Because the Night by James Ellroy

L.A.’s finest.”
    Lloyd didn’t know whether to laugh or take offense at the remark. Suddenly regret coiled around him and forced the words out. “I’ll apologize to Perkins.”
    Dutch said, “Good. You owe him. I’ll move on your liquor store memo and I’ll give you another forty-eight on Herzog. After that I’m reporting him missing. Herzog’s father is old, Lloyd. We owe it to him to give him the word.”
    â€œYeah. What’s Perkins afraid of, Dutch?”
    â€œNone of the stuff you hit him with. He runs one of the cleanest Vice Squads in the city.”
    â€œWhat, then?”
    â€œYou. A forty-two-year-old hardcharger cop with nothing to lose is a scary fucking thing. Sometimes you even scare me.”
    Lloyd’s regret settled like a stone at the center of his heart. “Good night, Dutch.”
    â€œGood night, kid.”
    Lloyd replaced the receiver, immediately thinking of new angles on the case. His mental x’s and o’s were settling around blackmail, but his eyes kept straying back to the phone. Call Janice and the girls in San Francisco? Tell them that the house was sealed off almost exactly the way they had left it, that he only used the den and the kitchen, preserving the rest of the rooms as a testament to what they had once had and could have again? His phone conversations with Janice had at last progressed beyond civility. Was this the time to push for the fullest possible restoration of the family’s past?
    The job provided the answer. No. The officers who took over the formal investigation of Herzog’s disappearance would check his phone bill and discover the long distance call. Janice’s snotty off-and-on live-in lover would probably not accept a collect call. Fucked again by the verities of being a cop.
    Stretching out on the couch, Lloyd dug in for a long stint of mental machinations. He was at it for half an hour, playing variations on blackmail themes, when there was a rapping on the door, followed by a woman’s softly spoken words, “Jack? Jack, are you there?”
    Lloyd walked to the door and opened it. A tall blond woman was framed by the hall light. Her eyes were blurry and her blouse and designer jeans were rumpled. She looked up at him and asked, “Are you Marty Bergen? Is Jack here?”
    Lloyd pointed the woman inside, scrutinizing her openly. Early thirties, a soft/strong face informed with intelligence. A lean body clenched against stress and bringing it off with grace. Play her soft.
    When she was standing by the couch, he said, “My name is Hopkins. I’m a police officer. Jack Herzog has been missing from both his work assignments for close to a month. I’m looking for him.”
    The woman took a reflexive step backward, bumping the couch with her heels and then sitting down. Her hands flew to her face, then grasped her thighs. Lloyd watched her fingers turn white. Sitting down beside her, he asked, “What’s your name?”
    The woman released her hands, then rubbed her eyes and stared at him. “Meg Barnes.”
    Taking her steady voice as a signal to press the interrogation, Lloyd said, “I’ve got a lot of personal questions.”
    â€œThen ask them,” Meg Barnes answered.
    Lloyd smiled. “When did you see Herzog last?”
    â€œAbout a month ago.”
    â€œWhat was the basis of your relationship?”
    â€œFriends, occasionally lovers. The sexual part came and went. Neither of us pushed it. The last time I saw Jack he told me he wanted to be alone for a while. I told him I’d come by in a month or so.”
    â€œWhich you did tonight?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid Herzog contact you at any time during the month?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWas the sexual part of your relationship on immediately before you saw Herzog last?”
    Meg flinched and said, “No, it wasn’t. But what does this have to do with Jack’s