Coates cracked his knuckles; his good eye darted, ifickered. Ed killed the audio. "Ray, let's change the subject."

"How 'bout baseball, motherfucker?"

"No, let's talk about pussy. Did you get laid last night or did you put that perfume on yourself to fuck up a paraffm test?"

Heebie-jeebie shakes.

Ed said, "Where were you at 3:00 last night?"

No answer, more shakes.

"Strike a nerve, Sugar Ray? «Perfume?» «Women?» Even a piece of shit like you has to have some women he cares about. You got a mother? Sisters?"

"Man, don't you talk 'bout my mother!"

"Ray, if I didn't know you I'd say you were protecting some nice girl's virtue. She was your alibi, you were shacked somewhere. But Tyrone and Leroy have got that same perfume on their mitts, and I'm betting against a gang bang, I'm betting you learned about paraffin tests up in road camp, I'm betting you've got just enough decency to feel some guilt over killing three innocent women."

"I AINT KILLED NOBODY!"

Ed pulled out the morning «Herald». "Patty Chesimard, Donna DeLuca and one unidentified. Read this while I take a breather. When I come back you'll get the chance to tell me about it and make a deal that just might save your life."

Coates, Tremor City -all twitches, soaked denims. Ed threw the paper in his face and walked out.

Thad Green in the hall; Dudley Smith, Bud White at the listening post. Green said, "We got an eyeball confirmation from that ranger-those were the guys in Griffith Park. And you were great."

Ed smelled his own sweat. "Sir, Coates was hiked on the women. I can feel it."

"So can I, so just keep going."

"Have we turned the guns or the car?"

"No, and the 77th Street squad is shaking down their relatives and K.A.'s. We'll get them."

"I want to lean on Jones next. Will you do something for me?"

"Name it."

"Set up Fontaine. Unlock his cuffs and let him read the morning paper."

Green pointed to the #3 mirror. "«He'll» break soon. Sniveling bastard."

Tyrone Jones-weeping, a piss puddle on the floor by his chair. Ed looked away. "Sir, have Lieutenant Smith read the paper into his speaker, nice and slow, especially the lines about the car spotted by the Nite Owl. I want this guy primed to fold."

Green said, "You've got it." Ed checked out Tyrone Jones-dark-skinned, flabby, pockmarked. Bawling-cuffed in, welded down.

A whistle up the hail. Dudley Smith spoke into a microphone-silent lip movements. Ed fixed on Jones.

The kid twisted, heaved, buckled, like a film clip they showed at the Academy: an electric chair malfunction, a dozen jolts before the man fried. A sharp whistle up the corridor-Jones slumped, legs splayed, chin down.

Ed walked in. "Tyrone, Ray Coates ratted you off. He said the Nite Owl was your idea, he said you got the idea while you were cruising Griffith Park. Tyrone, tell me about it. I think it was Ray's idea. He made you do it. Tell me where the guns and car are and I think we can save your life."

No answer.

"Tyrone, this is a gas chamber job. If you don't talk to me you'll be dead in six months."

No answer-Jones kept his head down.

"Son, all you have to do is tell me where the guns are and tell me where Sugar left the car."

No answer.

"Son, this can be over in one minute. You tell me, and I get you transferred to a protective custody cell. Sugar won't be able to get you, Leroy won't be able to get you. The D.A. will let you turn state's. «You won't go to the gas chamber»."

No response.

"Son, six people are dead and somebody has to pay. It can be you or it can be Ray."

No answer.

"Tyrone, he called you a queer. He called you a sissy and a homo. He said you took it up the-"

"I DIDN' KILL NOBODY!"

A strong voice-Ed almost jumped back. "Son, we have witnesses. We have evidence. Coates is confessing right now. He's saying you planned the whole thing. Son, save yourself. The guns, the car. «Tell me where they are»."

"I didn' kill nobody!"

"Sssh. Tyrone, do you know what Ray Coates said about you?"

Jones lifted his head. "I know he lie."

"I think he lied, too. I don't think you're a queer. I think he's a queer, because he hates women. I think he liked killing those women. I think you feel bad about-"

"We didn' kill no women!"

"Tyrone, where were you last night at 3:00 A.M.?"

No answer.

"Tyrone, why did Sugar Ray hide his car?"

No answer.

"Tyrone, why did you guys hide the shotguns you were shooting in Griffith Park? We have a witness who ID'd you on that."

No answer. Jones lolled his head-eyes shut, spilling tears.

"Son, why did Ray burn the clothes you guys were wearing last night?"

Jones keening now-animal stuff.

"They had blood on them, didn't they? You killed six goddamn people, you got sprayed. Ray did the clean-up, he tidied the loose ends, «he's» the one who hid the shotguns, he's the boss man, he's been giving the orders since you were giving out butthole up at Casitas. Spill, goddamn you!"

"WE DIDN' KILL NOBODY! I AINT NO FUCKIN' QUEER!"

Ed circled the table-walking fast, talking slow. "Here's what I think. I think Sugar Ray's the boss, Leroy's just a dummy, you're the fat boy Sugar likes to tease. You all did road camp together, you and Sugar Ray got popped for Peeping Tom. Sugar liked looking at girls, you liked looking at boys. You both like looking at white folks, because that is the colored man's forbidden fruit. You had your 12-gauge pumps, you had your snazzy '49 Merc, you had some red devils you bought off Roland Navarette. You were up in Hollywood, white folks' neck of the woods. Sugar was teasing you about being fruit, you kept saying it was just because there were no girls around. Sugar says prove it, prove it, and you guys start peeping. You're getting mad, you're all flying on hop, it's late at night and there's nothing to look at, all those nice white folks have their curtains down. You drive by the Nite Owl, there's these nice white people inside- and it is just too fucking much to take. Poor fat sissy Tyrone, he takes over. He leads his boys into the Nite Owl. Six people are there-three of them women. You drag them into the locker, you hit the cash register and make the cook open the safe. You take their billfolds and purses and you spill some perfume on your hands. Sugar says, 'Touch the girlies, sissy. Prove you ain't queer.' You can't do it so you start shooting and everybody starts shooting and you love it because finally you're more than a poor queer fat little nigger and-"

"NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO!"

"Yes! Where's the guns? You fucking confess and turn over the evidence or you'll go to the fucking gas chamber!"

"No! Didn' kill nobody!"

Ed hit the table. "Why'd you ditch the car?"

Jones lashed his head, spraying sweat.

"Why'd you burn the clothes?"

No answer.

"Where did the perfume come from?"

No answer.

"Did Sugar and Leroy rape the women first?"

"No!"

"Oh? You mean all three of you did?"

"We didn' kill nobody! We wasn't even there!"

"Where were you?"

No answer.

"Tyrone, where were you last night?"

Jones sobbed; Ed gripped his shoulders. "Son, you know what's going to happen if you don't talk. So for God's sake admit what you did."

"Didn' kill nobody. None of us. Wasn't even there."

"Son, you did."

"No!"

"Son, you did, so tell me."

"We didn'!"

"Hush now. Just tell me-»nice and slowly»."

Jones started babbling. Ed knelt by his chair, listened.

He heard: "Please God, I just wanted to lose my cherry"; he heard: "Didn't mean to hurt her so's we'd have to die." He heard: "Not right punish what we didn' do… maybe she be okay, she don't die so I don't die, 'cause I ain't no queer." He felt himself buzzing, electric chair, a sign on top: THEY DIDN'T DO IT.