Benny: Gents. Drink?
Phelps: Phelps and Galloway, LAPD.
Benny: I'm Benny Cluff. Is this about Theresa Taraldsen?
Phelps: Yes, it is.
Benny: I heard about it on the radio. They're saying it was that Black Dahlia freak again. Goddammit. I rang that husband of hers. The babysitter said that he was out.
Phelps: If you don't mind, we have a few questions. What time did Theresa leave?
Benny: Around 10:30, I think.
Phelps: On foot? In a car? By bus? How was it?
Benny: She called for a cab.
Phelps: Did you get the number.
Benny: Sure I did. I like Theresa. The only time she has a drink is when things aren't going so good at home. I was worried about her. Put out an APB on the cab.
Phelps: Three five nine one. It should be traceable. Who was she with? We've had reports about a tall gaunt-looking hobo. He wasn't here last night?
Benny: I get plenty of bums in here, but nothing to fit that description.
Phelps: The likelihood is that whoever she left here with killed her. Give it up, Benny.
Benny: All right. Two creeps were all over her, promising to take her dancing.
Phelps: Did you get a good look at these guys?
Benny: Sure. I got a good look. One of them was a sailor in uniform. His cap said USS Indiana.
Phelps: And the other man?
Benny: The other guy is Richard Bates. He's sitting in the back right now. Red polo shirt.
Phelps: Any idea where she was headed?
Benny: Nope. I didn't get that.
Phelps: The husband said she wanted to go dancing.
Benny: She always wants to dance when she's been drinking. She was trying to talk some guys into taking her to one of the dance halls.
Phelps: Thank you for your help Mr. Cluff. We'll take it from here.
Benny: Hey, no problem.
Galloway: This is Bates?
Benny: That's him.
Phelps: LAPD. Don't make me chase you, shitbird. We can't let the son of a bitch get away.
Phelps: Bates! We just want to talk.
Galloway: Come on. We've got a ride. Get in and drive. I thought you were going to leave me there.
Phelps: Who knows what this guy will pull when he's cornered. We could have a killer on our hands. I don't think the killer would be kicking back in the bar where he met the vic in.
Galloway: Listen, a creature of habit is your killer. For some reason, they're sticklers for routine. Phelps, you've got to get me closer. Hit him. Clear this asshole off the road. Keep it steady and I'll try to bust his tires. Hit him, Cole! Spin him out. Let's end this farce.
Bates: All right. All right! You've got me! I've had enough...
Phelps: Hands behind your head! Okay Bates. You're going to answer some questions.
Bates: I have a choice in this?
Phelps: Last night you were drinking with a lady in the bar. Now she's dead and your face is all messed up.
Bates: I'm in the clear on that. She preferred a sailor. You can lay it off on him. Are we finished?
Phelps: Do you want my partner to sap you? Tell us what we want to know.
Bates: She was okay. Drunk. Pissed off at her old man and wanting to go dancing. I thought I'd ply her with a few drinks and get my end away. It looks like your salty had the same idea.
Phelps: So what happened when you left the bar?
Bates: Sailor boy laid one on me. A cheap shot. After that, I don't know.
Phelps: You've done time. Haven't you, Richard? Is that why you ran?
Bates: I'm on parole.
Galloway: On what offense?
Bates: Sexual assault. Look, I was lying there on the sidewalk. He flags a cab and jumps in with the broad.
Galloway: We're taking you in, Bates.
Bates: How come?
Galloway: Just for a chat. A nice, private chat. I'll explain my theory of once a degenerate, always a degenerate.
Phelps: Take him to Central. He's a material witness in a murder case. Find him a cozy cell.
Galloway: Richard here knows the drill.