the job for him. “Oh, there are several guys that I got out of the pen I could call on. If they didn’t do what I told them I could send them back.”
Dullea put down the earphone feeling morally obligated to warn the intended victim. “I sat back,” said Dullea, “and pondered on what could be done to prevent Egan from carrying out his murderous plan. I could not arrest him. He had committed no crime. And we had no legal proof that it was his voice we had heard over the wires. Besides, the whole plot was so incredible for a man in his position, that even if we could prove that it was he who had done the talking, he would have no difficulty in making it appear that he had been merely joking.”
Dullea spun out Josie’s number on the rotary dial. He had decided that to tell her who he was would do no good and might do some harm. As Egan’s benefactor, she might take it for granted that Dullea, Egan’s political enemy, was trying to do him a personal injury. If she were to tell Egan, he, as an exceedingly clever lawyer, would seize the situation and turn it to his own advantage. “Egan would compel me,” decided Dullea, “through a slander suit, to reveal the source of my information—and thus deprive me of my secret means of learning anything further about his plans or Earl Leter’s murder.”
“This is a friend,” Dullea told Josie. “I want to warn you against Frank Egan. He’s after your money. He wants your insurance. You are in grave danger if you have anything further to do with him.”
“Warn me against Frank Egan?” Josie burst into laughter. “Why he’s the best friend I have.” She slammed down the phone.
Because Josie hadn’t taken his warning seriously, Dullea wrote her an anonymous letter detailing Egan’s plot to carry out her hit-and-run murder. This had one effect. The following day Josie complained to Alexander Keenan, her physician, “Nephew has all my money and I do not even have the scratch of a pen to show for it. Instead of me, you should present your next medical bill to Frank Egan.”
When Dr. Keenan did, Egan told him Josie’s funds had been exhausted. This shocked Josie who began calling Egan’s office every hour or going there and pestering his steno, Marion Lambert.
Over the Dictaphone Dullea heard Egan say, “Aunty’s driving me crazy to return her money. Now she’s threatening to take me before the Bar Association. I can’t stand it any longer. It’s her life or mine.” Dullea doubled the guard around her and penned another warning note, which had no effect. Finally, he dismissed the men stationed outside 41 Lakewood Drive, Josie’s home, and began standing guard himself. He hadn’t been able to save Clara Newman and all the other landladies from the Gorilla Man, but forewarned he could save Josie Hughes.
The next Friday night, Dullea drove to Josie’s home in Ingleside Terraces. He passed Cerritos Avenue and Moncado Way, the site of the old Ingleside Steeplechase Race Track. It was gone now. Nearly twenty years earlier, developers had purchased the land for $2,500 per acre and constructed housing tracts around the site, following its straightaways and turns. Urbano Drive, built over the track, duplicated its lozenge shape, running east to west. Dullea turned onto the road and soon reached Egan’s “charming many-gabled three-story” on the straightaway. He saw Egan in the window. Dullea drove on to the clubhouse turn. Nestled in the vee of Entrada
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