The Conan Flagg Mysteries: Bundle #3

by M. K. Wren

“I will. Meanwhile…” He gestured toward the door. “She wants to see you.”

  Conan almost balked at the presumption that if Savanna wanted to see him, he must want to see her. But he had to admit that he did want to see her. To say goodbye? Perhaps.

  Entering her room was like walking into a flower shop, with bouquets occupying every available flat surface, and even a few on the floor. Savanna was wearing an ordinary hospital gown, with a white patch of bandage extending from her right temple to above her ear, and she had lost some hair around the wound. Her right eye was swollen and turning purple, and she wore no makeup. And how, Conan wondered, did she still manage to look so beautiful?

  She said huskily, “Oh, Conan, I’m so glad to see you.”

  He took the hand she offered, asked, “How’s your head.”

  “Well, this is the worst headache I ever had, but they’re keeping me doped up. Conan, I had to see you before they took me away. And they will. Tomorrow, probably, or the next day. I’ll…be in jail.”

  That prediction had a distinctly melodramatic air, but he couldn’t argue its likelihood. “I’m sorry, Savanna.”

  “You really are, aren’t you?” she asked, and she seemed a little surprised. “Well, I suppose I might get out on bail or whatever. Anyway, I had to thank you, Conan. You saved my life.”

  “At the time, I was thinking very hard about my own life.”

  “Won’t you accept even a little gratitude?”

  “I’d rather accept some honesty.”

  For a moment, her eyes brimmed with tears, then she said softly, “That’s not so easy, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “You want honesty?” She took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you this: I’m not sorry I killed Ravin. I am sorry about Arno. And, Conan, I’m sorry you and I couldn’t…” She let that hang, then called up a smile. “Nystrom does want my autobiography. Maybe it’ll pay my legal fees.”

  “I understand you’ve found yourself an excellent lawyer.”

  “Marc? Oh, the man is beautiful! Friend of yours, isn’t he?” Conan nodded, and she went on in a rush of enthusiasm. “Marc thinks he can get the charge reduced to manslaughter, and since Dana did try to kill me so I couldn’t talk to the police, well, he thinks that’ll make all the difference with a jury. He says I might not have to do any real time in prison at all. And, Conan, he’s sure he can get a special dispensation—I forgot what he called it—so I can leave the state long enough to do Blitz. Booth says he can schedule the takes I’ll be in and finish them in two months, and Marc says they’ll never get around to the actual trial before that. And the publicity—I mean, this film is going to break box-office records.” She paused, and perhaps it was something she read in Conan’s eyes that dampened her ebullient mood.

  Not accusation, not even doubt. Only a bittersweet amazement at finding himself in the presence of a phenomenon he couldn’t quite grasp. He said, “You’ll be magnificent.” Then he pressed her hand to his lips as he might a letter from a long-lost passion. “Goodbye, Savanna.”

  “Conan…” For a moment, like a shadow, he saw in her exquisite eyes a baffled regret. Then it vanished, and she smiled, blew him a kiss. “I’ll call you, Conan.”

  When the door swung shut behind him, he found the hall empty. He stood for a moment, hands thrust into his pockets, then started down the corridor in search of room thirty-nine.

  Call him? He knew she wouldn’t remember his name in a few weeks. And she had no concept of the world she was entering in the courtroom, in the sterile misery of a jail, or behind the walls of a prison, where the erstwhile superstar would find her talent and beauty meaningless in a subsociety structured by violence and despair.

  Then he shook his head, an ironic laugh escaping him. With Marc Fitch defending her, with her acting ability, it was quite possible her rosy picture of her future was not at all unrealistic.

  As he passed a window alcove furnished with four armchairs, a low table, and an assortment of old magazines, he stopped. A woman holding an open newspaper in front of her occupied one of the chairs. She lowered the paper, looked at him over the top of her glasses, and smiled. “Conan, if you’re looking for Savanna’s room, it’s back that way.”

  “Actually, Marian, I’m looking for you and the Laskys.”

  “Well, you’ve found us.” Marian Rosenthal nodded toward the room across the hall: room thirty-nine. “Justine’s in there with Byron.”

  He sat down, asked, “What happened to Byron?”

  “Justine said that sheriff came to their suite and told them about Ravin’s will,” she replied, dropping her newspaper on the table. “The man was convinced they knew about the will and had murdered Ravin. He wanted a confession then and there, and he was a real bastard about it. When he finally gave up and left, Byron collapsed. Hemorrhaging, that sort of thing. Justine called me, and we brought him here to the emergency room. We didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t in any shape to fly back to his doctor in New York.”

  “Did you know Giff’s had an APB out for the Laskys—and you—ever since Justine checked out of the Surf House? But he was so sure you’d made a run for Canada, he neglected to check the local hospital.”

  Marian laughed at that. “I guess I should go turn myself in.”

  “Don’t bother. Giff has trouble enough. How is Byron now?”

  “Seems to be doing well, thank God. The doctor wants to transfer him to a hospital in Portland tomorrow. She keeps calling it Pill Hill.”

  “Officially the University of Oregon Health Sciences Hospital. Don’t worry, it’s an excellent hospital.” He hesitated hooking his arm over the back of the chair. “Marian, would you answer a few questions for me?”

  “Why not? It’s all kind of academic at this point, isn’t it? By the way, Justine may have a question…well, it’s something she wanted to talk to somebody about, and you may be the somebody. Anyway, what did you want to ask me?”

  “About the ring.”

  Marian caught her breath, but after a moment, she nodded. “Allison gave it to Ravin on their first anniversary. I helped her pick it out. Ahava. It means love. And that son of a bitch had to wear it Saturday night, knowing I’d be there. Oh, Ravin enjoyed his games.”

  “How did it end up on your hand Monday afternoon?”

  She laughed. “Damn, you have a good poker face. I didn’t think you recognized it. Well, after the party broke up Saturday night, I didn’t go straight to the Surf House. I turned off the highway and waited a couple of minutes, then drove back to Ravin’s house. Savanna hadn’t come up from the beach yet, and Ravin had passed out on the couch. And I took the ring. Stole it, actually, although somehow I felt I had a right to it.”

  Conan looked out at the jack pines shading the window. “Why did you choose to spend your vacation here?”

  “How did you know I was on vacation? Never mind. You’re right, I did come here on vacation, but that ended when Ravin was murdered. I wasn’t kidding when I said his books were suddenly worth their weight in gold. I should be in my office now, scrambling to finish a campaign to sell a million copies of Stud. Well, I’ve done what I can by phone, and I guess it’s time my assistant had a real test.”

  “But you didn’t come to Oregon solely to retrieve the ring.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “No. I’d heard about Ravin’s ‘autobiographical’ novel, and I wanted to find out what he said about Allison before the damn thing got published. So when Justine told me she and Byron were coming here to see Ravin, well, it seemed like a good time for a vacation on the Oregon coast.”

  “And your purpose in going back to the beach house Saturday night was to get a look at Odyssey—possibly borrow one of the drafts?”

  “Yes. I knew Ravin, and I knew before we all left the party that he was just about at the point of passing out. He always got belligerent then. More than usual, that is. So I went back to the house hoping he’d reached that point. And he had. The door was unlocked, and Savanna was s
till on the beach. My golden opportunity, right?”

  Conan nodded. “But one you missed, I assume.”

  “Right. First, I decided I had to have that ring. Then I was about to go into the office when I saw Savanna coming up the steps from the beach. And I panicked. I took my booty and ran. I don’t think she even knew I’d been there. Anyway, I’m glad the damn manuscripts are lost. Except I’m sorry for Justine and Byron to lose their commission.”

  Conan turned in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Odyssey isn’t lost. I think if the Laskys check with Nystrom, they’ll find that Dana sent them two computer disks—Angie’s disks from her typing of the third draft.”

  “Oh, no…” Marian stiffened, her mouth slack.

  “You don’t need to be concerned, Marian. I’ve read a printout of the third draft. Gould treated Allison very kindly. His one true love, it seems. Actually, he concentrated more on his own trauma in recovering from the car accident and his overwhelming grief.”

  “That bastard! Well, I suppose I should be relieved. And I am. Conan, I’m very grateful to you.” She gave him a smile made wistful with memories of a daughter she still grieved, then pulled herself to her feet. “Well, you’d probably like to talk to Justine. I’ll be back.”

  Conan heard Justine’s voice as Marian opened and closed the door of room thirty-nine. He picked up the newspaper she had been reading: this morning’s edition of The Oregonian. It was open to a two-page spread on the Gould murder made hopelessly out-of-date by this afternoon’s events. Among the photographs, he noted one of Savanna getting into an XK-E with a man identified as Kevin Flogg. Another photograph showed Savanna as Mona Fatale in Blitz. Apparently the only photograph available of Cady was from his high school yearbook.

  “I’m glad you found us, Mr. Flagg.”

  He looked up to see Justine Lasky, with Marian in her wake, emerging from room thirty-nine, Justine as perfectly groomed as ever, striking in a gray silk dress whose color matched her eyes. There was weariness in those eyes now, but the imperial chill had thawed.

  Conan rose. “I hope Mr. Lasky is recovering well.”

  “Very well, all things considered.” She and Marian seated themselves in adjoining chairs, and Conan saw that Justine was holding a Federal Express envelope. She put it on the table, then looked up at Conan. “Marian said you have some questions. I’ll answer any I can.”

  Conan sat down, leaning forward to ask, “Where did you go Saturday night about midnight, Mrs. Lasky? I know you went somewhere. You were seen driving away from the Surf House.”

  “Is this simply to satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Flagg?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled at that straightforward answer. “I should think you deserve that much. Actually, I went to Baysea. It was ill advised, to say the least, but I was so bitterly angry at Dana. She was trying to drive a wedge between Byron and Ravin, and Byron didn’t need more anxiety. Besides, Dana and I…well, that’s a long story. At any rate, my purpose was to have it out with her and to tell her that I intended to use my influence with other agents to boycott Nystrom. Fortunately, I was saved from my own folly. She wasn’t in her room, nor in the bar.”

  Conan asked, “Her car was parked in front of her unit, wasn’t it?”

  “There was a maroon car directly in front of it, but frankly, I hadn’t noticed what kind of car she was driving, so I didn’t know whether it was hers or not. Eventually I gave up and returned to the Surf House, cooler, if not wiser. And no, I did not go near Ravin’s house.”

  “Thank you for assuaging my curiosity. A failing of mine, I’m told.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” she said with a smile that faded as she reached for the Federal Express envelope. “Mr. Flagg, there’s a matter that Marian felt I should discuss with you, and I agree.”

  Conan glanced at Marian, who remained attentive but silent. Justine seemed to need a moment to gather her resolve, then she began, “Ravin was in New York about six months ago, and he left an envelope with Byron, rather melodramatically done up with sealing wax and with instructions that it was only to be opened in case of his death. On Monday, after the murder, Byron called the office and had the envelope Fed Exed to him. And this…” She removed a manila envelope and handed it to Conan. “This is what he found.”

  Conan opened the envelope and took out a sheaf of manuscript pages. The running head read “ODYSSEY/Gould,” and the first page was marked CHAPTER 11.

  “Oh, my God…” he whispered.

  Marian asked, “What’s wrong, Conan?”

  “This chapter was missing from the third draft.” He checked the numbers in the upper right corner. They made an unbroken sequence from page 218 to 247. He turned to 241 and found that the first three lines corresponded exactly with those on the fragment he had taken from the fireplace at the Eyrie.

  He went back to the first page, skimmed the entire chapter, while Justine and Marian waited patiently. Most of the chapter dealt with Jimmy Silver’s marriage to Anna Vas, star of stage, screen, et cetera, whom Gould blatantly described as “the sexiest woman in the world.” Conan couldn’t judge the accuracy of the events preceding the marriage, but he found it difficult to believe that Savanna had once been literally on her knees begging to be bedded by Gould. At that point, she had been at the height of her popularity, a superstar who had found her stage, and it was the world. She undoubtedly had her choice of willing partners, and she didn’t need Ravin Gould to feed her ego.

  Yet Gould characterized Anna Vas as a clinging vine who cast aside her career to spend every waking moment in Jimmy Silver’s presence, who was irrationally jealous, even though Jimmy led a life of virtuous fidelity during the marriage.

  But his resolve to virtue was shattered in the chapter’s final scene—and the fragment from page 241 was part of this scene—when, after an author’s tour, Jimmy returned a day early to his apartment in New York and found his wife in bed with someone else. With an actress named Mayley Harlette. The scene was described in vicious detail, and it was obvious that the author considered such relationships disgusting. Beyond that, he insinuated that this was Anna Vas’s chosen means of sexual gratification. Jimmy Silver in his righteous chagrin called her a sham whore, a man-hating, man-eating dyke.

  Conan said, “This is despicable.”

  Justine nodded. “Did you see the note on the last page?”

  On the final page, the text ended halfway down the page, and on the blank half was written in a small, erratic hand, “Byron, if anything happens to me, I want this chapter included in Odyssey when it’s published. And if you have any doubts about the last part, talk to Marietta Hayley, sometime actress, New York. Ask her about her roommate in the three months before Blitz hit the fan. JRG.”

  Conan tossed the pages on the table, feeling an anger he knew was only a shadow of the rage Savanna had lived with since she read the chapter. And she had read it. She had burned one copy of it. She didn’t know about the copy Gould had left with Byron Lasky.

  This was how Gould had blackmailed her into submission while her career crumbled. If she was a good girl, he wouldn’t include this chapter when he submitted Odyssey for publication. If she wasn’t…

  “Marian, you work in the ephemeral world of public popularity—what would happen to Savanna if this chapter was included when Odyssey is published?”

  Marian took a deep breath. “Well, you know, there’s not much stars can do these days to disillusion their fans to the point of turning against them. But this…maybe it’s the last taboo. At least for somebody like Savanna, whose popularity is based so much on her sex appeal. I think it would’ve destroyed her.”

  “Apparently she thought so, too.” He turned to Justine. “Mrs. Lasky, what are you going to do with this chapter?”

  “Normally Byron and I would decide that together, but he’s too ill to deal with this…this utter garbage now, and I’m simply too distracted to be objective about it. That’s why I wanted to discuss it with you. I do
n’t know, for instance, whether it might be considered evidence in Savanna’s trial.”

  Conan swallowed the bitter laugh that was his first impulse. That chapter would be considered damning evidence, especially since it could be compared to the other burned fragments Steve Travers said were found in the condo’s fireplace.

  “Mrs. Lasky, you called this garbage. It’s far worse than that. It was a knife in Savanna’s back, and Gould relished twisting it. He had a sadist’s eye for vulnerability, and he understood very well that Savanna Barany without a stage might as well be dead. In a sense, she was fighting for her life. And it was a battle to the death.”

  Justine pressed her fingers to her eyes and finally said, “You’ve put the matter into perspective very nicely. I can’t honestly say I like Savanna, perhaps because she’s so beautiful, so incredibly talented, and it seems that everything has come so easily to her. I suppose I’m jealous of that. But it is not my intention to make her suffer.” Then she added, “Nor to serve as Ravin’s henchman beyond the grave.”

  Marian loosed a whispering sigh. She said, “Justine, I think the place for that chapter is in the nearest fire.” Justine nodded and began to gather the pages and tap them together. “I think Byron would agree. Thank you, Mr. Flagg.”

  Conan rose. “I hope your husband’s recovery continues, Mrs. Lasky. Marian, it’s been a pleasure knowing you, in spite of the circumstances.”

  “Well, this has certainly been an interesting vacation. Next time you’re in New York, plan to stay with Jacob and me at the farm.”

  He thanked her for the invitation, then turned and walked down the corridor, past Savanna’s room and beyond through the crowd still clamoring at the entrance to the wing.

  When at length the hospital doors closed behind him, he paused to look up at a sky of singing blue filled with towers of cumulus cloud, blue-gray beneath, ivory and snow white on their crowns.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Flagg.”

  His gaze shifted downward. Beatrice Dobie. She was carrying a bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums in a quart jar. “Good afternoon, Miss Dobie.”