The Body in Griffith Park

by Jennifer Kincheloe

  “Nope, we spooked him. I doubt he’ll be dining at the Jonquil Café for a while.”

  Later that afternoon, Clementine and Sue played Parcheesi on the floor in the storeroom while Anna puzzled over what to do with them. Finding the twins employment should be easier than placing Matilda as they were sane. She herself would furnish their references, attesting to their dull character and love of Parcheesi, which should keep them out of trouble, leaving the Jonquil out altogether. She wrote to every wealthy lady of her acquaintance, signing the letters “Clara Breedlove” as Anna herself was disgraced. Her best friend, Clara, was not, and probably wouldn’t mind. Either way, she wouldn’t find out for months, as Clara was in Europe. Anna jotted off a note to the mayor’s mother, Mrs. Smucker, who she knew was ill-tempered and thus could not keep servants. She was always looking for help. Anna even wrote to the tight-lacer who ran the Friday Morning Club to see if the girls could sell musicale tickets door-to-door.

  Anna heard a knock and looked up to see Joe standing in the doorway, his mouth a straight, hard line. Allie Sutton loomed beside him, slightly out of breath.

  Anna said, “Hello again, Miss Sutton. Hello Detective.”

  Miss Sutton hurried to Anna’s desk and spread the Los Angeles Herald out across her stack of letters. She pointed triumphantly at a photo on the front page. “There. I found this on a trolley seat, so I turned around and came back.”

  The newspaper was over a week old and contained the article about Anna.

  Anna leaned over. “There where?”

  “It’s him, don’t you see. The Black Pearl.”

  Anna leaned closer and peered at the newspaper and the picture of a man with gray eyes and thick, ebony, wavy hair. “That’s not the Black Pearl or Mr. King or whatever you call him. That’s Georges Devereaux.”

  “I’m telling you. It’s my Bear,” said Miss Sutton.

  Joe’s worried eyes met Anna’s. “Miss Sutton are you absolutely sure?”

  Miss Sutton’s face darkened. “Oh, I’m sure.”

  Anna laughed. “You’re mistaken. He might have some resemblance to Mr. King.”

  Joe said, “Miss Sue, Miss Clementine, is that Mr. King?”

  Sue blinked vacuously at Joe. “We never saw Mr. King. We were only there a week.”

  Clementine shook her head.

  Anna paced. “Of course Georges isn’t Mr. King. Miss Sutton, thank you for your time. Goodbye.”

  Joe said, “Thank you Miss Sutton.”

  Miss Sutton strode to the door. She turned back before exiting. “It’s him. I swear it.” Then she was gone.

  “Twins, you may go help Matilda with the sewing.”

  Sue obeyed immediately. Clementine dragged her feet.

  When they’d gone, Joe said, “Anna, if he wasn’t your brother, we would check this out. Mrs. Rosenberg won’t talk. It’s our only lead.”

  “If he wasn’t my brother, we wouldn’t already know that he’s a good man.”

  “Being related to you doesn’t make him a good man. We don’t know anything about Georges.”

  “We know he’s of good stock. And how dare you? I won’t have it. I won’t have you insulting Georges. You’re accusing him of prostituting minor girls, and he invited you to dinner.”

  “I tell you what. Let’s just see if Matilda recognizes him from this picture. If she doesn’t, well, maybe I’ll reconsider. But if she does, will you agree to let me just talk to him?”

  “It’s a moot point. She won’t recognize him because he wasn’t there!”

  “Okay, Anna. He wasn’t there.”

  Matilda wandered in from the hallway. “Matron Clemens said you might need help filing?” She looked uncertainly at the heap of paper on Anna’s messy desk.

  Joe handed Matilda the newspaper article. “Is this the man from Mars?”

  Matilda was silent for a long moment. Her eyes grew shiny. “No.”

  “You see?” said Anna.

  “Have you seen him before?” Joe asked.

  “She doesn’t know him, Detective Singer,” Anna said pointedly.

  Matilda frowned in recollection. “Yes. He was at the café?” Her voice lilted in a question.

  The roses in Anna’s cheeks lost their petals. She walked to the window and stuck her head out, breathing short, quick breaths. She heard Joe say, “Thank you, Matilda. Maybe you can file later. I need Assistant Matron Blanc’s help with something important right now. Do you need me to let you back into the cow ring?”

  Matilda said. “No, I’m fine. I’ll go help Mr. Melvin.”

  The room fell quiet. Joe strode to the door and closed it. He crossed back to Anna’s side and took her in his arms. She was as stiff as a corpse.

  She lowered her head onto his shoulder. “He has epilepsy, you know. You could send him into a fit.”

  “It’s probably not him,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s probably just someone who looks like him. But I have to check. It’s my job to check.”

  “Let’s show his picture to Samara Mowrey at the Jonquil Apartments. She’s the Black Pearl’s lover. You’ll see how wrong you are.”

  Anna and Joe arrived at the Jonquil Café at the dinner hour. There were fewer ladies dining than before, and no men. Mrs. Rosenberg did not make an appearance, though her lawyer had arranged her bail. The maître d’ glared at Joe.

  Samara Mowrey was present, and once more sat at her table alone. She was eating enchiladas. Joe approached flashing his big brass star. Anna, too, flashed her little brass star.

  Samara groaned. “I know by now you’re with the police.”

  Joe sat down in the chair next to Samara and spread out the newspaper with the photo of Georges. “Good morning Miss Mowrey. See this man? A witness claims he’s the Black Pearl, a.k.a. your Mr. King.”

  Samara glanced at the newspaper photo. “No. My lover has golden hair. And this man isn’t even handsome.”

  “I really couldn’t judge. He looks like my father,” said Anna. “And, of course he’s not your lover.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Joe.

  Samara rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m sure.”

  Joe scooted back his chair and stood, unsmiling. “Thank you for your time Miss Mowrey.”

  “Yes, thank you Miss Mowrey.” Anna inclined and nodded her head.

  They debriefed near a palm tree in the corner of the café. Joe whispered, “Of course she’d say ‘no.’ I’d expected her to say ‘no.’ He’s her lover and we’re the police.”

  “That doesn’t make Georges the Black Pearl. Now, can we go back to the station?”

  “Let’s ask the waitstaff.” Joe swaggered over to the burly maître d’. “Do you know this man?”

  The maître d’ glanced at the picture. “Never saw him before in my life.”

  “And wouldn’t tell me if you did?”

  The maître d’ smirked. “Of course, I am always happy to cooperate with the police.”

  Joe chuckled cynically. He approached the waiter. “Do you know this man?”

  “No.”

  “Here, look again. Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You see,” said Anna. “Just let it go.”

  “First thing tomorrow morning, we’re going to talk to Georges.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Joe and Anna strode into the Hotel Alexandria in hostile silence. The elevator boy perched on a stool and welcomed Anna with a smile. “You’re Mr. Devereaux’s pretty sister.”

  “I am.” Anna bent to give him a horehound candy.

  “Mr. Devereaux gives me money.”

  Anna frowned and turned her back on the child. She nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you going to say?”

  “I’m just going to look him in the eye and ask him, straight up. Man to man. Agreed?”

  “No. Not agreed. But you’re going to do it anyway.”

  Joe’s mouth flattened.

  Georges’s strapping manservant, Thomas, answered t
he door. Anna was glad he was so tall and muscular, so that his coat strained a little across his broad shoulders. He could carry Georges when Georges had fits.

  “Good morning Miss Blanc. Please come in. Mr. Devereaux has just finished his bath. Can I get you coffee? Perhaps a slice of cold pork pie?”

  “Yes,” said Anna, who accepted good, free refreshment at every opportunity. “But he won’t have any.” She motioned to Joe.

  When Thomas left, Joe shook his head. “What was that about? I wanted pork pie.”

  “You can’t accept hospitality from a suspect.”

  “You’re accepting hospitality from a suspect.”

  “I don’t suspect him.”

  “Did you dine with Georges last week?”

  “I told you I would. I had hoped that you would join us.”

  “I thought you deserved time alone together.”

  “My father was there.”

  “Oh.” Joe fell silent a beat. “So, you two are . . . talking?”

  “Not really. I disowned him. Georges had an epileptic fit, right in front of me. I thought I told you. I nursed Georges all night.”

  “No, you didn’t tell me. So, you’re worried that I’ll upset him when he’s ill.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anna, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

  “Give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Thomas returned with coffee for two and pork pie for one. He winced. “Do you take sugar?”

  “We both take two lumps,” said Joe.

  Thomas’s brow wrinkled. “Mr. Devereaux doesn’t use sugar. We’ll see what I can find.” The man slunk off to the kitchen.

  Anna ate her pork pie slowly, making a show of savoring it. “It really is exceptionally tasty. The cool jelly just melts on my tongue.”

  Joe glared. Thomas returned with a china sugar bowl and tongs. “I regret we are reduced to two sugar cubes. I will call down to the desk, but by the time we get the sugar, the coffee will be cold. If I keep it on the stove, it will be bitter.”

  Anna frowned. “Oh.”

  “I will call down now and make a second pot.” Thomas put one cube on each saucer. “So sorry. Next time, I’ll be prepared.”

  “Never mind, Thomas. We won’t be staying long.” Anna dropped her sugar into her cup and stirred.

  “Your boot’s untied,” Joe said.

  Anna looked down, and indeed, her lace peeked out from beneath her skirt. She bent down and tied it, then straightened up and sipped at her coffee. It tasted just as sweet as when she used two cubes. She looked suspiciously at Joe.

  “What?” he said.

  Anna lifted his cup. Joe reached for it. “Hey, that’s mine.”

  She twisted away and took a sip. It wasn’t sweet at all. But he was. It confused Anna.

  She noticed Georges smiling from the hallway, his hair still damp, but neatly slicked back, his freshly shaved cheeks smooth and tan. “Good morning Joe. Hello, Nurse Anna.”

  Anna stood. “How are you. Do you feel quite yourself? You have taken your bromides, haven’t you?”

  Georges rolled his eyes. “Yes, Anna, I’ve taken my bromides.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “You asked me already, and I feel fine. I had a talk with father. That is to say, we had a falling out.”

  “Over what?”

  “Over you. Now, I’m disowned too. So, we can be disowned together.”

  “But you have all his money.”

  He grinned. “Isn’t it grand? He’ll no doubt realize that and come to his senses. He’s used to being in control. This is all new to him—relying on me.”

  “Oh no! I don’t want to come between you, even if he is an ass.”

  “And he is an ass.” Georges looked at Joe. “Sorry, my friend. It’s just, I strongly object to his treatment of Anna.”

  “Me, too. But we didn’t come here to talk family business. I’m afraid we’ve come here on police business.”

  Georges looked at Anna with pride in his eyes. “Go on then, sister. How can I help the LAPD today?”

  “I can’t say it, Georges. Because I don’t believe we should be saying it. I’m against it one hundred percent.”

  Georges looked perplexed. “Are you . . . what? Accusing me of a crime?” He chuckled.

  Joe looked as serious as a cop can look when he is fresh-faced and under twenty-five. “A young lady came to the police station this morning to give us information about a suspected white slavery ring being run from the Jonquil Café and Apartments. She identified you from a photograph. Said you went by the pseudonyms ‘Mr. King’ or ‘The Black Pearl.’ Another witness said Mr. King recruits men as clients. Some of the girls are underage.”

  “This lady’s an actress and writes for the movies. I think she’s made it all up, like a movie scenario,” said Anna.

  Georges wandered to the liquor cart and poured himself a drink. “Would anyone else like a drink?”

  “It’s 11:00 a.m.,” said Joe.

  “Yes.” Anna took the drink Georges poured.

  He dropped down on a settee and drank his brandy in one long swallow. He took out a cigar and tried to chop the end off with an ornate, silver cigar cutter but the blade was dull, and the cigar simply smashed beneath its weight. He lit the thing anyway, looking distracted. It sent up a disorganized stream of smoke.

  Anna came and sat beside him. “Georges, can you ever forgive me? I don’t believe it for a moment. I told him not to come.”

  “Well, I’m glad you don’t believe it, Anna, because it’s not true.”

  “Of course it’s not true. You see, Joe. I told you. We can go now.”

  “Wait, Anna. It’s not that simple,” said Georges.

  “It’s not?” Joe and Anna asked in unison.

  Georges sighed. “I’m being blackmailed.”

  “Let me get this straight,” said Joe. “You’ve never been to the Jonquil—”

  “Yes, I’ve been to the Jonquil. To the café. I had a series of business meetings there—I recall three. Some fellows wanted a loan.”

  “It’s a public restaurant, Joe,” said Anna.

  “But not a very good one. I didn’t return,” said Georges.

  “So, you aren’t prostituting teenaged girls?” asked Joe.

  “Of course he isn’t!” said Anna.

  “My God,” said Georges. “I didn’t see that on the menu.”

  “Isn’t that what your blackmailer says you do?” asked Joe.

  “My blackmailer? He was rather vague. He threatened to ‘disclose my immoral behavior’ to my wife and society. I didn’t pay, because I am innocent. Not to mention that I have no wife and society doesn’t accept me because I’m a bastard. Now you say they’ve gone to the police. But I assure you, there’s no evidence against me.”

  “Do you know who your blackmailer is?” asked Anna.

  “No. But I’m assuming that girl is an accomplice.”

  “How did he contact you? By letter?” said Joe. “Because I’d like to see it.”

  Georges slapped his forehead. “I burned it. I was irritated.”

  Joe nodded. “Would you come down to the station?” His face looked unnaturally bland.

  Anna couldn’t read it.

  “What for? To file a report on my blackmailer?”

  “We’ll bring Miss Sutton back in. I thought you could face your accuser and meet Matilda, just to put it to rest,” said Joe.

  Georges blinked, looking stunned. “I think I’ll decline.”

  “Listen Georges, I know you’re rich, so you’re probably used to getting your way. But you may not decline this time. That’s not on the table. One way or another, you’re coming down to the station.”

  Georges ignored Joe and wandered to the drink trolley. He poured himself another brandy. “Anna, will you have another?”

  Joe’s face turned red. He pulled out his handcuffs and charged over to Georges, his face too near Georges face. He bristled with h
ostility. “Put your drink down. I don’t know what you’ve been up to, whether you’re a pimp or not—”

  Anna gasped.

  Joe ignored her and continued. “But I’m gonna find out. You won’t escape justice because you’re loaded or because you’re my fiancées brother. I’m taking you in whether you like it or not. So, are you coming, or am I going to have to cuff you like a pimp?”

  Joe and Georges glared hard at each other, and Anna thought one of them might swing.

  She thought she might swing. She narrowed her eyes at Joe and pointed to the door. “Get out.”

  “This isn’t even your apartment,” said Joe, his voice still rough with anger, never taking his eyes off Georges.

  “Oh, but it is. I’m moving in. It’s the family apartment. And you have deeply insulted my brother. Your evidence is flimsy flamsy at best.”

  “Anna you can’t sway this investigation!”

  Georges exhaled and stepped back from Joe. He spoke with a hopeful lilt. “Anna, you’re moving in?”

  “Yes, Georges. As soon as possible. Will my room be ready?”

  “Of course. I’ll arrange to have your things moved.” He reached into his pocket and produced a pretty brass key decorated with ornate fishes. “Here. Take my key. I’ll get another.”

  Anna took it. She saw Joe’s face fall. He knew what this meant. No climbing through Anna’s window. His jaw tightened. “Georges, are you coming willingly or are you going to wear the bracelets?”

  Georges’s gray eyes turned rock hard. “Of course. In fact, I am eager to go. Right now is a good time.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Anna waited with Georges in a cold interrogation room while Joe sent someone to the address Allie Sutton had given them to ask her to return to the station. The walls were bare, the chairs hard. Anna couldn’t sit still. She paced the room.

  “Sit down, Anna. It will be fine. I’m flummoxed, but I have nothing to hide.” He leaned back in his chair and yawned. He wore a killer blue suit and dotted tie.

  “Of course you don’t. Joe is being ridiculous.”

  “I don’t know, Anna. I kind of like him. He gave you his sugar cube. And not for ulterior motives. I watched him sneak it into your cup when you tied your shoe.”

  Anna’s brows drew together. “I know.”