by Arlette Lees
Helen spun around and gave Sigrid a resounding slap in the face that sent her staggering sideways. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, you deceitful slut.”
Dead silence. No one had ever seen Helen curse or lose her temper. Lana squeezed Johnny’s arm. “I think we should go,” she said. “This is clearly a police matter.”
Helen took a step toward Sigrid. The girl took a step back and pressed a hand to the angry welts rising on her cheek. “We pay you good money and ask very little in return. Where were you when you were supposed to be watching my baby?” she said, her voice breaking. “Answer me. Where were you?” Sigrid’s pale blue eyes simmered with loathing.
“Exactly where you think I was…Helen.”
The color drained from Nathan’s face. He reached out a comforting hand to his wife and a consoling look to Sigrid.
“Don’t touch me,” said Helen, with frightening calm. “Stay away from me. Both of you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
A CALL IN THE NIGHT
Dorothy’s phone call had left Hallinan staring at the ceiling with adrenaline coursing through his blood. He’d just begun to doze when the phone rang. He pulled the pillow over his head with a moan. It kept ringing. A sliver of moonlight shone beneath the window shade, shadows of tree branches webbing over the bedspread. The luminous dial on the clock read 3 A.M. Hallinan reached over and grabbed the phone, knocking an ashtray to the floor.
“What?” he grumbled into the receiver.
“Rusty, it’s Tug,” Tug being Sergeant Thomas “Tug” Boatwright, his partner in Missing Persons Detail. “I hope you’re not sleeping.”
“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” Hallinan swung his legs over the edge of the bed and turned on the lamp. He squinted against the glare and tossed a t-shirt over the shade, fumbling for a cigarette and match.
“Captain Stanek has a case for us.”
“Now? I’m not due back on duty until the second.”
“He says it’s important. Ever hear the name Nathan Adler?”
“Dorothy’s mentioned him. Is he missing?”
“His six-year-old daughter vanished during a house party tonight. The Captain wants you as lead on the case. Sergeants Garner and Strongbow are up there now.”
As Tug filled him in, Hallinan was pulling clothes out of the closet, dragging the phone along by the extension cord. “I thought Edwards and Conover were next up?”
“This one is too high profile.” said Tug. “He doesn’t want them leaking their guts to the tabloids.”
“What’s the address?”
“How about I pick you up on the way. Parking’s at a premium up there.”
Hallinan finished the cold coffee in last night’s pot. Fifteen minutes later they were headed into the hills.
* * * * * * *
At 3:15 A.M., Amanda put in a call to Hollywood Station. Sergeant Dunnigan was on the desk. The phones had been ringing off the hook all night, most of the calls concerning bar fights, traffic mishaps, and errant spouses. Amanda got his standard response.
“Believe me, Mrs. Chase, by morning your husband will be home with an empty wallet and a head as big as a cabbage.”
“No disrespect, Sergeant, but it is morning. I know something has gone terribly wrong.”
“If your husband hasn’t returned in forty-eight hours, come to the station, file a Missing Persons Report, and I’ll jump on it like a bird on a June bug.”
* * * * * * *
On the east side of town four teenage boys and a girl topped by a haystack of teased hair saw a car parked by the old gas station. They pulled the stolen pickup alongside and killed the headlights. Fanta ran over to check it out.
“There’s a drunk passed out in here, Benito,” she said, tapping her knuckles sharply on the car roof and getting no response.
She was crazy out-of-her-mind about Benito. He was taller than most Hispanics, with a confident air of command. The sleeves of his leather jacket were pushed up to display a green serpent tattoo on his left forearm.
His partners in crime were hunched down in the bed of the pickup. “Hector, Jesús, Rubén! Move it!” They grabbed their tools and piled out.
Hector slapped the flashlight against his thigh to keep the faltering batteries alive, while the others cranked the jack handle, popped off a hubcap and wrenched off the lug bolts. They unscrewed the license plate and tossed it in the bed of the truck.
The girl rifled through the back of the wagon and found a copy of Peyton Place with a Pickwick Bookstore receipt inside. A bottle of wine or pack of cigarettes would be better, but since the book was banned by the Pope, she’d at least read the juicy parts.
“Stop screwing around,” said Benito. “See if he has any money on him.” She set the book on top of the car and opened the driver’s door. The gringo’s body slumped against her. She gave a startled cry and stumbled backward. She looked at her bloody hand and wiped it on her jeans.
“My god, the poor sucker’s dead!”
Jesús and Rubén grabbed the stolen wheel and piled back in the truck. Fanta grabbed the book but Hector snatched it away, ripping out pages, crumpling them into a ball.
“What the hell are you doing?” she said.
“My prints are all over the fuckin’ place,” said Rubén. “You want me to go to the gas chamber?” He drenched the paper with lighter fluid, set it on fire and tossed it onto a blanket in the back of the car.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” said Benito, thumping his palm on the dash.
As they sped into the night, the station wagon glowed in their rear view mirror like an orange jack-o’-lantern, flames blossoming behind the windows.
In an abandoned house with broken windows and trash on the floor, they got blitzed on beer. When the others passed out, Fanta settled on a torn mattress with Benito on top of her. She could barely breathe beneath his weight. When he started snoring she thumped him on the head and rolled him off on the floor, glaring angrily into the darkness.
* * * * * * *
At 3:30 A.M. after calling L.A.P.D., the Sheriff’s Office, the Highway Patrol, and the hospital emergency rooms, Amanda put on her tennis shoes, tossed a coat over her pajamas and walked down the outside stairs to get her book from the station wagon. When she got to the carport, Gavin’s BMW was in its designated slot and her car was gone. It was a disorienting moment.
“Gavin?” she said, peering into the shadows. She touched the hood of the car. It was cold. All night she’d given the authorities a description of the wrong vehicle. As she stood trying to figure out why he’d taken the station wagon, Dack Traynor’s Dodge pulled into the empty space beside the BMW. He got out and slammed the door. The musky smell of tobacco smoke and bedroom funk hung in his clothes.
“Mrs. Chase, what are you doing out here?”
With no makeup and her hair blowing softly around that innocent angel face, his obsession kicked in with a warm rush.
“I’m worried,” she said. “I expected Gavin home hours ago.”
“What? Oh yes, Gavin. It’s freezing out here. Why don’t you let me walk you up…Amanda.”
The intimate way he said her name reminded her how dark and isolated it was in the carport. She flew up the stairs, a shiver running up her spine. She went inside her apartment and threw the deadbolt.
Dack laughed out load. “Another time then.”
CHAPTER NINE
TROUBLE ON THE HILL
Hallinan and Boatwright parked at the overlook fifty yards beyond the Adler house. The hills were deep black, the moon spilling off the edge of the sky’s inverted bowl. The predawn chill had set in, and miles away at the eastern end of Griffith Park the nightlights from the Observatory cast a ghostly glow.
In 1896 the park was deeded to the city by wealthy capitalist Griffith J. Griffith, making its five square miles the largest municipal park in the nation, with its fifty miles of bridle trails, rugged terrain, and thriving wildlife population.
The park was G.
J. Griffith’s most famous legacy, unless you count the two years he spent in San Quentin for shooting and partially blinding his wife while in a self-described state of alcoholic insanity. The park was beautiful and wild. It was also an infamous body dump site.
There were two patrol cars parked at the overlook when they arrived. Down a jagged path that twisted eastward through thick chaparral a trio of flashlights bobbed through the darkness.
“Well, let’s do it,” said Hallinan.
They walked to the pink house, entered through the wrought iron gate, and mounted the steps leading to the front door. Halfway to the entrance a second set of stairs angled off the main path and ran along the right side of the building to the back. Ornamental shrubs and herbs grew in large terracotta urns at the far edges of the steps, and a ficus with a braided trunk grew in a planter box to the left of the front door.
Sergeant Paul Garner met them in the foyer. He was a good-natured officer in his fifties. He’d failed the lieutenant’s exam three times, but was a damn good meat-and-potatoes cop.
On the far side of the entry was a staircase leading down to the kitchen and dining area. Up a few steps to the right was the living room, occupied by a small assembly of weary, anxious people. A colorful clutter of wrapping paper, balloons, and party hats were scattered around the room, champagne glasses and ash trays on every surface. A staircase on the back wall of the living room led to the third level.
“Strongbow is upstairs with Dr. Adler,” said Garner. “Mrs. Adler was about to give a statement when the doctor injected her with a sedative.”
“Interesting,” said Hallinan.
“That’s what I thought. The fingerprint team is up in the child’s room now.”
He and Tug entered the front room and Garner made the necessary introductions. Dr. Adler’s Aunt Sarah sat on the sofa beneath the arched windows twisting a lace handkerchief. On the love seat, stage star Trudy Shawn had wilted against the shoulder of her agent, Todd Sinclair, and sitting alone by the fireplace was the Swedish au pair, Sigrid Nordgren, with her back turned to everyone.
“Might not hurt to call Elmer Wood and get his bloodhounds out here,” said Garner.
“Good thinking,” said Hallinan. Garner went downstairs to use the phone in the kitchen.
Sarah Adler was a retired French teacher living in The Fairfax District near Farmer’s Market. Trudy Shawn resided at The Hollywood Studio Club while looking for a house to rent. Todd Sinclair had a suite at The Roosevelt on Hollywood Blvd.
Trudy and Todd had canvased the neighborhood looking for Daisy, Trudy in high heels that raised blisters on her feet. Hallinan took their statements, their contact information, and let them leave.
Trudy gave Tug a wink as she headed out the door. His ears turned pink. Hallinan sent him outside to see if anything seemed out of place, while he interviewed Sarah Adler in Helen’s Adler’s downstairs den. Sarah last remembered seeing Daisy walking up the staircase shortly after midnight after a brief appearance at the party. Sometime within the next hour she’d vanished.
“All of the bedrooms, plus Nathan’s den, are on the third level,” she said. “There’s the front door leading to the outside, another off the downstairs dining room that opens onto the side patio, one to the front living room balcony, two leading to the back patio, one from the master bedroom, and one from Daisy’s room.”
“Who else went upstairs in the course of the evening?” said Hallinan.
“Anyone who wanted to, especially if the downstairs bathroom was in use.”
“How many people were in the house tonight?”
“Maybe sixty when things were in full swing. There was a guest book, but a photographer named Horst Kepler took off with it.”
“You mean he stole it?”
“Just pushed me aside and ran. Oh, how I’d like to wring that man’s neck. Calls himself Photographer to the Stars. That’s Hollywood. Everyone has to be Something to the Stars. He’s responsible for Daisy’s modeling career. A bunch of nonsense, if you ask me.”
“Why would he want the guest book?” said Hallinan.
“The signatures, I suppose. Lana Turner was here with Johnny Stompanato, and a lot of big shot movie people. Perhaps he could sell it or maybe he’s just an aggravating putz.”
“I imagine you’re sleeping here tonight,” said Hallinan.
“Yes, I’ll be upstairs in the guest room.”
“That’s all for now. If you think of anything else we can talk in the morning.”
Garner met him back in the front room. “Wood is in Bakersfield on another job, but he’ll be here with the dogs by noon tomorrow if the traffic’s not too heavy.”
“That’s good. Call Sunset Stable. They keep a list of volunteers. Have them organize a mounted patrol for the morning.”
Tug came in from the outside with nothing remarkable to report, and volunteered to help Garner organize the search.
“I’ll interview the Nordgren girl next,” said Hallinan. “She looks like someone sent her to Siberia.”
“Maybe they don’t talk to the hired help,” said Garner.
“And Tug, tell Strongbow I want to see Dr. Adler as soon as he’s through talking with him.”
CHAPTER TEN
PORTRAIT IN ICE
Sigrid Nordgren sat across the desk from Hallinan. She was striking in an outdoorsy way, tall and erect with a thick russet braid falling over one shoulder. She had a winter tan and ice blue eyes. It was easy to imagine her scaling an alp with a thirty-pound pack riding like a feather on her back.
She wore tan slacks and a simple white blouse. Sitting in front of the fireplace with her head turned to the side, Hallinan hadn’t noticed the red swelling on the left side of her face. She sat with her legs crossed, a sandal embellished with a tiger-eye medallion dangling casually from her big toe.
Hallinan took out his notebook.
“I imagine this has been a difficult evening for you, Miss Nordgren.”
“Call me Sigrid. It will make things go faster.” He resisted the urge to ask her if she had another pressing engagement.
“All right, Sigrid. How long have you been employed by the Adlers?”
“Six months.”
“And you live in?”
“I do.”
“In the capacity of babysitter.”
“That is correct.”
“How old are you, Sigrid?”
“Nineteen. I will be twenty in August.”
“Have you had previous experience caring for small children?”
“Not much. It’s not a complicated job.”
“You mean it’s not complicated until a child goes missing. Then it’s not so simple anymore.” She did not respond. “How would you describe Daisy Adler?”
“She is no trouble.”
Perhaps it was the cultural divide, but that seemed an odd reply considering the number of things she might have said.
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“She is good-natured and obedient.” Once again, the minimal response. He took a few notes, tapped his pen on the ink blotter.
”You are writing all this down?” she said.
“It insures accuracy. Does that bother you?”
“No. You may continue.”
That brought a slight smile to his lips. “Thank you. Do you enjoy working for the Adlers?”
“It is a job. It is good for learning English.”
“What I mean is, do you find satisfaction in what you’re doing? Is the atmosphere harmonious?”
“I manage.” Talking with Miss Nordgren was like pulling an impacted wisdom tooth, but he plodded onward.
“When did you last see Daisy?”
“I put her to bed at 9:00 P.M.”
“Did you check on her after that?”
“No. I didn’t know she was gone until Mrs. Adler came looking for me.”
“Did you know that Daisy had gone downstairs to the party a little before midnight?”
“Not until
later. She seldom gets out of bed once I put her down.”
“I see. Where were you between 11:00 P.M. and the time Mrs. Adler noticed that her daughter was not in her bed?”
“I was down the hall.”
“Not downstairs at the party.”
“Correct.”
“Did you see anything suspicious, anyone loitering around her room?”
“No.”
“You said you were down the hall. Could you be more precise?”
“I was with Nathan in the den.” Nathan?
Hallinan took a beat or two to let that sink in.
“You mean, Dr. Adler?”
“Yes, Dr. Adler.”
“It was his party. Why wasn’t he downstairs with his guests?”
“Because we were having sex on top of his desk. He could not be two places at once.” She said it matter-of-factly. No blushing. No blinking of those limpid blue eyes.
“On the desk.” Hallinan cleared his throat.
“It is a very large desk,” she said, by way of clarification. It was the first time she’d elaborated on anything.
“Weren’t you uncomfortable knowing that Mrs. Adler was in the house?”
“It was exciting, like stealing money from your mother’s purse when her back is turned.”
“And this was the first time?”
“It was the first time with his wife in the house.” She shrugged. “Does it matter?”
”It probably matters to Mrs. Adler. Did that little escapade have anything to do with the welts on your face?” She raised a hand and touched her cheek.
“Helen is a temperamental woman.”
“Some women tend to be touchy about their husband’s extracurricular activities.”
“I have learned that.”
“Did she walk in on the two of you?”
“No. She guessed it.” A few moments passed in silence. Sigrid smoothed her long braid.
“You don’t like her, do you? Mrs. Adler, I mean.”
“She is not likable.”
Unlikable enough for the babysitter to take revenge on her child? he wondered.
“Let me understand this, Miss Nordgren. Are you telling me you’re in love with Dr. Adler?”