by P. J. Conn
"A dead girl in the fridge would be a good motive for a fast change of address."
"It would, but the couple who lived there didn't seem like the type. I'm looking into them in the coming week. They could have gone to Sherry's, met Cookie and invited her home for a drink."
"And the wife got jealous and strangled her?" Lou posed.
"Maybe. They left the apartment without telling the landlord and turning in their keys. No one saw them go."
"Could it have been a ménage a trios that went wildly wrong?" Lou asked.
Joe felt like smacking himself in the head because a threesome gone awry hadn't even occurred to him. He played it cool, or attempted to. "It's a possibility, I suppose. I don't want to take up any more of your time. Thanks for talking with me." He stood and Lou walked him to the door.
"My pleasure. Sundays are quiet, and I get bored easily. Call me any time. Did Hal tell you I prefer shooting pool to playing golf?"
"Yes, and we'll have to get together to shoot pool sometime soon." Joe told Jade good-bye on his way out and went to his office to play around with his file of suspects.
* * *
Joe had discounted Vince and Peggy Thornton's involvement in Cookie's death because they'd struck him as such good kids. Maybe they were acting the part while they carried on private lives of an entirely different sort. Peggy might be teaching at a school somewhere in Los Angeles, but Vince had lied to Leon Helms about having a job at Disney.
Vince and Peggy could have met Stuart Helms at the apartment building, seen him at Sherry's and invited him to come home along with Cookie. Somehow Cookie ended up dead, the Thorntons fled, and Stuart could have their keys. Or maybe they'd taken their keys, and Stuart had taken his father's spare off the ring meaning to unlock the door after the Thornton's had had time to leave town.
Rather than Stuart, Corky Coyne could have been the fourth person at the late night party. Maybe Cookie hadn't wanted to leave with him, and he took it badly. The Thorntons would have been scared he'd come after them next, and high-tailed it out of town.
Or maybe Stuart knew the Thorntons had vacated their apartment for whatever reason, taken the key his father carried, and had used the place for a private party with his Kappa Sig brothers and Cookie. However, the boys would have been loud and undoubtedly awakened the other residents of the building. Joe lived right above apartment three, and he hadn't heard any music or laughter.
He wondered about Detective Lynch's investigation of the murder and reached for the telephone to call Henry Hilburn, a retired LAPD detective who still had contacts inside the department. He chatted a moment with him before he mentioned Cookie Crumble.
"I've been following the case," Henry replied. "I never saw her perform, but from what I hear, she was as cute as a bug. Most likely she didn't return an admirer's affections, and he took it badly. How her body ended up in the refrigerator puzzles me."
"Me, too. Does Jacob Lynch know anything?"
Henry laughed. "He claims to have a list of suspects, but I don't know who's on it. Most likely the people who had rented the apartment, the others who live in the building, the building's owner, maybe even the mailman. Throw in the crowd that frequents Sherry's, as well as the other strippers, and he must have a lengthy list. Personally, I'd focus on the couple who rented the apartment where the body was found."
"Makes sense to me too," Joe responded. "Call me if you hear anything new."
"Sure will. It's got all the elements I like to follow: the violent death of a beautiful dame, suspects from the darkest elements of the Los Angeles under-belly, and no clear motive for the crime, other than unrequited love or just plain lust."
Joe thanked him and hung up. Henry hadn't considered a man who simply lived to kill like the Black Dahlia's murderer, and surely that was an outside possibility. Still, someone who frequented Sherry's could have picked up Cookie the way he'd picked up Elizabeth Short. But why would he have stuffed the body in the Thornton's refrigerator?
What he needed was a large bulletin board like the ones the police used to track their cases. Unfortunately, with a small office, and a steady stream of clients coming in and out, he couldn't display one. Maybe he could get a small one and turn it toward the wall behind his desk when a new client came in. He'd stop by the hardware store and buy one first thing Monday morning.
For today, Sunday afternoon would be a good time to call on his neighbors. Maybe one of them didn't sleep as soundly as he did, or was troubled with insomnia and had seen or heard something Detective Lynch hadn't had time to investigate. He'd then have to convince Lynch to follow up on the lead, which would be another sort of challenge.
Chapter 4
Brett Wayne came to the door of apartment one casually dressed with a yellow pencil behind his ear. "Hi Joe, what's up?"
"I hope I'm not interrupting your work," Joe responded. He wasn't convinced Brett actually did any serious writing, but he'd let the man pretend and save face.
"No, I spend much of my time thinking. It can become tiring, so I'm glad to take a break. I'd invite you in, but screenplays are stacked on all the chairs."
"We can talk right here," Joe assured him. "Several days have passed since Cookie Crumble's body was found, and I wonder if you've recalled anything more than a chance meeting with Vince Thornton out by the trashcans. Your front door faces apartment three, did you see or hear anything that struck you as unusual before they disappeared?"
"Not a thing. I've sat out here in the patio and tried to remember the Thorntons, but I really didn't know them, and probably couldn't pick them out of a line-up. I like living here because it's quiet during the day when everyone else has gone to work, and I can concentrate on writing. In the evenings, I usually listen to the radio rather than eavesdrop on my neighbors. Although when the Kembles get started, it's impossible not to overhear."
"True. What time do you usually go to bed?"
"Most nights around ten o'clock, and I'm a light sleeper, so if Cookie had screamed for help, I would have heard her." He leaned close. "You know what I think?"
"Tell me," Joe encouraged.
"I'll bet she was murdered elsewhere, maybe even at Sherry's, and then her body was left at the Thornton's."
"I'm sure the police are considering it. The apartment hadn't been torn up as though there had been a fight."
"I don't go to Sherry's often, mind you, just once in a while; and I've heard there's stiff competition between the strippers. Cookie was very popular. Do you suppose one of the other girls killed her?"
Joe could easily imagine how a fierce argument, or catfight, between a couple of strippers could have ended with one of them dead. Stuart could have helped the survivor hide the body in apartment three. Stuart's name popped up rather often no matter where Joe's conjecture began.
"Women can be more brutal than men," Joe said, "or at least I've been told so. Thanks for talking with me."
"Anytime. I don't like the thought of a murder here and hope you'll soon find who did it." He began to close his door, but stopped and turned back. "Do you suppose Leon will rent out number three soon? I'm hoping for another quiet couple."
"He'll have to wait for the police to okay it, and after a murder, if might be difficult to find renters."
"Oh, you're right. I didn't think of that."
Joe went on to apartment two. Abby Hicks had always been friendly, but she made her living being cheerful to everyone who came through her cashier's line at the market. He rapped lightly on her door, but she didn't answer. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the Kembles' door at apartment four.
Morris answered wearing a long white apron and carrying a wooden spoon. A former chef who now worked as a food critic for a ritzy food magazine with a French name Joe couldn't pronounce, he sometimes reviewed restaurants for the Los Angeles Times. He was a burly man with white hair, quivering jowls, and piercing blue eyes.
"Hello, Joe. I'm right in the middle of making what should be a fabulous dessert, but I h
ave a minute. What do you need?"
"Leon has asked me to look into the unfortunate event in apartment three. Did you ever speak with the Thorntons, or hear a mention of any plans they might have had to move?"
Morris leaned against the doorjamb. "Murder goes way beyond 'unfortunate', Joe, but no, we said hello when they moved in, but I believe they were both gone in the mornings before we left for work."
"It's likely the murder happened last weekend. Did you hear or see anything out of the ordinary?"
"We spent last weekend with friends who live on Balboa Island, so we weren't here. I'm sorry to be of such little help. Do you want to speak with Joy?"
"If I may." Joe waited while Morris returned to the kitchen to call her.
Joy Kemble was as slender as a reed, with frizzy, blonde dandelion hair. He wondered if she ever allowed herself to eat more than a single morsel at mealtimes, while her husband was clearly overly fond of food. Her black-framed glasses enlarged her eyes to complete her startling appearance. She worked as an office manager downtown. She usually dressed in skirt-suits and silk blouses, and Joe was surprised when she came to the door wearing slacks and a sweater.
He rephrased the questions he'd asked Morris. "The Thorntons lived here a few months, but no one seems to have known more about them than their names. Did you ever talk with them, or hear them mention plans to move?"
"I'm afraid not. As a young couple, they wouldn't have been interested in spending time with us even if we'd asked them, which we didn't. I wish we'd seen something, or someone suspicious, and could help solve the crime." She rubbed her arms. "It makes me anxious just thinking of what happened to that poor girl. I've always felt safe here, but now, I wonder if we shouldn't move to a safer building."
"This has always been a secure address, Joy, and we probably won't see another murder here before the end of the century." He planned to live with Mary Margaret in the Chrysanthemum Court after they were married, so he'd move soon himself. "Thanks again for your time. If you think of something more about the Thorntons, please let me know."
"I will." She rolled her eyes, and whispered, "Morris is making an avocado pudding. Doesn't that sound revolting?"
"I've never heard of one," Joe readily admitted.
"Neither has anyone else." After she'd closed her door, Joe went on to apartment five where Melissa and John Todd lived. They frequently greeted each other in passing, but this was the first time he'd ever knocked on their door.
Melissa answered carrying a thick novel and handful of note cards. She was slightly taller than her husband, slim, and wore her dark hair pulled back in a bun. Today curls sprouted behind her ears so her usual prim style must have been hastily made. She pushed her glasses up her nose.
"Joe? Is something wrong?" She leaned out her door to look down the walkway.
He assured her there was no reason for concern and explained Leon had asked him to investigate Cookie's death. "I wondered if you recall anything about the Thorntons. They seemed like such a nice couple, but clearly something went very wrong in apartment three."
"An understatement if I ever heard one. When they moved in, we invited them to come to the programs at the library. They weren't rude, but they claimed they had their college degrees, and were through with books. She'd introduced herself as a teacher, and it struck me as a very peculiar thing for her to say."
"Indeed it was," Joe agreed. He loved to read and couldn't imagine anyone choosing not to enjoy books, especially when libraries offered such an abundance of wonderful stories for free.
John Todd joined his wife at the door. His hair was rumpled as though he'd not bothered to comb it that day, and his shirttail had slipped out of his trousers. His rimless glasses were slightly askew, and Joe couldn't help but wonder how the pair had been occupied before he'd knocked at their door. Perhaps they engaged in wild sex games on Sunday afternoons. From what he'd seen of the world as a detective, little surprised him anymore.
"Hello, John." Joe explained the purpose of his visit. "Do you recall anything about the Thorntons?"
"They were an attractive couple," John observed with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm afraid that's all I noticed. Sounds rather shallow, doesn't it?"
"Don't apologize. None of us knew them well. What about last weekend, did you see or hear anything unusual?"
"Not a thing. We often work on the weekends, and when we're not at the library, we're in and out running errands," John replied.
Joe thanked them and went on to his own apartment. It grew stuffy when he was away all day, and he opened the windows and looked out. The apartment house across the street had a vacancy sign on a wrought-iron stand. Housing was at a premium since the end of the war, and he thought it would be rented soon. Finding eager residents for a murder scene, however, might prove difficult.
Abby Hicks called to him from the sidewalk. She wore her peach colored checker's uniform and had slung her purse over her shoulder. "Hey, Joe! Are you watching for suspicious strangers?"
"Always. I'll meet you at your door." He planned to speak with her there, but she invited him to come in.
"I've got to sit down after being on my feet all day. Would you like something to drink?" she asked.
"No, thank you. I just have a few questions about the Thorntons."
He waited while she poured a bottle of Coca-Cola into an ice-filled glass. The seating choices were the sofa, draped with a knit afghan in a rainbow of colors, or a green velour overstuffed chair by the radio. Abby had always been friendly. He'd never asked her out, but she'd given him the impression she'd be delighted if he did. She was pretty in a rather frazzled way after a day of work, and rather than give her the opportunity to sit close, he took the chair. She sat down on the sofa opposite him.
"In addition to the police investigation, Leon asked me to look into the murder in apartment three. I haven't found anyone who has exchanged more than a casual greeting with the Thorntons. Did you ever speak with them?"
"Sure, they came into the market on Saturday mornings and were always real friendly. They bought just the basics: bacon, eggs, bread, coffee, and milk. They were real fond of oranges, but sometimes bought grapes. The first time they came in, they recognized me and always got into the line at my register. I don't understand how they could have killed Cookie Crumble. Strippers like funny names, don't they? Was she real pretty?"
That was why he'd never dated Abby, she was sweet, but lacked focus. He kept the conversation centered on the murder. "Cookie was a beautiful girl, and had an agent who believed she'd soon become a big star."
"Boy, he must be really disappointed," she observed.
"Yes, he is. Did you ever hear the Thorntons mention plans to move?"
"No, but our conversations were never deep. Vince gave me some postcards with Disney characters on them. They're real cute, and I'm saving them for an eight-year-old niece."
"Really, may I see them?"
She made a quick trip into her bedroom and came back with half a dozen cards. They were the same ones drugstores sold, nothing uniquely made for Disney employees. "These are nice. She's sure to love them." He handed them back to her. "Did Vince mention what he did at Disney when he gave them to you?"
"No, he just said he worked there, but wasn't an artist."
"What about Peggy? Did she ever mention grading papers, or make any reference to her classroom?"
"She bought a box of pencils once, and some erasers. I thought the school supplied everything, but she said she liked to have extras. Does that count?"
"Yes, of course it does." He stood. "I won't take any more of your time."
Abby turned coy. "I'm here alone most nights. Come by again if you like." She walked him to the door.
"Thank you, but I've just become engaged, and spend most of my evenings with my fiancée."
She burst into tears, and horribly embarrassed, hurriedly wiped her face with her fingertips. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you, but all my friends are married, or have boyfriends, a
nd I'm the only one without a beau. It makes me feel pathetic to be alone on Saturday nights." She paused for a loud sniff. "The man I was supposed to love must have been killed during the war, maybe on one of the Pacific islands."
Joe was at a loss as to how to respond to such a sad assumption. He couldn't pull her into his arms to offer sympathy without giving her the wrong impression. "Just keep smiling, Abby, and love is sure to find you soon." He left her apartment at a near sprint and feared he'd sounded more like a fortuneteller than a rational private eye.
She had provided some useful information about the Thorntons with her list of their groceries, or lack thereof. Apparently the couple ate breakfast several times a day, or they ate breakfast once and ate out most nights. With a town full of restaurants, and no photo of the couple to show, he couldn't track where they went for supper. They had simply disappeared as though they'd never been in Los Angeles at all.
* * *
"Promise me you'll see the agent again," Mary Margaret insisted. "You shouldn't miss this opportunity, and it might not come again."
Joe laughed. "I promise. I'll have photos taken tomorrow at Pete's Cameras, he develops film for me, and go back to see Archibald Sutton when they're ready. But I won't sign his three year contract." It was Sunday night, and they were enjoying chocolate sundaes at Aunt Lucy's Ice Cream Parlor. Ice cream always put him in a very agreeable mood.
"The contract is definitely a sticking point," she agreed, "but he wants to represent you. Maybe he'll not insist upon the three year term if you're firm about it."
"You can always count on me to be firm," Joe promised with a sly wink.
"Stop it! This is a family place, not Sherry's." She laughed in spite of herself. "I haven't seen anything more in the Los Angeles Times about Cookie Crumble. We really should call her Alice Reyes. Shouldn't she have a funeral?"
"Thank you, that's the perfect excuse to go back to Sherry's to see what their thoughts are on the subject."
She licked whipped cream off her spoon. "Don't make me sorry I mentioned it."
"Never." He raised his hand to swear. "Besides, the girls should know the best place to buy tassels."