Staring into the Darkness (Urban & Brazil Book 1)

by Tim Ellis

  Linton’s eyes narrowed to slits and the corner of her mouth creased upwards. She stared at Katie for a handful of seconds and then said, ‘It seems you were right. Mayor Bowron called Lieutenant O’Callaghan over to his office at City Hall this morning and informed him that he wanted results, or the Lieutenant could look for another job. O’Callaghan then met with Detective Urban when he came into the police department and told him he expects to see him back at work in two weeks’ time.’

  ‘Two weeks!’

  ‘That’s what my source tells me. Also, he’ll be put in charge of the investigation again, and Sergeant O’Meara will be transferred to another division.’

  ‘Mmmm!’ Katie said. ‘We have two weeks to carry out the background research and devise a plan.’

  ‘For Detective Urban and the other detectives to follow?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Katie stood up. ‘You should visit my apartment and take a look at the information on the pinboard. Detective Urban will be coming round later to go over the investigation and to fill in any gaps after his visit to the department today.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Six o’clock?’

  ‘I’ll see you there.’

  As she made her way down the marble stairs, Katie thought that the meeting had gone quite well. She hoped that she could trust Eliza Linton.

  ***

  There was a lazy knock on the door. ‘Delivery for a Katie Brazil,’ a man’s voice said.

  On the way back to the apartment she’d called into a second-hand shop and purchased a blackboard, easel and a box of chalk, which the old man promised to have delivered before the end of the day for her.

  She opened the door to a thin spotty-faced young man in a checked shirt and a pair of dungarees. ‘Blackboard and easel?’

  ‘Just bring it in and put it over there, please.’ She pointed to a place in front of the window between the two covered pin-boards.

  While the young man erected the easel, she took a half dollar out of her purse and then, once he’d finished, handed the coin to him.

  His eyes opened wide. ‘A Franklin?’

  ‘If you don’t want it . . .?’

  ‘Sure, I want it. Hey, thanks, Mrs.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  After he’d gone, she returned to the pin-boards, drew the curtains aside and began working on her plan. At least now, she had something to make notes on.

  The central question was: Who killed the eight starlets? She wrote it on the chalkboard. This overarching question could be broken down into a list of chronological questions:

  Why did he start killing? And why has he continued killing?

  What was so special about these women? Why them?

  Were they random victims? Or had the killer selected them for a particular reason?

  Where were they during the final hours of their lives?

  Where were the women murdered?

  Why had they been brutally raped and strangled?

  Why had the killer washed them, coiffured their hair in different styles and made them up to look beautiful after killing them?

  Why had their fingers and toes been manicured and painted?

  Why had they all been disposed of naked in municipal parks? Where were their clothes?

  Why had items been placed between their naked breasts?

  What did each item mean?

  Ideally, she would like to have gone back to the beginning, to Hildegard Zinn – the first victim – and worked forwards, but a year was a long time in people’s memories, so she decided to focus on Lola Coburn, who was killed just over a month ago, and work backwards from there. The events surrounding Lola Coburn’s final hours would still be fresh in people’s memories. The thought of starting at Annie’s murder had crossed her mind. It was, after all, why she’d come to Los Angeles in the first place, but Annie had been killed over three months ago. If they found nothing looking into Lola Coburn’s death, then she’d move on to Annie’s final movements.

  Based on the questions she’d identified, she made a list of tasks she needed to undertake to obtain answers:

  Speak to the people who knew Lisa Coburn – friends, work colleagues, acquaintances;

  Retrace her final hours;

  Speculate on who the killer might be;

  Compare the victims – backgrounds, physical appearance, who they knew and came into contact with – look for any similarities or connections;

  How was the body moved from the murder site to a vehicle? Speculate where the murder site might be and what type of vehicle was used;

  Look into any connection between the municipal parks – look for previous deaths that might be connected;

  Who might know what the items left between the victim’s breasts mean?

  Next, she examined the patterns, focusing first on the victims:

  All were would-be actresses with no acting credits to their name;

  She wondered how a young woman became an actress. What did they have to do when they first arrived in Hollywood? Who did they have to see? How did they ever get noticed and stand out from all the other would-be actresses? She realised she had no real idea. Maybe Eliza Linton would know. Or, maybe she should pretend to be a would-be actress and experience first-hand what Annie and the others had to go through.

  Varying ages between seventeen and twenty-two: Hildegard Zinn – 18; Paula Simpson – 19; Isabella Brunet – 19; Vivienne Turner – 18; Dawn Morrison – 22; Sally Wells – 21; Annie Brazil – 17; Lola Coburn – 21;

  Did age matter? Annie was the youngest at seventeen and Dawn Morrison the eldest at twenty-two, but there was only five years between them. Was she too old at twenty-four, soon to be twenty-five?

  Each one found in a different municipal park: Zinn – Cypress Park; Simpson – McArthur Park; Brunet – Lincoln Park; Turner – Veteran’s Barrington Park; Morrison – Elysian Park; Wells – Ascot Hills Park; Brazil – Echo Park; Coburn – Holmby Park;

  The victims were being spread about Los Angeles like discarded pieces of garbage. What was the significance of the municipal parks? Which park would be next? How many parks were left that he hadn’t used? Would he re-use a park once he ran out?

  The time between each murder was different: Zinn and Simpson – 6 months; Simpson and Brunet – 2 months; Brunet and Turner – 3 months; Turner and Morrison – 4 months; Morrison and Wells – 2 months; Wells and Brazil – 3 months; Brazil and Coburn – 2 months;

  Hildegard Zinn had been killed on February 10, 1946, which was less than a month short of two years ago. What had made him want to kill Zinn then? And why had he waited nearly six months to kill Paula Simpson on August 7? Had Zinn’s death been an accident? Had he enjoyed killing that first time? Had he tried to fight the urge to kill again, but not succeeded? She needed to talk to someone who might understand what was driving him to kill, such as a psychiatrist.

  Most were employed, but two were not: Zinn – unemployed; Simpson – ice cream girl in cinema; Brunet – cashier in drug store; Turner – clerical assistant at attorneys; Morrison – waitress at diner; Wells – bank teller; Brazil – unemployed; Coburn – shoe salesperson.

  Why didn’t Annie have a job? She’d been in Los Angeles since August of last year and she wasn’t murdered until October. How had she survived for two months without money? She’d had some savings with her, but it wasn’t a lot. Certainly not enough to pay for an apartment, food and all the other necessities for two months. Had Annie resorted to prostitution? Had she found a man to keep her in return for sex? She desperately wanted to find out everything she could about her sister, but hopefully that would come in time. First, she had to find her sister’s killer to stop him brutally raping and strangling any more starlets.

  Bodies were left in parks on different days of the week: Zinn – Sunday; Simpson – Wednesday; Brunet – Friday; Turner – Monday; Morrison – Saturday; Wells – Thursday; Brazil – Thursday; Coburn – Sunday;

  Was there any significance to the day of the week? O
r was it purely random? There were two Mondays, two Sundays, but only one of the other days except Tuesday – would Tuesday be the next day?

  They were all naked;

  Why? What was the purpose of leaving them without clothes? He had gone to a lot of trouble making them look beautiful after brutally raping and strangling them, so why did he not dress them. Erik had said there was no rhyme or reason to the killings, but there obviously was. They just didn’t know what it was yet.

  They all had different coiffured hair styles: Zinn – pompadour; Simpson – omelette fold; Brunet – pin-curl up-do; Morrison – peekaboo; Wells – bumper bangs; Brazil – curled bob; Coburn – barrel curl ponytail.

  She had to smile. Annie knew all the hairstyles of the Hollywood actresses: Betty Grable’s victory rolls; Veronica Lake’s side-parted waved long hair; Ava Gardner’s curled bob; Katherine Hepburn’s brushed out pin curl . . . Annie went into Kettle River specially to look at the fashion magazines in the library – Charm; Vogue; Harper’s Bazaar; Seventeen; Elle; Marie Claire; Hollywood . . . If her father had known where her fascination with Hollywood actresses would lead, he would have tied Annie up in the barn with the pigs and never let her go into Kettle River.

  They had all been washed and made up. Their eyebrows had been plucked in a natural arch with a hint of dark eyebrow pencil; light eyeshadow to match the eye colour with a hint of gold for the evening; black mascara; light rouge on the apples of the cheeks brushed up to the cheekbone; matte red lipstick overdrawn for fullness on top and bottom in a Hunters Bow Lip, which had been developed for Joan Crawford by Max Factor; finger and toenails were meticulously painted red to match the lipstick with the half-moon white spot at the base left unpainted.

  She was looking for someone with a high degree of expertise in both hair-styling and make-up. It was a clue! She was sure there couldn’t be that many people with the skill to do what the killer had done with each victim.

  Chapter Five

  There were three wood-on-wood taps on the door. The apartment was getting as busy as Union Station, she thought. She guessed Detective Urban was using his walking stick instead of his knuckles to knock on the door.

  She glanced at her new clock hanging on the wall by the hallway. It was a stainless steel Hampton Art Deco Moderne clock. The time was five to six.

  ‘Who is it?’ A woman could never be too careful. It was just sad that Annie hadn’t been as cautious.

  ‘Erik.’

  She opened the door. ‘Did you forget your key?’

  ‘It isn’t my apartment anymore. Not only that, didn’t you say you’d had the lock changed? And who knows what I’d find if I used my key and walked right in?’

  ‘You’d find me going over the murders, but it’s your choice. As I said, you’ll get no pressure from me. Yes, the lock has been changed. If you want a key, just say so.’

  He shuffled in, sat down on the sofa and rested his gnarled walking stick between his legs. ‘I’ll stay at Ruby’s for the time being.’

  ‘Fine by me. So, how did your visit to the police department go?’

  ‘Good. Mike O’Meara spoke warmly of you, by the way.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘At least I still have a job.’

  ‘My understanding is that you have to be back at work in two weeks’ time, that the Lieutenant is putting you back in charge of the investigation, because he’s under pressure from the Mayor and he’s moving Sergeant O’Meara somewhere else?’

  Erik’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You never said you could read minds.’

  ‘I know someone who has a mole in the homicide division. She’ll be here soon.’

  ‘Eliza Linton from the Herald-Examiner?’

  ‘You already know?’

  ‘It’s an open secret that Dennis Whipple tells her everything that’s going on and she pays him for the information. We don’t mind, Dennis has a wife and four kids to feed. It also means we can pass her information when we need to.’

  ‘Don’t let her know you know. I’ve persuaded her to help us on the understanding that I won’t tell you about the mole, and that she gets the scoop when we catch the killer.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about anything, which is the God honest truth.’

  ‘Did they have anything more on the murders than we have?’

  ‘Not a thing. With the exception of three more murders, it’s as if time has stood still for the past six months.’

  A thunderous knock reverberated down the hallway.

  ‘That’ll be her,’ Katie said. ‘And don’t shake hands with her if you want your hand to come back with all the bones in the right place.’ She let Eliza in. ‘You already know Detective Urban, don’t you?’

  Her lip curled up. ‘He’s had the pleasure.’

  Erik looked at Katie. ‘You never said you’d invited a reporter. Are you trying to get me fired before I’ve even started back?’

  ‘Eliza has promised to work with us, not against us.’

  ‘That’ll make a change,’ he grunted.

  ‘I can go if you want, Detective?’

  ‘Don’t stay on my account.’

  Eliza turned and headed for the door.

  Katie thought Erik could have been a good actor if he’d applied himself. ‘Don’t go, Eliza. Eric will come round.’

  ‘He’d better. I’ve sacrificed my judgement, principles and independence to come here.’

  Katie held out her hands. ‘Let me take your coat.’ She helped Eliza off with the red-fleck swing coat and hung it on a hook by the front door. ‘Can I get anybody a drink?’

  ‘Not for me thanks,’ Erik said.

  Eliza shook her head. ‘Nor me. I can only stay an hour. My two children already think I’ve moved to a different state.’

  ‘Let’s get down to business then,’ Katie said, drawing the curtains back fully that were hiding the pin-boards. ‘Erik, you were going to talk me through the murders?’

  He nodded, pushed himself up with his walking stick and shuffled over to the pinboard that Katie had made her timeline on. ‘You’ve done a fine job with these pin-boards, Katie.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Okay. Well, as you both know Hildegard Zinn was found by a man – Philip Rushton – who was taking a short-cut through Cypress Park on his way to work in the Schwartz Bakery on Elyria Drive at four-thirty in the morning. We checked him out. He was a regular guy with a wife and two kids. No connection to anyone in the film industry. Of course, when we got there, a certain reporter was already tramping all over our crime scene with her photographer – Russ Lapp – taking pictures . . .’ He stared at Eliza. ‘If I’d had any sense, I should have locked you both up then and there and lost the key.’

  Eliza feigned a half-laugh. ‘Sense is something that is sadly lacking in the police department, Detective.’

  ‘Anyway, we found what you already know we found – the naked body of the young woman all done up ready for her coffin with a dead rattlesnake lying between her breasts. I remember thinking at the time that it wasn’t no normal murder, if any murder can be considered normal that is. If she’d just been raped and left there, then it might have made some sense, but she was killed somewhere else, and what he did to her after he’d brutally raped and strangled her – the washing, the hair, the make-up, the manicure and the item left between her breasts – that was the work of a madman. It wasn’t an accidental or spontaneous murder, it was planned. ’

  ‘I agree with you, Detective . . .’

  ‘If we’re going to be founding members of this little conspiracy group, then maybe we should be less formal. Call me Erik.’

  ‘All right, Erik. As I was saying, I agree with you. I remember when Russ and I arrived at the scene of Elizabeth Short’s murder in Leimert Park . . . Nobody knows this except for Russ, but I threw-up when I saw what the killer had done to her – sawing her in half and the knife cuts that extended her mouth. The worst thing I’d ever seen. Why would a man do that to a beautif
ul young woman? I could only think that it was the work of a madman, but he was a different type of madman to what we’ve got here.’

  Katie said, pointing at the chalkboard, ‘You’ll notice I have a chalkboard and easel now and I’ve written a number of tasks on there. One of those tasks is to ask a psychiatrist to try and identify the type of man who would commit these murders.’

  ‘You want to go and see Doctor Randolph Levitsky who runs the psychiatric unit in the Los Angeles County Poor Farm at 7601 Imperial Highway in Downey. It’ll take you thirty minutes by cab to get there. He might have some idea about the man we’re looking for.’

  Katie stood up and wrote the name and address down on the chalkboard. ‘I’ll do that, thanks.’

  ‘If I can continue . . .?’ Erik said.

  Katie smiled at him. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘At the time, Zinn was the first murder, and I recall thinking that someone who would do those things to a woman after he’d killed her would likely kill again. He did kill again as we know, but it was another six months before Paula Simpson was found in McArthur Park, so we had time to focus on investigating who killed Hildegard Zinn. She lived in a small one-room apartment off Santa Monica Boulevard at 12 Lily Crest Avenue and we spoke to the people there, but they hardly knew her. She was the only child of Herman and Greta Zinn who owned a hardware store in Fort Dodge, Iowa. She’d been in Los Angeles just under four months . . .’

  Katie cleared her throat. ‘Sorry to interrupt again, but I’m not clear what these girls do when they arrive here.’