by Helen Jacey
There were shouts of ‘All right!’ ‘Let’s do it for Dolly!’
I figured now was a good time to walk in. I pushed open the door. Six surprised faces and a collective shimmer of violet silk spun around.
A Mediterranean-looking woman with heavy eyes looked familiar. Where had I seen her before? A waitress at Luigi’s? I couldn’t place her. Was this Zetty?
Wanda wasn’t smiling at me. ‘Lost? This room is for band members only.’
‘I’m looking for Alberta… Oh, there you are!’
Alberta smiled. ‘This Elvira, she’s a pal.’ Her hand waved around. ‘Wanda, Zetty, Jewel, Carmen, and Bertha.’
‘No offense, I might not remember your names. Those cocktails sure are potent.’
‘I saw you dancing out there.’ Alberta laughed.
‘You ladies play real good.’ I addressed that to Wanda.
Wanda looked me up and down coolly. She said to the others, ‘Joyce’s cake time, ladies.’ As she led the way out of the door, she said to me, ‘No offense, whatever your name is.’
I waited until Alberta was last to pass me. She spoke with a low voice. ‘You get any of that?’
I nodded. ‘Most of it.’
She said, ‘Poor Dolly.’
On stage, Wanda stretched out her arms and made an elaborate bow to the audience. She spoke into the microphone. ‘We all know it’s a special night for a special lady. So I wanna hear some noise.’
Everyone clapped and roared. Most of the partygoers were now at the tables with the low lamps, as waitresses cleared their plates. The dance floor was empty. I grabbed a plate and stacked it with cheese pie and grapes. I sat at the bar and picked at the food.
‘One, two, three, let’s go!’
The band started to play as two women dressed in green pixie outfits pushed out an enormous tiered cake towards Joyce’s booth.
The whole club burst into song.
Joyce feigned delighted surprise. I bet she’d been in on the whole thing.
I looked around. It felt good, being here.
Further down the bar, my dancing partner Cheryl was ensconced in her lover’s arms. They looked happy.
I suddenly missed someone I could hold. Someone who would give me cake and sing on my birthday.
Snap out of it!
I had work to do and I had to stay sharp. I finished my drink and slipped out.
18
Sonia had huge dark rings under her eyes. She was furious about the cops’ handling of the miscarriage. ‘You know where to find the old soak again, if need be?’ I told her Annie was well known by the cops and it shouldn’t take much to locate her.
Sonia grunted and perused the menu. I did the same, deciding not to ask how her dying parents were.
Hal’s Diner was packed out, each turquoise vinyl booth filled with noisy, hungry brunchers. I bet most, like me, were relieved Christmas was over.
Sonia had chosen a booth near the window, in the corner, so we couldn’t be overheard. She was already here when I arrived, a different fur coat to the previous chinchilla hanging on a clothes tree near the booth. It was a pale cream sable fur.
Sonia had quite a death count in her wardrobe.
Today, she wore a vibrant blue crepe dress, the cuffs and belt edged in a darker blue silk. A trio of little dark blue velvet buttons at each wrist matched the blue silk and velvet flowers across the bodice. In daylight, her hair was a steel gray, not black, which set off her coral lipstick very nicely. Her jewelry consisted of large cut stone blue earrings set in gold, and a matching bracelet. A huge sapphire ring weighed down her finger.
The whole look was effortlessly stylish and expensive and totally out of place in the humble diner.
I had thrown on black pants, a simple crepe blouse, June’s gray jacket, and a beret, thinking a diner shouldn’t warrant too much effort. While I felt underdressed next to her, I had a sneaky suspicion Sonia would approve of my simple work attire.
She wouldn’t want to be outclassed in the style department.
She looked up as a middle-aged waitress strolled up, holding her pen and notepad.
‘Life treating you good, Paula?’ It was strange to see Sonia actually smile brightly, for once.
The waitress gave a wry smile. ‘Every day’s a good day Miss Parker, so I ain’t complainin’. What can I get you?’
‘I’ll take the special. Eggs over easy. Bacon on the crispy side, the way I like it. Three pancakes. Drizzle of maple syrup. Oh, a large pot of coffee.’
Paula the waitress jotted this down, turning to me. She had a tattoo of a flower coiling up her arm with a few hearts and black cats thrown in for good measure.
I felt a pang, instantly remembering Kettle, my cat back in London. He had died while I was in the slammer. One day, I’d get another kitty. But not now. I still missed Kettle too bad.
‘Same as her, but eggs sunny-side up, no bacon. And no bacon fat to fry the eggs.’
Sonia and Paula both stared at me. Sonia said, ‘Didn’t have you down as a health freak.’
‘I’m not. I just don’t like meat. At all.’
Paula jotted something down. ‘Can ask but no promises. Sunny-side up, no bacon. Eggs cooked separate.’ She walked off towards the kitchen.
I nodded after Paula. ‘Former client?’
‘A pro bono case. Told her to thank me in waffles.’
She lowered her voice. ‘Hal’s staff have all done time. He’s a rare individual who thinks time served is the punishment, not the rest of their lives.’
I glanced at Hal, a stooping and balding man in an apron, chatting to a customer who sat at the counter. This one was bony, in a shabby pinstriped suit, and dented hat. He was shoveling up the food on his plate and talking at the same time. I bet he’d just been released.
‘Society doesn’t think like that, though, does it?’ Sonia flicked ash into a large ceramic ashtray.
I shook my head. This conversation hit a nerve. The world, as I well knew, treated criminality like a birthmark. Something you were born with, something that defined you, and something that would never go away. Something people would always judge you by.
A few, like Hal, believed redemption was possible. That a person could do good.
I’d met another person who thought the same when I was inside. The prison governor, Lucinda Seldon. My first ever contact with someone from the establishment who saw me as a person, beyond the criminal. Back then, I’d thought she was a sucker.
Now I admired her.
And the Hals, the Sonia Parkers and the Lucinda Seldons also knew that the rich could get away with murder because they had the money and the contacts to pay for the best defense.
I thought of Lauder, marrying into this golden world. He told me once that I’d proved to him an ex-con could do good. I knew he hadn’t initially wanted to help me, but somewhere deep down, he knew I wasn’t rotten to the core.
Sonia was studying me, curiously. ‘Still here?’
I roused myself. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking I recognized Hal from somewhere. Got one of those faces.’
‘Fill me in, everything since I dropped you at Hunter’s.’ Sonia leaned back, arms folded, her pen poised.
I did my best, reliving my moments second by second. Sonia didn’t flinch when I told her about wiping the blade or describing his body. When I recounted seeing Lier scrawled on the wall, she finally made a movement, pursing her lips and writing something down. ‘In lipstick. You’re sure?’
I opened my purse and passed the lipstick over. ‘Wedged in the back staircase. Rather too carefully, so no way could it be kicked away.’ I explained how I’d dabbed some of the writing off the wall with my hankie, which I then produced from my purse. Sonia undid the lipstick and pushed it up. She held it against the stain.
No doubt. In this light, too, it was identical.
She slid to the lipstick back to me. ‘Keep it safe. I’ll ask Dolly what brand she wears.’
‘If she uses this one, surely it pr
oves it’s a setup, right? Anyone close to Dolly could’ve lifted it.’ I put the lipstick back in my purse.
But who? Other than The Charmettes, who else was in Dolly’s life?
‘The prosecutor will have no problem pinning the writing on her. Lipstick plus rage plus bad spelling.’
‘Will they do a handwriting test? Get an expert to compare?’
Sonia met my eyes. ‘You do your job, I’ll do mine.’
I went on to explain that I hadn’t managed to find out much more about Dolly, other than Alberta felt sorry for her, that her adoptive parents were dead, that Alberta had assured me Dolly was on good terms with the rest of the musicians, even if she annoyed them with empty promises.
I explained about Wanda’s opportunistic move on Zetty’s businesswoman boss for a gig that Dolly wanted to sing at. ‘So should I look into her?’
‘Wanda or the businesswoman?’
‘Er…either.’
‘The only point in that is if I think there is a chance this Wanda framed Dolly to get her out of the way just for a well-paid gig. A highly implausible scenario, unless Wanda’s a psychopath. Did she appear particularly insane to you?’
I didn’t appreciate the hint of sarcasm. I conceded she didn’t; that Wanda looked and sounded like a woman who wanted to give fame and fortune her best shot.
‘Nothing wrong with ambition.’ Sonia declared. ‘Let’s get back to everything else you’ve seen and done. Then we’ll plan your next steps.’
This was investigating by numbers. Sonia’s numbers.
I leaned forward. ‘I found a blood-stained handkerchief with a monogram. R.A.H. And I took it.’
‘Where is it?’ I explained it was safely hidden.
‘All right. Keep it that way.’
Again, no real indication if I’d done a good thing or not. Did she lavish her male investigators with praise?
Toughen up, will you!
Ignoring my need for approval, I told her about Hunter’s people being outside. ‘The girl sounded nervous. The chauffeur, he’s called Brad, is a full-fledged jerk.’
I explained how Linda Hunter had phoned the secretary that night to find out about Hunter’s whereabouts. How Brad seemed to dislike Linda Hunter and hinted she was also having an affair.
Sonia took this in her stride. ‘Hunter’s wife’s acting name was Linda Reeves. She only made two movies before the studio let her go. But she comes from money. Texan family. Tobacco, as I recall. There’s at least a thirty-year age difference between her and Hunter. She can only be in her late thirties. He’s by far the wealthier.’
‘Kids?’
‘Yes, a boy. I told you this already.’ She sounded irritable at my forgetting.
I nodded. ‘Maybe Hunter stepped out one too many times and Linda finally flipped. She could have paid somebody to get close to Dolly for the lipstick, watch her movements and do the hit.’
Sonia gave me a ‘Don’t go there’ look.
I spluttered. ‘I know it’s not my call, but shortlisting suspects can’t start too soon, can it? I just want to help.’
Sonia relented. ‘Sure, jealousy can make a person go crazy. So Dolly says Linda makes Hunter unhappy, where does that lead us? If she’s that fed up, divorce would be on the cards. Linda Hunter could simply hire a good private detective rather than resort to cold-blooded murder. A few snapshots of Ronald Hunter in flagrante, she would walk out of a bad marriage richer than she walked in. A vengeful murder? Highly unlikely.’
I laughed inwardly. I knew exactly the right investigator for Linda Hunter if she wanted to expose Ronald.
Beatty Falaise.
‘What if she’s got a lover and Hunter found out? Then she might get nothing.’
‘We have no evidence of that.’
‘Yet. I could look into her. You said the case had a personal feel.’
Sonia listened but I could tell she didn’t buy it. ‘I just don’t like her for it. Gut feeling. I don’t know her, but she looks like the sort who would turn a blind eye to her husband’s affairs, particularly if it means she doesn’t have to service him.’
As Sonia continued to dismiss my theory, I switched off, examining my red nails. Starting to flake already. I envied Sonia’s perfect coral manicure. On my way back, I could try to grab a manicure if any place was open. Would I get the same red polish? I liked it. It reminded me of a car I’d once seen, a beauty owned by a certain successful screenwriter.
Paula returned with our substantial specials and coffee. As she put my plate down, she said, ‘Eggs for the health nut.’ But she was winking, so I smiled.
Between mouthfuls, Sonia asked me about Hunter’s mansion. I was reluctant to tell her about seeing Lauder. Even less so my napping on the job.
But I’d already told him about Sonia. Surely I owed her more than him, as far as this case was concerned? It couldn’t hurt, if I was careful how much I told her. ‘I saw a cop leave the house. I think he works for LAPD vice squad. I don’t know him, but…’
‘A vice cop?’ Her eyes lit up. ‘How do you know?’
‘Er…I think I saw his picture in a paper. He busted some blackmail case a few months back, maybe?’
‘Odd. Maybe his buddies in homicide were thinly stretched and he was doing them a favor by breaking the news to her.’ She prodded a hash brown. ‘Alternatively, this could really be something. You don’t recall his name?’
I shook my head. ‘Let me ask around. I’ll see if I can root him out.’
‘Good. I’m sure your own cop contacts can help us here. You do have some, surely?’
Dammit! She thinks you’ve got your own insiders!
I swallowed, nodding convincingly, focusing on carving off a corner of waffle.
Sonia said, ‘Well, I have news, too. Dolly was taken from jail ward back to the precinct this morning. I’ve been summoned for later this afternoon’s questioning. When we’re alone I can ask her about the lipstick then. She’s been discharged to be charged, I expect.’
‘Oh, no.’ She’d saved this key development till last, I noticed.
‘Actually, I find the charge is a defining moment. It sharpens the focus.’
Sonia issued instructions for my next steps. I was to go to Dolly’s digs, a boarding house in Compton. The landlady was a Mrs. Olsen. I was to talk to anyone there and try to work out who had access to Dolly’s room.
‘What about Hunter’s firm? Should I snoop around that side of his life?’
Sonia shrugged. ‘Not yet. Ronald is the eldest and the controlling shareholder, but apparently, he’s let Rufus run the show. Best buddies, by all accounts.’
‘What about Hunter’s political ambitions? A rival bumping him off?’
‘The election’s several years away. And a mistress as unlikely as Dolly would be an easier way for any opposition to discredit him. They’d just leak it to the press. This is America. We still like our political leaders scandal-free.’
I felt frustrated, every path blocked. If Sonia had a suspect or a strategy, she would never share it with me. That much was clear. And theorizing would soon become tedious anyway, always getting a negative in answer.
But I knew that to defend Dolly, she would have to prove it was a frame-up and, ideally, find a suspect with motive and provide some evidence. That meant letting something slip to me at some point soon. If she didn’t buy the wife, the brother, or political rivals, who the hell did she buy?
Finally, she said something that did surprise me. ‘I just wish I had a way to get you into the funeral.’
Wait a minute!
My nails. Bright red.
I felt a flush of excitement from actually being able to act on my initiative. ‘You said Linda Hunter used to be an actress?’
Sonia nodded. ‘Why?’
‘Hunter’s funeral. I might know someone who can get me in.’
19
Martell Grainger was writing her pièce de résistance, the life story of Tatiana Spark. It would be her first biographical sc
reenplay, a break from her long and well-remunerated tradition of schmaltz.
And only she could write it because she had insinuated herself as Tatiana’s friend before the latter’s sad demise. Tatiana had apparently shared the most intimate details of her life with Martell. The main theme was maternal guilt, naturally. Tatiana, in her later years, was riddled with remorse for putting fame and fortune ahead of her illegitimate child, Sophia, and then leaving her back in Europe in the care of a childless couple who may or may not have survived the various invasions, first by the Nazis, then the liberating Russians.
As the young Tatiana’s star rose, so would her anguish that her daughter didn’t know her and might be enduring a terrible life.
Martell had the complete support of her wealthy producer, Lyle Vadnay, and together they obtained the blessing of the trustees to make the movie, on condition Sophia Spark was located and approved the ending.
After all, the movie would inevitably reveal some of the harsh realities of Sophia’s life, and the yearning for a reunion. Martell, in previous conversations, had indicated that should Sophia prove to be dead, this would actually help her get script approval from the censors. It would be the ultimate cautionary tale for any female member of the audience who dreamt of putting her selfish need for work first. She would watch a woman die, never finding her daughter, who would grow up only to tragically die young, never knowing her mother.