by Helen Jacey
‘Of course. I wouldn’t be asking otherwise, would I?’
I got it. It was a means-justify-the-ends situation to her.
I got up, pacing the room. ‘If I’m caught, at best I’m tampering with evidence. Second best, breaking and entering. Then what? Then I’m accessory to the fact of murder, after the fact, or whatever the frickin’ fact. I’ll be replacing Dolly in top billing for prime suspect.’
Sonia looked down, picking at invisible fluff on her grand gown. ‘If you’re changing your mind, say so. Now. If Dolly’s found guilty, they’ll let her keep the baby a few hours after birth. Then she’ll be executed. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sit well with me.’
Below the belt. I swallowed hard.
It certainly did not sit well.
In my own stretch in His Majesty’s Prison Holloway, there had been enough convict mother and baby separations. The women went nuts. The babies howled, endlessly. Dolly in that situation? She’d be destroyed.
And Dolly’s baby deserved to start out in life with its doting mother. Dolly was sentimental as hell, and I had a sneaking suspicion babies went for that kind of thing.
Another orphan was not what the world needed. Another helpless brat, learning the hard way that nobody gave a damn.
A triple whammy of sick feelings slugged it out in my stomach: responsibility for Dolly’s life, concern for her kid’s welfare, and fear for my own and Lauder’s lives.
The exact same reason I hated Christmas would be why I would act the sucker now.
A baby changes everything.
The baby was Sonia’s trump card but she couldn’t know she’d played it.
‘Fine. I’ll do it!’ I snapped. But I didn’t have to be happy about it.
One hundred bucks a night would help.
‘Good. If this works out the way I want, we could use you again.’ She gave me a meaningful look.
‘What if the cops are already at the scene? Or somebody’s discovered Hunter already? What should I do?’
‘Do nothing. Leave. I’ll be in touch. And remember to take a good look around while you’re inside. Look out for that gift.’
I nodded. ‘You know Hunter’s address? I mean the family residence?’
‘Why?’
I explained that there would be no harm in scouting for any activity at the Hunter residence, whether I could get into the love nest or not.
Sonia thought about this. ‘All right. I’ll give it to you. But be discreet and don’t improvise. I’ll call you in the morning, then I’ll decide on the next steps.’
7
The dark streets were illuminated with Christmas lights. If I got caught, these could be the last I ever saw.
The engine purred. No grunts or groans tonight. Good. Mabel, my car, was in fine fettle. An old late ‘30s maroon model, she wasn’t really mine, just loaned from my mentor. Sitting inside Mabel was like having a big protective hug from Beatty.
I could do with one of those right now.
Sonia’s final and hurried instructions rang in my ears. If nobody had showed up yet at Hunter’s, I must act fast. I had an hour, tops: the thirty minutes’ drive from Downtown to Brentwood, where Hunter’s love nest was; ten minutes for me to do what I had to; twenty minutes for any hitches. She didn’t specify what these could be.
When exactly sixty minutes was up, she’d take Dolly to the police station. Dolly would report her grisly discovery and say shock had paralyzed her and being in the family way, she’d taken weak, and had to rest on a bench. Then she had come to her senses and called Sonia. How Dolly and Sonia knew each other was attorney client privilege.
Sonia didn’t want Alberta anywhere near the cops, not even to provide an alibi for the duration of three hours, or to say that she had picked Dolly up. ‘Next thing you know, they’ll be pinning it on her.’
She had shot me a meaningful look. Alberta, being black, could become an easy target.
Dolly had to wipe what really happened from her mind. No Alberta, no office, no me, no watch. Demanding so much from her seemed high-risk to me.
‘Do you think she’ll remember all this?’ I asked. ‘She’s pretty cut up.’
And not all that smart, I thought.
‘She’s smarter than she looks,’ Sonia had said, mindreading. Her parting shot had been odd. ‘Ronald Hunter was obese. He must have crushed Dolly in the sack.’
With that, she handed me the wristwatch. It was even heavier than I thought. Numbers sparkling with gems—diamonds, maybe—but I didn’t have time to admire it. I just stuffed it in my top left pocket.
Now it periodically thudded against my heart, with every turn of the wheel. A dead weight.
I drove on. Luckily, no traffic. I hoped Christmas Eve meant fewer patrol cars on the street.
Only twenty minutes for hitches.
Unexpected traffic. A tire blowing. The fuel gauge out of order.
I was riddled with anxiety, my palms sweating inside my gloves. I tried to calm myself. I had to do this. If I impressed a rich lawyer like Sonia Parker, ’46 could be boom time at Elvira Slate Investigations.
But dread persisted like a starving rat, chewing on my innards, turning them to mush.
I looked out and slowed down. I was here. I cruised past the grand apartment block.
All was still, as it should be on Christmas Eve.
Go in and get the hell out.
8
Lush planting edged both sides of the wide tiled path: a mixed bag of cacti, succulents and neat little palms. Well-tended banana trees and yuccas had been jazzed up with Christmas lights, and produced a dramatic jungle effect, like a movie set for a tropical musical. The main door to the lobby was topped with ornate, carved stonework.
The light in the lobby was still on, and beyond it, the obligatory twinkling lights of a big Christmas tree in the lobby. The concierge, the Romanian, might have his feet up on the desk taking a snooze, or so I hoped.
I cut across the planting to get to the rear of the building. Something scratched my leg. Great. A run in my stocking and blood on my leg wouldn’t help if I were apprehended.
I dived into the shadows, heading for the small path that led to the rear yard, staying close to the back of the building. My plan was to get in exactly the way Dolly had fled, the fire escape.
I reached the back of the hotel. The fire escape zigzagged up the pale building, like black stitching on white cloth.
On each floor, the metal structure widened into a platform with a door into the building, Further along every platform, there was a second window belonging to an apartment.
My flat gumshoes, that I kept in the trunk, kept my ascent quick and silent. I reached the fourth floor fast.
Something caught my eye. Something wedged in the bars of the metal platform.
A lipstick?
I bent down, prized out the shiny gold tube, and slipped it into my pocket. Lipstick. Mayberry, an expensive brand.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
It was dead quiet inside the fourth-floor lobby. Cone-shaped pink frosted wall lights protruding out of brass holders gave a soft peachy glow. There were four doors leading off the main area, all a decent distance apart, each one numbered. I froze, to listen better.
Nothing, except for the indiscreet thud of my heart.
I dashed to number 401. The door was closed as Dolly had said. I tried the handle. Unlocked.
I pushed open the door, reaching for my flashlight, then closed it behind me.
It was gloomy inside, but the lights had to stay off.
Windows have eyes.
Using the flashlight, I tiptoed along the hall, peering into each room, every muscle tense. The whole place reeked of expensive functionality. The bathroom was spacious. White marble tiles, a towel crumpled on the floor.
Thankfully, no overpowering smell of death.
I stood outside what could be the bedroom. I took a deep breath, and stepped inside. The drapes were shut. I p
ointed the flashlight at the bed, bracing myself for horrors.
And there he was.
His vast torso illuminated in the moonlight like a harpooned white whale. I approached the bed.
The wound around the knife had dried, leaving bloodstains, dark ribbons like the laces of a corset, trailing over his expanse of chest. The blood gave off a stale odor similar to a butcher shop.
I heaved, but somehow held it back.
A white sheet only partially draped his lower half. For a large man, his penis was shriveled and tiny, lolling across his dark and shiny scrotum.
I moved closer to the bed.
Hunter’s eyes were open. His lashes were thick, pale and blunt, his eyelids papery. In her panic, Dolly didn’t close his eyes. There was something innocent about them. The mouth was open, the dark tongue sagging back into his head. It sure looked like somebody knew where to strike and how.
Dolly had spindles for arms. There was no way she could thrust a knife in with such force. This was a guy’s doing, or a very strong woman.
I studied Hunter’s face again.
Who killed him? Who hated him that much? Did he somehow deserve this?
Stop dreaming. Put the watch back on and scram!
I quickly slipped the watch on his wrist. Hunter’s body was in full rigor mortis, horribly convenient for the task in hand. While my gloves prevented me touching his skin, they slowed me down. I didn’t look at him again as I fumbled with the clasp. Then I wiped down the handle of the knife with the sheet.
As I got up, I noticed something on the floor. A handkerchief? It was white, good quality silk, with a dark and elegant embroidered monogram with the letters R.A.H. Bloody fingerprints covered it like polka dots. Dolly’s?
I picked it up and snuck it into my purse. Found in my possession, I’d be done for. Leaving it there was out of the question.
My flashlight danced around the walls. I couldn’t see anything remotely gift-like.
But I saw something else.
The word LIER, scrawled in large, messy writing on the walls, in what looked like thick crayon. Somebody couldn’t spell.
Dolly hadn’t mentioned this at all. Had she even seen it?
Lier. Somebody jilted or cheated on? A crime passionel?
I went closer, shining light on the letters. Lipstick? I had my own hankie in my purse, so I blotted it on the letter L. Later I could check if it matched the lipstick I’d found.
Now I was in possession of two handkerchiefs, both laden with incriminating evidence.
BUZZ!
The intercom! My heart flipped over. Someone could be on the way up right now!
Time to bolt.
I slipped out the way I’d entered.
At the bottom of the escape, I snuck along the rear of the building to the side path. Voices came from the front of the hotel, stopping me in my tracks.
A woman whined, ‘Where is he?’
A young man answered, ‘Snoozin’, probably. Let’s get outta here. Mr. Hunter won’t like it anyway, us burstin’ in on him.’
‘No, no. I have to try!’
‘Sugar, you don’t. She ain’t worried for real.’
‘But she said he told her he’d be home at eight.’
‘She’s playin’ you! She wants you to keep tabs on him.’
‘She sounded real upset. Even called me at home. I was eating with my folks. That’s why I called you, when he didn’t answer.’
The young man said, ‘Upset, huh? Well, sounds like she put on a fine performance. Because from what I hear, she’s got her own thing going on the side. Sugar, she used to be an actress, for Pete’s sake. Look, I’ll buzz again. No answer, we shoot back to my place!’
‘But she gave me a message, I should tell him.’
‘Maybe he’s got business to finish off before the holiday. He said he’d call me when he’s ready to leave. Come back to my place and wait. I’ll keep you nice and warm.’
There was a moment while she thought about it. ‘I guess you’re right. But no funny business, Brad. I mean it.’ She sounded tense.
I peered around the edge of the wall. A couple hovered outside the building’s entrance.
She was short and curvy with curly hair under a bonnet-style hat. The guy, Brad, was wearing a uniform with a cap. Hunter’s driver? He wasn’t much taller than the girl but he was muscular. His arm was creeping around her shoulders, and he was whispering in her ear.
She looked cornered.
‘Hey, what’s that?’ The girl said suddenly, taking the opportunity to wriggle away from him.
I dived back, pressing myself back against the wall. Had she heard me?
‘That smell!’
I looked down. She was heading for a clump of flowers at the corner of the building. If she came too close, she’d see me. She’d used the plant to get away from him.
After a while she said, ‘What if he’s had an accident? He gets dizzy spells, you know.’
‘How many times! Leave him be. I’m getting a dizzy spell just lookin’ at you.’
‘Oh, Brad, quit it!’ She was irritated again. I didn’t blame her. Brad was a persistent jerk.
‘C’mon. Let’s go.’
Suddenly she cried out, relief filling her voice. ‘Look, there he is! Let’s ask him if we can check on the boss.’
She ran away. I heard a rap on glass and the swing of a heavy door. Voices. And then silence. The door swung shut.
The doorman had let them in.
Time to go.
I waited ten seconds. Then I sprinted through the front garden and jumped over the wall. I reached Mabel and jumped in, panting.
I opened my purse and pushed both hankies through a hole in the lining I’d never had repaired. I tried my best to spread them out so they wouldn’t make a bulge.
Now take off!
Mabel chose that moment to wheeze and cough. ‘Great timing!’ I cursed and tried again. She spluttered to a start. I patted the walnut wheel. ‘Baby, you’re kinda long in the tooth to be a getaway car, but don’t let me down.’
Intrigued, I couldn’t resist a peek through the rear-view mirror.
Nothing.
But in minutes, Hunter’s staff would be knocking on the door to his apartment. When Hunter didn’t answer, all hell would let loose.
Relief washed over me. I’d done it! I had information for Sonia. Hunter’s modus operandi for his infidelity. That his wife might be suspicious. That the oversexed driver wouldn’t put it past Linda Hunter to have an affair. And finally, the secretary was young, anxious. Keen to please.
Dolly would now be giving her story to the on-duty officer at some precinct.
Showtime.
9
It was only when I stopped at the first red light, I realized my whole body was shaking and my limbs were like jelly. Now I regretted saying to Sonia that I’d scout the Hunter residence, which was in Bel Air, an area I hardly knew. I just wanted to go home and curl up in bed after downing every drop of liquor I could get my hands on.
Was there somewhere nearby still open? I could knock one drink back and then lurk outside Hunter’s for a while. But I wasn’t dressed for any swanky nightclubs around this side of town. And I didn’t have time on my side.
I spotted a liquor store and pulled up. I wasn’t beyond swigging from a bottle in a brown bag, in the dark of the night.
Not classy, but needs must.
A young crowd were filling the place, noisily ordering bourbon and vodka. They’d already had a skinful. Probably movie industry types, the world at their feet, joking with the storekeeper who wore a Santa hat.
You should be like them, young and having fun.
The girls were in party frocks. One shot a pitying look at my working girl clobber. I didn’t blame her. To even the score, I gave a quizzical look at her revolting green eye shadow, which clashed with her rosy skin.
I quietly ordered a bottle of scotch and slipped out.
Back in Mabel, I peeled off the brown pa
per and took a couple of glugs. Droplets trickled down my chin. So much for my resolve to have one swig, but what the hell, I was working, wasn’t I? And I’d survived the unthinkable. The liquor had an immediate effect. My eyelids felt like lead. The after-effects of shock and tension were flooring me. I leant back, closing my eyes for a second.
I jolted upright, my stomach lurching.
How long had I been asleep? I checked my wristwatch. Thirty minutes!
What the hell are you doing!
I was parked beneath some street Christmas decorations. I grabbed the map to locate the Hunter residence. The gleam from the decorations enabled me to just make out the main arteries and the side streets.
Beatty’s magnifying glass came in handy for the second time in one night.
I sped towards Bel Air, gazing in awe at the vast mansions behind the high clipped hedges. Every house was piped with fantastic Christmas lights. Glittery globes of splendor hung from white diamond festoons spanning the landscaped gardens.
Dreamy, idyllic scenes on Christmas cards, now come to life.
It wasn’t hard to find the Hunter residence. A crowd of reporters jostled outside. There were a couple of photographers with cameras and flashes at the ready.
News had traveled fast. The law had somehow alerted the press. And my snooze on the job meant they had beaten me to it.
Cursing myself, I got out, quietly shut the car door, and lurked on the opposite side of the wide street. I stood underneath an ancient yew tree that cast immense dark shadows. A murky specter, I could safely observe proceedings from here.
The chances of anyone coming or going from the house now to face this mob were slim.
The Hunter residence was an imposing pile with castellated towers. Arched gates protected a long gravel drive. The golden tips of the dark gates shone in the dark, and a family crest was molded in gold metal on the gates. The letter H was prominent in the design. The vast stained glass windows were edged with millions of red twinkly Christmas lights, all the more dramatic against the violet night sky.