“Not a damn thing, Ellie,” he said. “This is a private matter. I just use the badge to throw my weight around. My investigation is totally unofficial.”
“Okay. What do you want with her?”
“I’m not sure.”
The drinks arrived and she studied hers for a moment before she looked at him.
“Gotta do better than that, Bud.”
“I can’t tell you the whole story because, well, frankly, I couldn’t expect you to believe either it or me, but I can tell you this. Over a half century ago, a woman was brutally murdered and disfigured in Kansas City, and dumped into an unmarked grave.”
“What does that have to do with Leona?”
Crockett reached into his pocket and brought out the artist’s drawing of LaVonne, opened it, and placed it on the table.
“That’s the woman who was killed,” he said.
Ellie looked at it and gave a start. “Jesus Christ!” she said.
“Ya think?”
“That’s Leona!”
“No, that is a woman named LaVonne Goldstein. She was Leona’s mother. It is because of her murder, among other things, that I am trying to locate Leona.”
Ellie picked up the drawing and held it in better light.
“Amazing,” she said. “Change the clothes and hair and they could be twins. God, she was gorgeous. This certainly explains Cindi’s good looks.”
“Cindi?”
“Yeah. Cindi Lake. That’s the screen name Leona used. She was by far the prettiest of all of us in the stable.”
“The stable?”
“That’s what the casting agents called us, and by ‘us’ I mean the herd of little starlet wannabees that flitted around the back lots and casting offices. The pussy stable.”
“I see.”
“Make no mistake,” she said. “A lot of illusions were lost by girls trying to screw their way to the top of the pile, but screwing, just screwing, only got you fucked. If you were gonna get anywhere on just the power of the pussy, it had to be steel-edged and lead-lined. If you were gonna make it really big, it better have some very sharp teeth. Most of us weren’t tough enough, or numb enough, or driven enough to pull it off. As a double, I was lucky. I looked like somebody who was tough enough. I was a commodity. Cindi was truly beautiful. Prettier than any of us, but that only got her casting couch crumbs. Take the term crumb any way you want. Can’t live on nothing but crumbs.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. We were never really close, just back lot buddies. I saw her off and on for three or four years, but when I married Sol I left the life. He didn’t even want me hanging around the studios. We weren’t close enough to keep in touch. I do know she got bit parts now and then, enough to keep body and soul together. Hell, you can do that as an extra unless you’re as pretty as she was. Nobody wants an extra who is easy to recognize. Wouldn’t do to see the same woman on a street corner in New York this month that you saw in ancient Egypt last month, and in a Dodge City saloon the month before that. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“Well, I’ve got a couple of other people to try.”
“Who?”
Crockett consulted his list.
“May Starling and Marcia Bennett.”
“May Starling won’t do you any good. Don’t waste your time. She’s a lush and a doper. Last time I saw her she looked eighty years old and didn’t remember me. I was maid of honor at her first wedding.”
“How ‘bout Marcia?”
Ellie smiled. “I’ll let you decide that one for yourself,” she said. “Use my name if you like, but I doubt if you’ll need a reference. Hardly anybody ever does. I wish there was more I could do.”
“There is,” Crockett replied, signaling the waiter.
Ellie eased back in her chair. “Oh?” she said.
“Yep. You can have another drink or two before you leave and tell me your life story. I enjoy conversation with intelligent, self-assured women. I suspect that it is in even shorter supply here than most places.”
Her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “You want the truth or a pack of lies?” Ellie said.
“Are you a good liar?”
“The best.”
“Go ahead on,” Crockett said.
Ellie took a deep hit of her scotch and crossed her legs.
“Once upon a time, on the shore of a beautiful lake, in a tiny log cabin, a little girl child was born,” she said. “But this was no ordinary child. This child was enchanted.”
Crockett didn’t get back to his room until almost midnight.
At around nine the next morning he phoned Marcia Bennett.
“Bennett residence.” Female, young, Latino.
“Marcia Bennett, please.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Tell her a friend of Connie Storm.”
There was about two minutes of silence before a deep whiskey contralto came on the line.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Bennett, I was referred to you by Ellie Barkman. My name is Daniel Beckett.”
“What are you selling, Mr. Beckett?”
“I’m not selling anything and not buying anything, Ms. Bennett. I’m attempting to acquire information on a woman you may have known some years ago. Leona Marie Walters, also known as Cindi Lake.”
“Cindi? Of course. We were quite close for a while. She was considerably older than I, you understand, but we were friends.”
“I wonder if I might prevail upon you for some of your time today.”
“Is this important?”
“It’s important enough that Ellie spent last evening talking with me and encouraged me to contact you.”
“Ellie spent the evening with you?”
“Talking, yes.”
“You must be an extraordinary man, Mr. Bennett,” she said.
Crockett could feel her voice soften and hear her smile.
“I don’t know about that,” he said, “but Ellie certainly is an extraordinary woman.”
“How soon can you be here?”
“I don’t know where here is,” he said.
“Of course you don’t. Where are you?”
“The Beverly Monarch Hotel.”
“You should make it in less than an hour if you leave soon. Leave soon, Mr. Beckett.”
“As soon as I can. I have a driver. Where am I going?”
“Take Van Nuys to Valley Vista, turn left to Devana Terrace, turn left again, then right into the first cul-de-sac. My home is the white stucco at the rear with the gray tile roof. Buzz the gate to come into the yard.”
“Thank you very much. I appreciate it.”
“Any friend of Ellie’s, Mr. Beckett. Hurry along, now.”
Crockett phoned Marcel, put on a tie and his gray double-breasted with the cranberry pinstripe and went downstairs, scrawled directions in hand. As he stepped out of the lobby the Lincoln pulled into the drive. Crockett opened the passenger door and got in. Marcel glanced at him.
“Lookin’ fly, Boss,” he said. “Doan you wanna ride in the back?”
“I get carsick. Don’t wanna throw up on my good suit.”
“Somebody die?”
“Not yet. Got any suggestions?”
“You doan got enough bullets. Where we goin’?”
Crockett read the directions aloud and they were off. Less than thirty minutes later they lurched to a stop in front of the Bennett house. Compared to this guy, Ruby drove like the Amish.
The house sat back from the street about fifty yards. It was one of those double shed-roofed numbers where the back half was eight or ten feet taller than the section closer to the street, with a full-length row of windows visible above the sloping front roof. At least six thousand square feet, it was surrounded by a highly manicured lawn inside a spiked iron fence. Trees were artfully poised for best effect, plantings and shrubs for perfect counterpoint, and curved walkways screamed curb appeal. Doubtless there would be a swimming pool and fieldstone pat
io in the rear. The front gate was set inside an archway of white brick. Crockett pushed a button beside a brass grate. The lady of the house answered in less than thirty seconds.
“Yes?”
Crockett resisted the urge to order a chilidog and tots.
“Daniel Beckett,” he said.
“You did hurry, didn’t you, Mr. Beckett? Please come in. The front door is open.”
He strolled through dappled sunshine on a twisting walk for nearly seventy-five yards before he reached another archway. This one surrounded the massive front door. It was paneled in heavy wood and painted bright red, the only contrast to white or gray to be seen anywhere on the front of the house. The door swung open noiselessly and Crockett stepped inside.
The temperature dropped twenty degrees. As outside, the interior walls were white stucco and a wood paneled ceiling sloped upward to twenty feet above his head. The living area was about forty feet across and sixty feet deep. A lightly railed balcony twelve feet above the floor stretched the entire width and around thirty feet into the living area from the rear of the room. The center portion of the balcony was bedecked with exercise equipment. On a Stairmaster, his hostess climbed to nowhere. When she saw him she stopped her labors, patted her face carefully with a towel, and leaned her elbows on the railing.
“The staircase is on your left, Mr. Beckett,” she said. “Come up.”
Marcia Bennett was wearing white Spandex shorts with a sewn-in panel to resemble a thong panty, and a matching white Spandex jogging bra that barely contained breasts nearly the size of Nudge’s head. Her hair was cut in what used to be called a pixie, and was almost as white as her clothing. Her nails, also white, were long and lethal looking, and her skin was the color of cold cappuccino.
From fifty feet she looked forty-five. From thirty feet she looked sixty. From ten feet she just looked desperate. Sucked and tucked, lifted and shifted, she was a seventy-five-year-old over-conditioned and under-fed caricature of tits and ass. She advanced on Crockett, patting nonexistent sweat from her rigid chest, extended a brittle hand, looked up at him through violet contact lenses, pulled carefully lined lips back from freshly bleached teeth in the parody of a smile, and showed him the tip of her tongue. The rest of her face did not move.
“So good of you to come, Mr. Beckett,” she purred. “I can certainly see why you could hold Ellie’s attention. I didn’t expect you quite this soon. Why don’t you fix us a drink while I shower off. The bar’s over there.”
She waved in the general direction of the other side of the balcony near a bed that was about eight feet square.
“I’ll have a screwdriver,” she continued. “Large glass, half and half, not too much ice. Help yourself.”
She walked past him and through a doorway set into the wall opposite the bed, making sure to leave the door slightly open. No wonder Ellie seemed amused when she contemplated Crockett paying this visit.
He put about four ounces of vodka and four ounces of orange juice in a glass for her and topped it off with ice. He made another for himself, substituting three of the ounces of vodka with water to get the color right. Holding his drink and moving away from the open bathroom door, Crockett leaned on the railing and looked down over the living room. If ten percent of the sculpture and paintings on display were real, this woman was worth more money than South Dakota.
After a few minutes he felt her come out of the bath, but pretended not to notice and continued to look out over the living area. She appeared beside him holding her half empty drink and wearing a white satin robe. Even her toenails were white.
“Some women marry well,” Marcia said. “I divorce well. Come sit.”
She swirled away toward two white lounges in the sleeping area and Crockett noticed that her obviously bare breasts did not move beneath the gown. Torn between pity and curiosity, he followed. She arranged herself seductively on one of the lounges and patted the one next to her. He sat.
Marcia showed him the tip of her tongue again. “Now then, Mr. Beckett,” she said. “What can I possibly do for you?”
“What can you tell me about Cindi Lake?”
“She and I actually lived together for a while, back in the 70’s. I was an actress at the time. I did a lot of work in horror movies. I scream well and bounce rather fetchingly when I run in terror,” she said, waiting for a compliment.
Crockett let his eyes scan her posed body and returned her smile.
She shifted her legs to allow her robe part slightly. “Even though I never really cared about acting, I had some success with it. As you may have noticed, I have some attributes that translate well to the screen.” Again she paused.
“You certainly do,” Crockett said.
“I even got her a part or two. She was quite pretty.”
“How did the two of you meet?”
“We both tested for parts in a movie way back in the late 60’s. I had to lie about my age. When the director, Russ Meyer, you may have heard of him, asked me to sit astride a cameraman while he lay on his back on the floor and bare my breasts, I walked out. She was coming in the door as I went storming out, and we ran into each other. I told Cindi what was going on and we went for coffee. She kind of tucked me under her wing. I was very young. Later the roles were reversed, and I sort of took care of her for a while. Got her some work. Things like that.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”
“Well over twenty years. As I said, we shared an apartment for a while. That was when she got her first job in what we now call soft porn. Very racy in those days for main house releases. Lots of topless stuff, bare bottoms, things like that. To tell the truth, we even appeared in a couple of them together. Not girl on girl, of course. Nothing like that. Just hard nipples, lots of tongue, and out of frame action. To be perfectly candid, some of it was pretty hard stuff just softened down in editing. Sometimes, if you want what you do show to look real, what you don’t show has to be real.”
Marcia shifted her position again and the robe opened wider. She lightly traced a finger along the underside of her left breast.
“Actually,” she said, “some of it was a lot of fun. Once you get used to the fact that the crew is watching, all those eyes become kind of a turn on. I find some of what is called pornography to be quite stimulating, don’t you, Mr. Beckett?”
“I’m only human, Ms. Bennett,” Crockett said.
“Call me Marcie,” she smiled, extending her empty glass, “and fix me another one of these. Have another yourself, Danny Boy.”
Crockett carried both glasses to the bar and made her another drink, this time with even more vodka. He topped his off with juice. When he turned back he noticed his lounge was now touching hers and her robe seemed to be disappearing under her body.
“So what happened to Cindi?” he said.
She sucked down about half her drink and squinted at him. “Cindi, Cindi, Cindi,” she slurred. “Whas so important abou’ Cindi?”
“It’s part of a murder investigation.”
“Cindi’s been murdered?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s a very old case involving what could possibly be a relative of hers. We’re just trying to locate her.”
“Who’s we?” she asked, taking another slug.
“The Department of Justice.”
“You’re a policeman?”
“I’m a special investigator.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“You wanna investigate me?”
“Are you suspicious?”
Marcie smiled and extended a wrist. “You got han’cuffs?” she said.
“Not on me.”
“How ‘bout on me? Tha’ soun’ like fun, Danny Boy? You gonna arres’ me? Wanna slap the cuffs on me?”
Crockett steeled himself. “You guilty of something?” he said.
“I could be guilty of lotsa things with you, Danny Boy,” Marcie said.
She allowed her unfettered wrist to fall and h
er hand to land on the inside of Crockett’s thigh. He left it there and smiled at her.
“Marcie, right now my time is not my own. I have to gather this information as quickly as possible. A lot of people, including my superiors, are depending on me. When I get this all finished today, I’ll have tonight off. Right now though, I can’t allow myself to get too distracted.”
She sharpened her nails on the inside of Crockett’s leg, and, for a moment, he thought Nudge was in the room.
“Do I distract you, Danny?” she said.
“What do you think?”
“So wha’ are you doin’ tonight?”
“Why don’t you decide what I’m doing tonight,” Crockett said. “We’ll talk about it later. I have your number.”
“Why doan you do me tonight,” Marcie said.
“Nothing is impossible,” he said. “Now, about Cindi.”
“Wha about her?”
“Why did you two stop living together?”
“I got married.”
“What happened to her?”
“She kina fell on hard times, did some porn work, then she got a part in some low budget movie and this mob guy that was investing in the picture saw her and she took up with him.”
“Know his name?”
“Nope. They hung around for a couple of years, she was no spring chicken. Over thirty-five at leas’, and she gets pregnant!”
“Pregnant?”
“No shit. This mob fucker dumps her like a hot rock, fuckin’ pissant. She has the kid, a little girl, and knows this couple that are friens and they take care of the kid when she can’t. After three or four years, she jus’ lets them have the kid for a chunk of change an’ their word she can write to the kid an’ see her, now an’ then.”
“Do you know who they were?”
“Nope. After another year or two, they moved north someplace and take the little girl with ‘em. Cindi’s too old for pictures, so she starts workin’ as a waitress or hostess or somethin’ like that, she’s still pretty. Then, a couple of years later, she jus’ disappears! Poof! Jus’ like that. I doan know what the hell happened. Do you know what the hell happened, Danny Boy?”
Grave Promise Page 16