The Case of the Courteous Killer

Chapter XXII

The next afternoon we met Georgia Fen in the Homicide squad room at 2:00 p.m. She verified the story Arnold Reiter had told us, but was unable to add any new information. Like Reiter, she said she had immediately recognized the Courteous Killer from his newspaper pictures.

After the girl departed, Captain Hertel came into the squad room. “Meeting in the chief’s office,” he said.

We followed him up the hall to Chief Brown’s office. The chief was alone. He waved us to chairs and waited until we were seated.

Then he said, “Talked to the boss this morning about George Whiteman. The order’s to go all out for him. As of now, all department leave is canceled until he’s caught.” Hertel and Frank nodded, and I said, “Want us to try rolling stakeouts in the canyon-roads area again?”

“We’re going to do better than that this time,” Chief Brown said. “It’s a big area, but we’re going to blanket it with decoys. Hertel, you’ll be in charge of setting up the operation. The suspect’s MO has been to pick cars near bends on the road, so that after he hits, he can disappear around a bend, where he apparently has a getaway car parked. I want an undercover car parked near every bend along Mulholland Drive, and along every canyon road that runs into it.”

The captain emitted a low whistle. “There must be a hundred or more curves in that area, Chief.”

“Then we’ll use a hundred or more cars. It’s been arranged for Metro to furnish as many extra teams as you need. When you run out of radio-equipped undercover cars, ask for volunteers to furnish their private automobiles. This is an all-out operation. The next time this guy sticks a gun through a car window—”

When he paused, Hertel said, “Yes, sir?”

“I want it to be pointing at a cop.”

The captain nodded. “How soon do you want the operation to start? It’ll take a while to line up all the teams we’re going to need and figure out where to spot them.”

“It better not take more than a few hours,” Chief Brown said.

“Huh?”

“The operation starts tonight.”

Captain Hertel looked startled. He glanced at Frank, then at me, and said, “Then we’d better get moving. Friday, you and Smith get a map of that section from Traffic Services Division. Then drive out to the canyon-roads area and mark on the map every point where you think we should set up a decoy. You ought to be able to cover every road in three hours.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s two thirty now. See if you can have the data back here by six thirty.”

I said, “Yes, sir.”

“Meantime, I’ll be lining up teams of officers and extra cars. We’ll hold a mass meeting in the downstairs auditorium at 7:00 p.m. and brief the men on the positions they’re to take. Better get the biggest map of the area Traffic Services has.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll get right on it.” I looked at Chief Brown. “That all, sir?”

“That’s all. Better get going.”

Captain Hertel returned to his office, and Frank and I went upstairs to the Traffic Services Division.

As one phase of traffic control, the Traffic Services Division maintains a constant study of accident frequency in all parts of the city. It employs huge maps for this purpose, which are mounted on spindles reaching from the floor nearly to the ceiling, so that the individual maps resemble the pages of an enormous book. Each time an accident report comes in, a colored pin is stuck in one of the maps at the point the accident occurred. The type of accident is indicated by the color of the pin. This gives a complete and up-to-the-minute visual picture of all spots where accidents are recurrent. The officers responsible for the assignment of personnel can tell at a glance which areas require more police supervision.

One of the girls who worked in Traffic Services got out a map including the area we were interested in and cut out the portion we wanted. Traffic maps are so large, even this small section was bigger than the average road map. It was perfect for our purposes, because it showed every minute twist and turn along Mulholland Drive and the various canyon roads.

With our map we drove out to the canyon-roads area and spent the next two and a half hours driving up one road and down another. At each spot that seemed a possible place for the Courteous Killer to hit, I made a small red X on the map. Many curves and bends were left blank because there were nearby houses, and it seemed unlikely that the suspect would pick such spots when so many more isolated ones were available. Nevertheless we ended up with sixty-six red X’s.

We finished the job in time to grab a quick sandwich before returning to the Police Building.

7:03 p.m. Nearly two hundred officers were gathered in the first-floor auditorium. As our map study indicated only sixty-six teams would be needed, there was a surplus of about fifty officers. Captain Hertel opened the briefing by explaining that a large number of the men present wouldn’t be used, but had been called in because it wasn’t known until only a few minutes previously just how many would be needed to cover the area.

He then had the officers file up onto the stage a team at a time, and pointed out to each team the point on the map where it was to park. When all locations had been assigned, he appointed a half dozen additional teams to act as rolling stakeouts in different areas. Frank and I were assigned the eastern portion of Mulholland Drive from the place Coldwater Canyon intersected it up to the Outpost Estates, where the most recent robbery had occurred.

When this was finished, Captain Hertel released the extra officers and had the ones he had picked file back to their seats.

“The idea is to look like lovemaking couples,” he said. “Each team can decide which one is to play the role of the woman. No elaborate disguises will be necessary, because it will be dark. A woman’s hat and coat should be sufficient. I want every car in its assigned place by eight thirty P.M. The rolling stakeouts will report in by radio when all cars in their sections are in position.”

He paused a moment, then went on. “You all know how dangerous this suspect is. He’s killed three times, and he’s injured several more people. He won’t hesitate to kill again. We’d like to take him alive, but don’t take any chances. We don’t want any dead police officers. If you have to shoot, make sure you don’t miss.” Slowly he ran his gaze over the assembled group, then finished by saying, “Good hunting.” The briefing session had lasted forty-five minutes. It broke up at 7:45 p.m., which gave the officers only forty-five minutes to decide which would act the parts of women, put on simple disguises, and get into position. Some borrowed hats and coats from female employees in the building. Others, who lived nearby or on the way to the canyon-roads area, drove home to get hats and coats from their wives.

8:26 p.m. Frank and I started at the point Coldwater Canyon Drive intersects Mulholland Drive, and began to check the cars in our detail. The eleven cars assigned to us were spotted along Mulholland between that point and the Outpost Estates. Only three were police undercover cars equipped with two-way radios. The remaining eight were privately owned by the officers driving them. We placed one radio car at either end of our area and the third in the center.

As we drove slowly along Mulholland Drive, Frank said, “Moon makes it bright enough now, but it feels like a fog’s coming up.”

I stuck my head out the window to glance up at the clear sky, pulled it back in, and looked at Frank. “What do you mean, feels like it? You got a corn that tells you about changes in the weather?”

Frank shrugged. “I can always feel fog coming up, Joe. Don’t know how. Just feel it in my bones. You watch. By ten o’clock we won’t be able to see a dozen feet in front of us.”

I grunted. Then as we approached the next curve, I said, “Hold it up.”

Frank let the car drift over onto the shoulder and stop. He looked at me inquiringly.

“Ramirez and Emlet aren’t in position yet,” I said. “Ought to be along any minute now. May as well wait.”

Even as I spoke, a green Ford sedan drove past us from behind, drew off on the shoulder, and parked. Frank shifted into drive and pulled up alongside of it.

Tony Ramirez, in the driver’s seat, peered across at us. He grinned and said, “Three minutes late, boss. Jacqueline couldn’t get her lipstick on straight.”

Jack Emlet growled, “Keep it up, Buster. Just keep it up.” He was wearing a woman’s coat draped over his shoulders and a floppy-brimmed woman’s hat. He stared across at Frank and me belligerently, waiting for a comment.

Frank said, “You don’t have to be self-conscious, Jack. I think you look lovely.”

Emlet made an impolite sound. Ramirez said, “With this moon, I don’t think it’s going to work, Joe.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“The suspect gets a good look at Jacqueline’s face, he’ll know we’re plants. He’d know a good-looking fellow like me wouldn’t be out with a hag like this.”

Emlet said, “If he sees your face, he’ll know it’s a phony setup, too. A guy as ugly as you couldn’t even get a hag to park with him.”

Frank said, “Maybe you both better hide your faces.”

“Yeah,” I said. “One thing you better not hide, though.”

“What’s that?” Ramirez asked.

“Your guns. Keep them in your laps.”

We rode on to check the rest of the detail. All the other cars were now in position. I lifted the radio microphone from its bracket and reported that we were all set.

For the rest of the night, up till 2:00 a.m., we rolled up and down Mulholland Drive checking on the decoys. As Frank had predicted, a fog settled down about 10:00 p.m. By eleven it was so thick we had to creep along at ten miles an hour. The Courteous Killer didn’t appear. At 2:00 a.m. we were ordered to close up shop for the night. We made one final run to pass the order along to the decoy cars.

Sunday night was a repetition of the first night. Monday, December 1st, we set up the decoys again. And again Frank predicted fog.

11:21 p.m. We were approaching the Outpost Estates at the eastern end of our assigned territory. Frank’s prediction had been right for the second time. Fog had started to descend about 10:00 p.m., gradually thickened until visibility was cut to a dozen feet.

As we crept along, Frank said, “Got another hunch, too, Joe.”

“Yeah?” I said.

“This one isn’t anything physical. Not like telling the temperature by my feet, or feeling fog in my bones.”

“Uh-huh. What is it?”

“It’s sort of psychological. You believe in psychology?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Don’t know much about it.”

“Fay brought home a book the other day. Talked about the experiments they’ve been running at Duke University. Extrasensory perception, they call it. Sort of like mind reading. Tells about some pretty weird cases. The woman who dreamed her son was drowning, for instance. Didn’t even know he was on a ship. Thought he was in an Army camp in Texas. But next day she got a telegram from the War Department saying his troopship had been torpedoed and he’d drowned in exactly the way she’d dreamed it.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Some of the stuff’s hard to believe. But there must be something to it. These professors aren’t just crackpots. The whole study’s being run like a scientific investigation.”

“Sure,” I said. “You gonna get to the point?”

“Huh?”

“What’s your hunch?”

“Oh, that,” Frank said. “I think he’s going to hit tonight.”