The Death Beat

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  Quinn agreed. “Yes, but as we’ve already established, they were not particularly looking for any evidence of foul play. I agree, though, another meeting with the housekeeper is essential – before the police get to her,” observed Quinn. “So it will have to be tonight, if possible. Once Barnes gets the court order invoked to re-open the case things will move very quickly. No doubt they’ll work double-time to make up for their failings. And as soon as they do, the story’s fair game for every paper in town.”

  Quinn looked at his pocket watch and grunted. “So, lady and gent, I want some articles written up by you two before you leave today. Yes, you need to speak to the housekeeper again – and I’ll ring Barnes and let him know what I found out about the cover-up – but we need something on the newsstands in the morning. You can write up a couple of pieces then meet up with Mrs L. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” said Poppy and Rollo in unison. Poppy looked at her watch too. It was five o’clock. She was supposed to be going out with Delilah after work. It would have to wait.

  Rollo reached for the telephone. “I’ll set something up with Mrs Lawson. I’ll tell her we’ve got some information for her. We’ll arrange to meet at von Hassler’s penthouse. I also want to see if I can get a glimpse at the visitor book – if there is one in the lobby – or else speak to that doorman again.”

  Mention of the doorman reminded Poppy of something. “And perhaps we can see if Howard Parker is in too. He’s also connected with this somehow.”

  “And how’s that?” asked Quinn.

  Poppy told him. Quinn nodded, more wearily than ever. “Good, good, but we probably need to prioritize. Do Mrs L. first and then, perhaps tomorrow, follow up on the Parker and factory lead. I know you think the prostitution story and this one are linked, and they probably are, but murder trumps prostitution in the news game, so I want you to focus on von Hassler first. Can you do that, Miz Denby?”

  “I can,” said Poppy, but her mind was already going over ways she could have her cake and eat it. “Rollo,” she said, “if Mr Quinn is finished with us, I’ll join you in your office in a few minutes to write up a couple of articles. I just need to telephone Delilah and cancel our date for tonight. Is that all right?”

  Both Quinn and Rollo said it was.

  Two hours later, Poppy and Rollo had written two articles between them: a “prince’s death might have been murder” article, speculating that the case into the aristocrat’s death might be re-opened, according to sources in the coroner’s office; then a biography of von Hassler, taken primarily from the Death Beat file, but supplemented with information from the general Jazz Files.

  Poppy took the opportunity to get the files of Theodore Spencer and Howard Parker too. There was nothing in either file to suggest homosexual leanings. Spencer was a respected senator, happily married for thirty-five years. Parker, on the other hand, had been a playboy in his younger days and a notorious womanizer in his middle years.

  One thing did catch her eye though – a photograph of Parker, von Hassler, Miles, Theo and Amelia Spencer at a film premier in 1918. The fleshy-faced producer was indeed the man she had seen in the library at The Lodge. Attached to the photograph was an article about Black Horse Productions being the second business venture the three older men had entered into together. The first was a fashion business. The senator was quoted as saying: “Prince von Hassler and I are more shadow investors in both companies. I’m far too busy serving the good people of Suffolk County, Long Island, in the Senate. And Prince Hans here has many other business concerns to attend to. So our good friend Howard Parker ensures the day-to-day running of things at both concerns. And a splendid job he does of it too.”

  Parker was then asked how he managed to divide his time between Black Horse on the west coast and Magriet Fashions on the east. He answered: “My future is in film. I devote most of my time to that. But it’s a new industry and I need to ensure our other business does well enough to keep the funds flowing. I have appointed a top-notch manager here in New York, and I make sure I drop in every time I’m in town. Don’t worry, folks – you’ll be seeing plenty of new films from us!”

  He then went on to talk up Miles Spencer and what a fine young director he was. One to watch. A talent to be reckoned with…

  Poppy looked carefully at the photograph of the five people. Which, if any of them, was involved in all this? And how did Alfie fit into it all? What was it that Elizabeth was trying to tell her this morning? Now that she’d calmed down, she felt she should visit the former suffragette again to hear what she had to say for herself. She would do it tomorrow. And then perhaps try to see if she could get into the factory too…

  But this evening she had other plans, which she had already cleared with Rollo, although not Quinn. Both she and Rollo agreed he hadn’t been looking well and it was best she not add any further pressure to him by telling him what she intended. So Poppy and Rollo filed their stories and rode down to the foyer in the lift. It was seven o’clock. And there, waiting for them, was Delilah. She was dressed to the nines – in full flapper regalia – carrying a small suitcase and a parcel with a Macy’s department store logo on the wrapping. She smiled widely as Poppy and Rollo stepped out of the lift.

  “I thought you’d never get here! Here…” She passed the suitcase and parcel to Poppy. “I’ve got what you asked for.”

  “Thanks,” said Poppy. “Rollo, would you mind waiting a few minutes while I get changed?”

  “Not at all,” he grinned. “I can’t wait to see what you two gals have cooked up.”

  CHAPTER 37

  The doorman at 237 Lexington Avenue stepped forward and opened the door of the yellow taxi cab as it pulled up at the kerb. Out stepped two young women: one with black bobbed hair wearing a silver and black-fringed flapper dress and boa, and the second, a red-head wearing a red shift dress embroidered with cobalt blue beads. And with them, to the doorman’s surprise, was the dwarfish gentleman he had met earlier that afternoon. The doorman raised his top hat in greeting. “Good evening, sir, ladies. Welcome to Lexington Towers. How may I help you?”

  The dwarf greeted him with: “Good to see you again, dear man,” and then went on to explain that he had arranged a viewing of the penthouse with the prince’s lawyer and that the former housekeeper had been enlisted to let him in and show him round.

  “That was quick, sir,” the doorman observed.

  “A property like this will be snapped up in no time. So after I spoke to you earlier I contacted the prince’s lawyer – he’s an old school friend, you know.”

  The doorman nodded sagely. So many of these toffs knew each other from the old days – or claimed to. It was no skin off his nose, as long as he got a good tip…

  As if reading his mind the dwarf discreetly produced a clip of dollar bills.

  The doorman, with a sleight of hand that would have been admired in the circus, slipped them into his pocket and bowed his head. “Of course, sir. Right this way, sir.”

  The girls followed, giggling. “Isn’t your young English niece with you this evening? She seemed very set on seeing the penthouse herself, sir.”

  The dwarfish gentleman said that she was, but he wanted to surprise her with it and didn’t want her to be disappointed if the sale fell through. “You know how weepy these young girls can get,” he observed.

  The doorman said that he did, although, he thought, looking at the two good-time girls, young enough to be the little fella’s daughters, that not much weeping would be done tonight. But it wasn’t for him to judge. He’d seen far worse going in and out of Lexington Towers over the years. Not least to Howard Parker’s apartment, which attracted an endless stream of hopeful young actresses, most of whom never made it from the white sheets to the silver screen. So, he was not the least bit surprised when the dark-haired girl, speaking with a hint of an Italian accent, announced that she and her friend would be stopping by to visit Mr Parker while their uncle – how many nieces could one man have? – viewed th
e penthouse.

  “Is Mr Parker in?” asked the uncle.

  A slight raise of an eyebrow under the grey top hat elicited another dollar bill which disappeared as deftly as the first lot. “I believe he is, sir,” came the reply.

  Poppy and Delilah stepped out of the lift on the floor below the penthouse, and agreed to meet Rollo in the foyer in half an hour. If they were not there he was to ask the concierge to accompany him up to Parker’s apartment to tell the young ladies that their ride was leaving. Delilah had already got the concierge to ring up to ask the producer if he was available to receive visitors: Miss Delilah Marconi and her Scottish friend, Miss Flora McDonald.

  Coming from Northumberland, Scots was the only other accent Poppy could successfully imitate. So Flora McDonald, aspiring film actress, was who she became. She had got the idea earlier in the afternoon when she and Rollo had done the impromptu play acting and thought it might be a good way in to see Parker. She was encouraged that the doorman had not recognized her in her glad rags and red wig. She hoped the film producer would not do so either. He had only seen her briefly in the library at The Lodge, and there she had been blonde and wearing a pale pink calf-length gown.

  Delilah and Poppy held hands as they approached Parker’s door.

  “Ready?” asked Poppy, her face suddenly serious.

  “Ready,” said Delilah, then took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  A few moments later the door opened to reveal a large man – well over six feet tall – with mutton-chop sideburns and slicked-back greying hair. He was wearing a dark green velvet smoking jacket with black trim and was chomping on a fat cigar.

  He unplugged the cigar from his mouth, opened his arms wide, and boomed: “Delilah! Honey! What a dandy surprise!” He moved in and kissed Delilah on each cheek in the way Poppy had seen French people do in Paris.

  “Howard! Thanks for seeing me at such short notice. My friend and I – may I introduce Miss Flora McDonald from Scotland – were just heading down to Chester’s and thought we’d pop in.”

  Parker appraised Poppy with apparent approval. Then he bowed slightly and took her hand, kissing the back of it with tobacco-stained lips. Poppy felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl. “Och aye, a wee Highland lass. A Rose of Scotland och aye the noo,” Parker intoned in a caricature of a Scottish accent.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr Parker,” Poppy said with a soft Border burr.

  “And where are you from in Scotland?” asked Parker, his head cocking to the side to catch her words more clearly.

  “Coldstream. Just over the border,” said Poppy, naming the nearest Scottish town to where she used to live in Northumberland.

  “Well, Miz McDonald, I don’t know if Delilah has told you, but we’re thinking of filming Lorna Doone. We don’t need your accent in a silent movie, but with your looks, a Highland lassy like you might just fit the bill.”

  Poppy did not bother telling him that Coldstream was almost as far from the Highlands as you could possibly get in Scotland without being in England. Instead she put on her wide-eyed look and said with a charming burr: “Och Mr Parker, that would be grand!”

  Parker chuckled and put the cigar back into his mouth. Then he stepped aside and ushered the young women in.

  The room was as garishly decorated as Poppy had imagined it would be. Turkish carpets adorned the walls and floors, while thick red velvet curtains with gold brocade trim obscured the windows. It was like a set from the film The Sheik – just with colour added, thought Poppy – complete with ottoman loungers and brass incense holders. Poppy hoped that was as far as the comparison would go, and tried not to shudder when she thought of the abducted English woman and the predatory Arab prince. There was not a chance in Hades that Poppy would be wooed in the same way Lady Diana Mayo had been.

  Poppy had already briefed Delilah on Parker’s possible connection to the prostitute ring. Delilah, in turn, had told Poppy that she had spoken to Miles, who had told her that Parker had given him the telephone number for someone called Slick. She had no idea who Slick was, but Miles said that he seemed to know Parker and the type of girls who would fit the bill. For Poppy, that was all the confirmation she needed. She had Slick’s number and was going to ask Rollo or Quinn to call in the morning to set up some kind of sting. They would say they were calling on behalf of Parker and “order” a girl who would meet the description of Mimi. That was as far as Poppy had thought it through. No doubt Quinn and Rollo would have their tuppence-worth to add, but she was confident that it was a possible way forward. Then why were they here tonight?

  Poppy wasn’t really sure what she expected to get out of Parker. She certainly didn’t want to alert him to the fact that the authorities might be on to him – and they weren’t just yet, anyway. Quinn and Rollo were focused on the von Hassler murder, which so far had not yielded any links to Parker other than he lived in the same building. But surely that was a link? That and the fact that they had shared business interests.

  Actually, that’s what she thought she might try to explore. And it was too good an opportunity to miss with Rollo currently upstairs with Mrs Lawson. If nothing came of it, so be it. She would just follow through with the Slick lead tomorrow.

  Parker invited them to sit, offering them a choice of port or sherry from a well-stocked drinks cabinet. Delilah asked for port; Flora said she might just have a wee sherry.

  Parker poured the drinks – with a whisky for himself – and seated himself very close to Delilah on an ottoman. Delilah did not pull away.

  “Well, Delilah, did you drop by for business or pleasure?” His eyes ranged up and down her silk-stockinged legs as he spoke.

  “A little bit of both,” giggled Delilah. “But mainly business. I don’t know if Miles has told you, but he asked me to go to California with him on Friday to have a proper screen test at your Hollywood studio.”

  “He did,” said Parker and took a large mouthful of whisky. He swilled it around in his mouth, savouring it, before swallowing. “Me and the boys were very impressed with your performance at The Lodge. We want to show you off to the rest of the team at the studio and try to match you with a leading man.”

  “What film do you have in mind for Delilah?” asked Flora.

  “The Lady of the Lake,” answered Parker. “Not the Walter Scott one.” He raised his glass to Flora. “You see, I’m well versed with the literature of your homeland, Miz McDonald. But no, we have our very own version here in the United States. At Lake Ronkonkoma, in fact.”

  “Yes!” said Delilah. “Miles told me all about it. An Indian squaw, in the days of the early settlers, falls in love with a white man. But their families try to keep them apart. It’s a Romeo and Juliet story. The young man dies and then the squaw drowns herself in grief. But then, so the legend has it, every year her ghost lures a young man, between the ages of eighteen and thirty-eight, into the lake. Apparently it’s a fact that every year a man of this age really does drown in the lake. Creepy, huh?”

  “Very creepy,” agreed Poppy.

  “And we think Delilah, with her dark colouring, will be perfect to play the squaw. We’ll film the outdoor shots at the lake and the rest in our sound studio out in Hollywood.”

  “It does sound like a good opportunity for you, Delilah,” said Poppy, really meaning it. She felt sorry for her friend – and more than a bit worried for her. What would happen to the film if Parker – and perhaps even Miles – was found to be mixed up in something involving illegal immigrants and prostitution? It had been Delilah’s dream for so long. Poppy could tell that Delilah was thinking something similar. Behind her fixed smile, Poppy could see worry in her friend’s eyes.

  “So,” said Poppy in her Flora accent. “How is this film going to be financed?”

  Parker looked at her curiously. “That’s a queer question to ask. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Miz McDonald; it’s none of your concern.”

  “Sorry,” said Flora, thinking on her feet. �
��My father is a banker from Edinburgh so finance is in the family. And he’s always on the look-out for a new investment. Might you need a new investor?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Oh,” said Poppy, as nonchalantly as possible. “I just read an article, that’s all, about you and the other investors in Black Horse Productions…”

  Parker’s eyes narrowed.

  “It was in the newspaper, if you recall…”

  He nodded. “Yes it was. I wouldn’t have put you down as a reader of the financial papers, Miz McDonald.”

  “Oh, I’m not really!” Flora exclaimed, adding a fake little giggle. “Only now and then. Besides, I think it was in the entertainment section anyway… It said you and Miles’s uncle owned a factory that helped finance the films. And now that your other partner, that prince what’s his name, has died, there might be room for another investor. My father pointed it out to me; he said it might be a good opportunity for him…” she added.

  “I think I should meet your father,” said Parker, putting down his now empty whisky tumbler. “He sounds like a man with a good eye for an investment. Is he here in New York?”

  “No, but he will be. He’ll be coming over the next time the Olympic is in port. I came ahead of him to see if I could get to meet you first.”

  Parker took another cigar from a wooden box on the coffee table, snipped off the end and lit it. “You came all this way to see me?”

  “I did, sir,” said Flora and gave what Poppy hoped was a shy but charming smile.

  “Yes,” chipped in Delilah, always ready to improvise. “Mr McD asked if I would mind introducing Flora to you first; then he hopes to meet you when he arrives. He was delayed, you see, banking problems back home…”

  Parker sucked on his cigar. He nodded. “It’s a difficult time for banks at the moment… You’ve finished your drink, Delilah. Do you want another? Then you can tell me what’s concerning you about coming to Hollywood with Miles. He’s a good boy. You’ll be safe in his hands.”