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L.A. Noire Walkthrough Part 29: "The Red Lipstick Murder" (2 of 6)

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Garret Mason: Gentlemen, what can I get you?

Phelps: Phelps and Galloway, LAPD. Where you working here last night?

Garret Mason: Yes. How can I help, Officer?

Phelps: You can start with your name.

Garret Mason: Garret Mason.

Phelps: You're the regular bartender on nights?

Garret Mason: I'm a temporary barman. I work for an agency, I fill in at bars across town.

Phelps: Do you remember a woman who came in here last night? Five feet seven, about 110 pounds, blonde hair, about 40 years of age.

Garret Mason: You mean Celine Henry?

Phelps: Yes. Do you know anything about her?

Garret Mason: I don't, but the owner, Mr. McColl, serves her most nights. Would you like to speak with him?

Phelps: I would.

Garret Mason: He sits at the back of the club. Wears a hibiscus. You can't miss him. Is there anything else?

Galloway: Inquire away, Phelps. I'll stay here. I'm a little parched. Pour me three fingers of rye.

Phelps: Detective Phelps, LAPD. We're investigating the murder of Celine Henry. Do you know her?

McColl: Celine? Oh Christ. Sure, I know her. She and I and Jacob, her husband, we go way back.

Phelps: She was here last night?

McColl: Sure, she's a regular. Celine is... was a lovely woman.

Phelps: Was Mrs. Henry here with anyone last night?

McColl: Not at first. Celine already had quite a head start.

Phelps: But she attracted attention?

McColl: Certainly. A few gentlemen became very enamored with her and her stories. One guy in particular.

Phelps: You know him?

McColl: No. He's been in a couple of times.

Phelps: Did they leave together?

McColl: Yes, at around 11. If it helps, I made the guy's license plate.

Phelps: I think this could be a great help, sir. Thank you. You know the husband?

McColl: Sure, I know Jacob. He was in the Corps. He met Celine on a furlough and married her when the war was finished. He put up with a load of shit.

Phelps: Do you think he killed his wife?

McColl: No. No, not in my opinion.

Phelps: So if it wasn't Jacob, then you probably let her out of here with the guy who killed her. How do you feel about that?

McColl: Stow the attitude, will you? I tried to get onto Jacob. I rang him up, asked him to come pick her up like usual, but he refused. She picked some night to push him over the edge. I rang him back around 11:30 but I got no answer.

Phelps: Mrs. Henry appeared to be missing a ring, torn from her finger. But not her wedding finger.

McColl: Celine always wore a red garnet ring. On the large side. Larger than life, like Celine herself.

Phelps: Did she have it a long time?

McColl: Sure. Since way back in her flying days.

Phelps: Did her husband buy it for her?

McColl: No, it was before Jacob.

Phelps: I think you know where the ring came from and I think you're going to tell me.

McColl: Okay, I bought it. Years ago. I carried a torch for Celine in those days. I guess I always have. Her old man never knew about it.

Phelps: Thanks, Mr. McColl, you've been a big help. One more thing, would you have an address for Celine?

McColl: 142 North Union Avenue. God knows I had to send her home in enough cabs to remember that.

Phelps: Let's get out of here.

Galloway: Hey, what's the hurry? My stool was just starting to warm up nicely.

Phelps: I don't think this is going to help us. Operator, message for KGPL.

Operator 1: Putting you through now.

Phelps: Phelps, one-two-four-seven.

Operator 2: How can I help, Detective?

Phelps: I need a registered owner on a license plate, two-boy-eight-eight-nine-nine.

Operator 2: Yes, Detective. I'll need to contact the DMV. Should I relay the details via KGPL?

Phelps: Please. Thanks, ma'am. You know the way, you can drive.

Galloway: And where exactly are we going?

Phelps: You find the booze helps you get through a working day?

Galloway: Sharpens my investigatory instincts, Phelps.

Phelps: A smart lawyer might use that to throw out anything you collect today.

Galloway: A smart man might know it's unwise to stand between the patient and his medicine.

Phelps: As long as you're not falling over, Rusty. I'll let it slide.

Galloway: That's mighty kind of you, Phelps. You know, you picked the wrong job if a healthy thirst offends you, Cole.

Phelps: We owe it to this city to do the best we can in this position. As Homicide detectives, that responsibility is all the more serious.

Galloway: Always the politician.

Phelps: It's not political, it's practical. Maybe the men combing Hollywood Boulevard after the Elizabeth Short murder we're more interested in sniffing out booze than the clues that would've led to her killer.

Galloway: Yeah, well, if only you'd been there, choir boy. Betty Short would be alive, the Japs would've spared Pearl Harbor, our ancestors wouldn't have tasted the forbidden fruit.

Phelps: Minor syntactical error, Detective Galloway, I never claimed to be able to prevent crimes. I only suggested a proficiency in solving them. Guess that's the drink slowing you down.

Galloway: Oh my God. Brother, oh Brother. It's worse than I could ever have imagined.

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