by Arlette Lees
When he reached his car, the youth was being loaded into the ambulance. The Sheriff was removing the bridle from the dead horse and Stoneacre was taking the truck driver’s statement.
Ezekiel’s heart labored under the turmoil and heat. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he said, lifting Ticky into the cab. “I just wanted to report a theft and buy a bag of candy corn and now look.” He dodged the bales of hay on his way out of the lot and headed home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
SUSPICION
Amanda emptied the odds and ends from the shoebox on the bedspread, picked out the pearl earring, and tossed it in her jewelry box. The envelopes were statements from Gavin’s doctor which had never been opened. They covered September and October of the previous year, but she was only aware of one visit in September. She didn’t know if there had been an outstanding balance at the time he was killed, and decided to check with the receptionist on Monday. The pink card lay in the bottom of the box. She picked it up and read the print on the front.
CLUB VELVET
Featuring
‘BODY BEAUTIFUL’
CRYSTAL MONET
It had probably been dropped by one of Gavin’s bachelor friends. On the other side was a message penned in a flourish of peacock blue ink.
GAV—HE’LL BE AWAY ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT. SAME TIME. SAME PLACE. CRYS.
Gav? Crys? Same time? Same place?
The card was undated. Had Gavin been seeing another woman? She remembered Julia’s words on the night of the party. She’d been joking, of course, but this was no joke. Maybe he hadn’t been the angel she thought he was. It would be nice to think she knew the person she’d been married to, but did it matter now that he was dead?
At the bottom edge of the card, in small print, was the address of the club: 66620 Clapton Road. She went to the desk for a street map and spread it on the bed. Clapton was across the Los Angeles River in East L.A. The gas station where Gavin’s car was found was on the opposite side of an underpass, three miles west of the club. Was there a connection between Crystal Monet, Club Velvet, and Gavin’s murder? Amanda refolded the map. If she let Conover and Edwards in on this, she’d be handing them the motive they were looking for. Jealousy. Maybe she’d do a little snooping of her own.
* * * * * * *
Dack stood on the walkway, peering through the gap in the curtains. He’d memorized every word on the pink card. Amanda always acted so superior. Maybe it was time she got knocked down a peg or two. He was dying to know what her next move would be. Whatever it was, he was going to be on her tail like fleas on a dog.
* * * * * * *
Irene Wickersham and husband Harry sat reading in their comfortable front room in Echo Park, Harry going over the actuarial tables for his insurance brokerage, and his wife buried in a supermarket tabloid.
“Harry, listen to this,” she said.
“Don’t bother me with that tripe, Irene. It’ll rot your brain.”
“You’ll want to hear this, Harry. It’s an article about L.A.’s unsolved murders.” He looked at her over his spectacles, the lamplight reflecting off his bald spot. “Remember that young architect fellow you were telling me about, the one who took out the big policy on his life? Double indemnity, wasn’t it?”
“Gavin Chase. What about him?”
“He was murdered on New Year’s Eve. Someone put a bullet in his head.”
“What? Let me see that,” he said, putting his ledger aside and rising from his chair. He walked across the shag rug and snatched the tabloid from her hands.
“I don’t know how this slipped past me,” he said. “The widow never put in a claim.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it Harry?”
“Highly unusual.” He studied his wife’s face. “If something happened to me, you’d put in a call a day or two after the funeral, wouldn’t you, Irene?”
“Of course I would, dear. Perhaps even sooner.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
COMING TO TERMS
Rusty Hallinan walked through the moonlit garden behind his house. It was good to be back on the job. He’d cut down on his smoking. He was eating healthier. He’d lost twenty pounds. Stars flamed over the rooftops on Sandalwood Street, the air scented with ripening oranges and night-blooming jasmine.
He stopped beside a profusion of purple flowers that grew along the path. There was something about the smell that triggered a bittersweet sense of longing. Then he remembered…a rainy day…a cup of coffee.…Amanda and the rain-washed scent of lavender in her hair.
A persistent mosquito buzzed his ear and Hallinan went inside. He sat down at the dining room table and spread the divorce documents in front of him. Dorothy had Beezer, the piano, and Monty. He had the stainless steel cookware and a big lonely house. He signed beside all of the red exes and returned the pages to the envelope. Monty was right. Maybe he was hanging on for ego and spite. He removed his wedding ring and sealed it inside. He’d give Dorothy the news as soon as she returned from Sedona, where they were shooting Monty’s latest western. She’d moved on without a backward glance. It was time for him to do the same.
Deep in the night Hallinan woke to the sound of rain. Lightning spiked through the clouds and thunder rolled softly across the rooftops. A woman stood at the window, backlit by a storm-shadowed moon. Hallinan pulled himself up on the pillows.
The house shuddered in the wind, a pane rattling in the sash. The woman moved toward the bed wearing something as sheer as cigarette smoke, something that fluttered in the draft from the staircase. Her body glowed through the smoke like a candle in a bottle.
“This isn’t really happening, is it?” he said.
“It’s real if you want it to be, Rusty.”
She reached out her hand. When their fingers touched, he woke with a jolt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
SCARE TACTICS
Amanda put on a tailored navy blue suit, white silk blouse, and pearl earrings. She pulled her hair off her neck and fastened it with a butterfly clasp. She knew she’d had a dream last night, but it was like a message in a bottle that floated away when she opened her eyes.
She spent the morning typing real estate documents and answering phones. Her boss was pleased with her work performance, and she got along well with clients and co-workers. Today, instead of having lunch with the girls, she rushed to Dr. Fraley’s office on Melrose. She pushed through the double glass doors into the waiting room. The air conditioning was on high, and tropical plants in ceramic pots sat along the window-wall. She walked up to the desk.
“How may I help you?” said the receptionist.
Amanda spread the bills in front of her. “I’m not sure if these have been paid. I found them in my husband’s glove compartment.”
“These are from last year.”
“Yes, I know.”
She walked to a metal cabinet and pulled Gavin’s file. “Here we go.” She set it on the counter and flipped through the pages. “Good news, Mrs. Chase. There’s no outstanding balance. Except for the first one in September, your husband paid cash for the subsequent visits.”
Gavin hadn’t said anything about October visits. They talked about everything. At least, she thought they had until last night. “Dr. Fraley was treating him for anemia, right?” The receptionist gave her an odd look.
“Why don’t you ask him, Mrs. Chase?”
Amanda was feeling uneasy and defensive. “Because…listen…it’s not a complicated question.”
“I think you need to talk with the doctor, but he won’t be back from lunch until two.”
Amanda looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get back to work. If I call on my coffee break, can you get him on the line?”
“I’ll do my best. I promise.”
Amanda made it back to the office with three minutes to spare. On her break she used the phone at the corner drugstore.
“Dr. Fraley here, Mrs. Chase.”
“Yes, Dr. Fraley, I’m sorry to impose on you
r schedule. All I need to know is what you were treating my husband for.”
“Mr. Chase hasn’t been my patient since late October of last year, when I referred him to Dr. Margolin.”
“Dr. Margolin? Are you sure we’re talking about the same patient? My husband is Gavin Lee Chase.”
“I wish I could help you, but you need to speak with Margolin. His office is on Beverly Blvd. I must get back to my patients.”
“Why all the secrecy? I don’t understand.”
“Goodby, Mrs. Chase.”
She looked up Margolin’s number and dialed. A man from the janitorial service answered. Dr. Margolin was on vacation in Tuscany. He’d be back in the office in two weeks.
“Great,” she said. “Just great.”
When she returned from her break, line one was blinking. She transferred the call and when she looked up, Detectives Conover and Edwards were standing in front of her desk. They wore sweat-wrinkled brown suits, their wilted ties loosened at the throat, a hint of whiskey on Edwards’s breath. Her heart gave a little jolt.
“What are you doing here?” she said. “Has something happened with my husband’s case?”
“Please stand up, Mrs. Chase,” said Conover.
“What?”
Edwards walked behind her and jerked her from the chair. He pulled her arms behind her back and snapped handcuffs on her wrists. His hand brushed roughly across her breasts, tearing off a button and revealing an inch or two of lacy bra. In front of the startled eyes of her boss and fellow workers she was pushed into the elevator. They dragged her across the lobby and shoved her into the back seat of an unmarked. When they slammed the door, she burst into tears.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
EVIDENCE
The day was sweltering. A brown cloud of three-pack-a-day smog was trapped in the Los Angeles Basin. A deep breath would set off a coughing jag, and people on the street breathed through handkerchiefs.
Hallinan and Tug were going over the recent missing persons’ files at their desks when Stanek walked over. “A hiker left a paper bag at the desk containing a child’s nightgown and slipper. It was found off a remote trail in Griffith Park. The gown is a rag, but it could be the one Daisy Adler was wearing the night she vanished.”
“I’d like to talk with him,” said Hallinan.
“I’m afraid he got away without giving his name.”
Half an hour later Hallinan and Tug were driving up Fairbanks, eyes burning, sweat building in their clothes.
“I hate this part of the job,” said Tug. “Those clothes are as good as a death certificate.” They pulled the car into the shade in front of the Adler’s garage and got out, Hallinan with the evidence bag. Water pooled beneath the urns in the shady coves at the edge of the steps. The big tiger cat was lounging in the sun on the balcony wall. He gave them a golden-eyed glance, flexed his paws, and went back to sleep.
Helen Adler opened the door. She wore a tailored sheath of multi-colored squares reminiscent of a Mondrian painting. She did not look well. Her complexion took on an unhealthy pallor, and her ankles were bloated and misshapen.
“Let’s go downstairs where it’s cool,” she said. They followed her to the dining room and sat around a large oak table. The floor was covered with Spanish tile, and a pair of French doors let in a welcome draft from the side patio.
“Would you boys like something cold to drink?”
“Thanks, but we’re fine,” said Hallinan. “If Dr. Adler is in, I think he should join us.”
“As soon as you called he had the urgent need to flee. He’s the resident ghost, still pining after that young Swedish girl.” Helen looked at the bag in Hallinan’s hand. “I imagine you have something to show me. We might as well get it done.”
“A hiker in the park found a few articles of clothing that might be associated with your daughter’s case,” said Hallinan. “Would you like to see what we have?” When she nodded, he set the clothes in front of her.
She fingered the shred of slipper, bleached white from the elements, then laid it aside and pressed the tattered nightgown to her cheek. “Daisy always smelled like baby powder after her bath. I can’t smell it anymore.” She ran her fingers over the faded strawberry decorations. “Yes, Lieutenant, these belonged to Daisy.”
“I’m so sorry. Can I call someone to stay with you, Mrs. Adler?”
“Thank you, Lieutenant, but I think I’d like a few moments to myself. I’ll call Sarah when I’ve collected my thoughts. I’d like to thank you both for all you’ve done on our behalf.” No one said it in so many words, but there was little chance of finding Daisy Adler alive.
“How does she do it?” said Tug as they headed back down the hill. “I worry about people who hold it in like that.”
“It’s the way ladies of her generation were raised.”
“You’ll never guess what happened last night,” said Tug. “I was on a wild goose chase, looking for a runaway boy in Pershing Square, when this queen comes out of the bushes, straightening his garter belt. Two seconds later a second guy comes out, zipping his fly. I did a double take. You’ll never guess who it was.”
“J. Edgar Hoover.”
“Buzz Storch,” said Tug.
“No f-ing shit!”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Tyrisse told me he wasn’t what he seemed, but this never crossed my mind.” He pulled onto the boulevard. “You see Ty around lately?” Tug shook his head.
“That concerns me.”
Back at the stationhouse, Edwards crossed the parking lot in their direction.
“I was right all along,” he said, barely able to contain himself.
“You mean your mother really is a hooker?” said Tug.
“Very funny. I’m talking about Amanda Chase, asshole. We found the insurance money. Fifteen thou. Her agent called. Thought it was odd she’d never put in a claim. Made my f-ing day.” The mole on his chin oozed blood. He wiped it with the back of his hand.
“Have you questioned her?” asked Hallinan.
“We busted her at her job. Dragged her out in cuffs. You should have seen the look on her boss’s face.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Tug. “The woman’s never had so much as a traffic ticket. If she knew the money was there, she would have claimed it.”
“She was waiting until the heat was off. Listen, just because she has a clean driving record doesn’t mean she didn’t have her husband whacked.
“That’s suspicion, not evidence?” said Hallinan.
“Welcome to the twentieth century, Hallinan. “We interrogated her for three hours, had her shaking in her pretty little shoes.”
“What did she say about the money?” said Tug.
“That she knew nothing about it. What do you think she’d say? We went at her with everything we had, but she wouldn’t crack. She doesn’t have very big tits, but she’s got plenty of backbone.”
“Where is she now?” said Hallinan.
“We had to let her go, but this ain’t the end of it.” Edwards wiped the blood from his hand onto his pants. “Wanna knock back a few brewskies?”
“Not today,” said Hallinan.”
As Edwards walked away, Tug said, “I’d love to dump his ass in the tar pits with the other reptiles.” He looked at Hallinan. “What if he’s right? What if she did it?”
When Hallinan got home, he called Amanda’s apartment again and again, but there was no answer.
CHAPTER FORTY
STONEACRE
“I can’t imagine who’d want those posters,” said the sheriff. Joe Bob Bell and Johnny Rafe Williams are already doing time, so it can’t be for the reward.”
“What about the little girl missing out of L.A.?” said Stoneacre.
“Probably been dead from day one. That kind of case never ends well.”
“The kid looks vaguely familiar.”
“All them little blonde kids look alike.”
�
��I’m trying to remember who came in yesterday. Maggie Jones reported her poodle stolen. Hank Pitt reported a safe in the middle of Plummer Road. Ezekiel Bridger came in about the calves. I think I’ll make a few inquiries on my way to Willow Shade. You wanna come?”
“No sense two men doing a one-man job,” he said, swinging his boots onto the desktop and adjusting the flow from the fan.
Ezekiel saw the deputy’s car swimming through the heat waves two or three miles down the road. He regretted reporting the stolen calves, but there was no taking it back. Bean was sitting bareback on Sunflower, as Bear led the pony through the shade at the edge of the corral. The heat was suffocating, a ring of sweat circling Ezekiel’s hat band. He leaned against the top rail.
“Hey, Bear,” he called. She walked over, dragging the fat pony behind her. “That’ll be young Many Scalps about them calves. Why don’t you take Bean inside so we men can have a private word.”
“I’ll curry down the pony and.…”
“Libra, I suggest you let that go for now.”
“But.…” Then it hit her. She looked at his grave expression. He knows. She swept Bean from the pony’s back, removed the hackamore, and rushed Bean inside.
Ezekiel was standing in the shade when Stoneacre pulled in. The car churned up a cloud of dust that powdered the tops of his boots. “Afternoon, Deputy Stoneacre,” he said. He extended his hand and the deputy shook it. “I thought Amos would be riding shotgun today.”
Stoneacre smiled. “Somebody had to jockey the fan.”
“When you going to run for sheriff?”
“You think the county’s ready for a half-breed on the ballot.”
“Far’s I know there’s only one woman remembers them scalps on your great-grandfather’s lance, and she’s too old to make it to the polls. Any word on the Regan boy?”
“He’s plenty busted up, but he’ll live to ride another day.”