Free Destination by James Ellroy Page A

denial. George Iwasaki was dead. Age would alter X-Man’s looks. Eyeball wits were out.
    Dave and Tim were swamped. Breaking jobs swarmed their Gorman commitment. Dave worked the warrant part-time. Other work diverted him. He buzzed through Rape Special. He passed the wall tableau. He always said, “Sorry, Stephanie.”
    I STUCK AROUND L. A . I cruised the Gorman house a.m. and p.m. I read the file. I explored Dave S.’s jive story and exemption. I thought about Stephanie. I brought flowers to her grave. I pondered the “Laura” syndrome.
    The book and movie define it. Homicide cops dig the gestalt. The title woman is lovely and perplexing. She’s a murder vic. A cop works her case. Laura’s portrait seduces him. She turns up alive. The vic is someone else. Laura and the cop fall in love.
    It’s ridiculous wish fulfillment. It negates the hold of the dead. They inhabit your blank spaces. They work magic there. They freeze time. They render our short time spans boldly precious. They build alternative memory. Their public history becomes your private reserve. They induce a mix of vindictiveness and compassion. They enforce moral resolve. They teach you to love with a softer touch and fear and revere your obsessions.
    My obsessions were born in 1958. “Son, your mother’s been killed” and the upshot. She was my first untouchable crush. Stephanie was a daughter or a prom date. She’s dancing out of a shroud. I don’t know her.
I can feel her.
She’s twirling. She’s showing off her prom gown. I can smell her corsage.
    DAVE AND TIM built the warrant. They planned their questions and signals. They brought Orange County cops in. Two agencies conferred. A judge signed the warrant. X-Man’s ex lived in Riverside County. They planned a dual approach. Dave and Tim would brace X-Man. Two cops would brace the ex. She was with X-Man in ’65. She might know some stuff.
    The date was set: 1/23/01.
    I went home. My wife and I talked about Stephanie and digressed ourselves hoarse. I reveled in Helen’s brilliance and flesh-and-blood
life.
    We rented
Bye Bye Birdie.
We scanned the crowd scenes. We couldn’t spot Stephanie. Rick and I talked long-distance. Rick was happy. LAPD was forming a Cold Case Squad. It was all oldies/24-7. Rick, Dave, and Tim were set to start.
    Fuck happy. Rick was thrilled. Time travel unlimited.
    I rented
Pollyanna.
I saw Stephanie.
    She was ten or eleven. She stood on a bandstand stage right. Hayley Mills sang “America the Beautiful.” A line of girls flanked her. They all wore the Stars and Stripes.
    There’s Stephanie—alive and in color. She’s a child on the safe side of sex. Her eyes dart. The moment flusters her. Her hair was lighter then. She’s got hazel-brown eyes like me.
    I hit Rewind and Fast Forward. I did it
x-
dozen times. I watched her. I caught every breath. I filled some blank spaces up.
    THE BRACE WENT DOWN. It clicked like clockwork.
    Two units in place. Bam—X-Man’s wife leaves early. Dave and Tim walk up.
    They’re nervous. They’ve got butterflies like Godzilla. They’ve got badges and IDs out. They knock on the door. X-Man opens up.
    He’s friendly. He’s not flustered. They mention an old murder. He doesn’t clench up.
    He invites them in. They all sit down. He appears befuddled— old murder, huh?
    Dave and Tim start to explain. X-Man cuts them off.
    That 16-year-old girl, right? I remember that. I was across the street. I was at a friend’s house.
    The sister ran over. My friend was a doctor. He wasn’t in then. I ran over to help. I saw the body. The cops came. The cops shooed me out.
    Oh, fuck—
    He came off credible. He came off true. He smiled. He betrayed no nerves. The boom didn’t drop.
    Dave quizzed him. X-Man responded. The doc and wife— alive and well. Yeah, we’re still in touch.
    There’s the boom. It fell