He squinted at me then and bit down on his cigar. “The tech get your prints?”
“You’ve got them on file.”
He nodded. “You can go then. Just don’t leave town, the usual story.”
“I’ll be right where you expect to find me.”
“Yeah, well. Good night.”
“Good morning, detective.” We shook hands. I went out the screen door into the chill of the morning. The sky was starting to show purple at the edges, like a bruise. I’d be able to see the sunrise if I could find a place to watch it from.
My car had the bottled-up smell of sweat and stale smoke. I rolled down the windows to let in the cool air while it lasted, and started the engine. I had been hired to babysit a paranoid prima donna, and I had ended up finding a dead woman cut almost to pieces. For some reason, I felt as though I hadn’t done a very good job.
I could at least try to make up for it. I pulled away from the curb and instead of heading back to Hollywood I took the turn at Montgomery.
TEN
The Rosenkrantz house looked undisturbed. I parked in the same spot I had the night before and killed the engine. The police would have to make a stop here later to get Rosenkrantz’s testimony, but they weren’t here yet. I got out of my car and walked up the middle of the road to the house. At the end of the drive, the garage doors were open and both the tan Buick and the maroon LaSalle were in their spots. I could check the house for signs of forced entry, but I didn’t see the need. It was just a sleeping house in a sleeping neighborhood. There was nothing to see and no one had missed me. I went back to my car and leaned against the hood as I lit a cigarette. It took three tries to get the match going.
The Mexican arrived on foot just before seven wearing the same ill-fitting hand-me-down jacket of the day before. He saw me and came over.
“How was your night?” he said.
“Hot.”
“Mine too.”
We both let the silence take a turn. “My name’s Miguel, by the way.” He nodded toward the house. “I’ve got the dayshift now. You don’t have to wait around.”
“I’m just finishing my cigarette,” I said, and took a drag.
He turned and crossed the street, on his way to his little castle where he got to protect the princess and there was trouble around every corner. I watched him go around to the back of the house. I waited another ten minutes to make sure he didn’t come back out again with news of some tragedy, or at least a tragedy I didn’t already know about. He didn’t. The cops still hadn’t shown up either. I finished my cigarette, got in my car, and pulled away.
In Hollywood, I stopped outside of the Olmstead without putting my car away in the garage. My apartment was just one big room with a private bathroom and a small kitchenette in a closet. I had done what I could to give each corner of the room its own purpose. There was a Formica table with two chrome chairs just outside the open kitchenette closet. There was a twin bed with a standing lamp and a night table just outside of the bathroom. There was my one good reading chair with another standing lamp and a stack of books on the floor over in the third corner. The only window was in the bathroom and it was made of pebbled glass.
I took three fingers of bourbon before my shower and another three after. I looked at the time and thought I ought to be hungry, so I went out again and stopped at a counter diner I liked and ordered a couple of scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, some well-burnt toast, and coffee, but the whole time I was working on it, I was thinking of a girl with her neck open and her thighs gouged out. I got down about half of my breakfast and left a good tip. I picked up the morning papers outside, but there was nothing in either of them about the Ehrhardt killing. It must have gotten called in too late.
The lobby of the Blackstone Building was empty. I took the automatic elevator up to the third floor. The hallway there was empty, too, and I was willing to bet that my office’s unlocked waiting room would be empty as well. I was wrong. It had two too many people in it.
Benny Sturgeon stood as I came in, his hat held in both hands in front of his stomach like a shield. He was tall, but no taller than me. Up close there were flecks of white in his hair that made him look distinguished instead of aged. He wore a pair of glasses with circular frames that I had not seen on the set the day before. He was in shirtsleeves and a vest, and there were deep lines across his forehead and at the corners of his mouth.
Al Knox was already on his feet, pacing, a lit cigarette in one hand. His eyelids were heavy and his shoulders tilted forward as though his back couldn’t support the weight of his stomach. He looked exactly like a man who had been woken early in the morning with bad news. I looked over at the standing ashtray covered in a fine layer of dust and saw that there was only one new butt. He hadn’t been there too long.
“Now, Mr. Foster—” Sturgeon began.
“Dennis,” Knox said.
“Mr. Foster, I must insist on seeing you first,” Sturgeon started in again. He spoke with the conviction of a man used to giving orders that are obeyed. Only the way he held his hat ruined the effect. “I’ve come with a job of the utmost importance. It’s imperative that we act right away.”
I quieted him with a look I only took out on special occasions. “Al first, then you.”
I stepped across to the inner door, unlocked it, and let Al into my office. I went around to my side of the desk and he sat down on one of the two straight-backed chairs on the other side. His lip curled.
“You’re a bastard, you know that?”
I raised both my hands. “Al, I was following a legitimate lead...”
“They want Rose for it.”
“What?” I felt as though someone had cut the cables on the elevator I was riding in.
“They want Chloë Rose for Mandy Ehrhardt’s murder.”
“Who do?”
“The cops. Who do you think?”
I leaned forward in my chair. “Al, I was at the scene. That was no woman’s killing. Certainly not a woman of Chloë Rose’s size. Can’t the studio quash it?”
Al shook his head and ran a hand along his cheek, letting it slide off his chin. “She had the motive. Ehrhardt was sleeping with her husband. And thanks to you she doesn’t have an alibi, but her husband does. The mayor doesn’t like that the press says the SAPD turns a blind eye to the movie people. They don’t like it in Harbor City much either. They’re going to make an example of this one. There’s no way they would convict a woman with Rose’s looks, or one as famous as her—she’s not even a citizen, for Christ’s sake. So the press will feel they can ride it as hard as they want without anybody getting seriously hurt.”
“Except for Mandy Ehrhardt, whose real killer walks away.”
“And Chloë Rose’s career, and the studio’s bank account.”
I sat back in my chair and lit a cigarette. “What do you mean she’s not a citizen? She’s married to Rosenkrantz, isn’t she?”
“Resident alien. They met when he and his first wife were living in France. You ever hear how old she was?”
“How old?”
“The official story is eighteen. Unofficially, I’ve heard everything from seventeen to fifteen.”
“So what? She’s over eighteen now.”
“So everything. It’s all going to come out, how old she was or wasn’t, and that story about what happened to her with some prison guard...”
“What prison guard?”
Knox waved a hand angrily. “I don’t know, it’s all rumors, but they’re pretty nasty rumors. Mix that in with a murder trial here and see what you get. I’m telling you, there’s plenty to feed the headlines for weeks. Months, maybe.”
I shook my head, trying to reconcile the small, vulnerable, beautiful woman I’d seen the day before with the brutal mutilation and killing I had come across that morning. “It’s all circumstantial.”
“That’s all they need. She’s not supposed to hang for it. They make a big splash of her arrest, and if it never gets to a convi
ction, who cares? Only, we do care. We care plenty.”
I just shook my head again.
“You really screwed up,” Knox said.
“You came over just to tell me that in person?”
“That, and this: You’re fired.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it on the desk. I left it there untouched.
He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Dennis, I know we go way back, but—”
“You can skip the old friends bit. I heard it yesterday. I didn’t like it then, and I like it even less now.”
“Fine. Then just take the money and be glad you’re not in deeper than you are.” He mashed out his cigarette in my ashtray and stood up. He pointed at the door. “And if Sturgeon tries to get you to—”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m off the case.”
At the door, Knox turned back with his hand on the knob. “We’re not public servants anymore, Foster. We’re not supposed to deal with this stuff anymore.”
“We all serve someone,” I said.
“I wish like hell I knew who you thought you were serving last night,” he said. And he left the office, leaving the door open to the reception room, and slamming the outside door to the hall.
ELEVEN
I would have liked a moment to collect my thoughts before dealing with Sturgeon, but he was already in the open doorway. His hat was in one hand down at his side now. He had his chest out with his chin raised in a caricature of defiance. He was directing himself and he had lost the ability to realize he was hamming it up. When he started, his tone was stern. “Mr. Foster, I have a job for you.”
I indicated the chairs across my desk. He sat on the one Knox hadn’t.
“I assume Mr. Knox told you that they suspect Chloë of...” He took a deep breath. “Of what happened to Mandy.”
I still had half a cigarette left, and I drew on it. “He did. What’s that done to the picture?” I asked. “You’re not filming today?”
He watched me smoke, but it was unclear if his expression was distaste or desire. I didn’t offer him one. “With Mandy’s death, and this business with the police and Chloë...I was forced to suspend filming for the morning. I’m shooting B-reel this afternoon.”
“So the movie’ll go on?”
“Mandy’s parts were mostly finished. We’ll just get Shem to rewrite the few remaining scenes, and it should be fine.”
“You mean Mr. Rosenkrantz, whose lover was killed last night, and whose wife is suspected of the killing. I’m sure he’ll be eager to get to a typewriter.”
His face showed his distaste. “Yes, I mean Shem Rosenkrantz. Now, what’s with all the questions? I came to hire you. Don’t you want me to let you know what the job is?”
I went on. “It must be a relief to you, that the picture will still get finished. You need this movie, don’t you? Your career depends on it. Or was I misinformed?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. Only that you have a pretty good reason not to want Chloë Rose to be on the hook for Miss Ehrhardt’s murder. Especially if you were finished with Miss Ehrhardt anyway.”
He stood. “I’m repulsed by your implication.”
“What was my implication?” I said. “I must have missed it.” Then I gave him the five-dollar smile.
Grudgingly he sat back down. “Don’t you want to at least hear about the job?”
“You want me to prove that Chloë Rose did not kill Mandy Ehrhardt.”
He tilted his head and gave a single downward nod. “That is correct.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I said.
“You can’t? Mr. Foster, you’re part of the reason she’s in this mess, don’t you want to get her out of it?”
“I just promised your chief of security that I was off this case. I don’t want it anyway.”
“Knox made you promise not to take my case?”
“Knox didn’t make me do anything,” I said, standing. “This whole thing was wrong from the start. All of you Hollywood people may be used to using each other like props, but I’m not a prop. I’m an honest guy trying to make a living. This story doesn’t need me. My part was written out.”
“You can’t allow Chloë to have her career ruined, her life—”
“Skip it. Your picture’ll get finished, and it’ll even make a few extra dollars because it’s got a dead ingénue in it. So don’t start crying crocodile tears. My answer is no. Now if you don’t mind.”
He tried to push his chest out again, but it didn’t work with me standing over him. He got up himself, to even things out. “I do mind,” he said. “I’m willing to pay you quite a bit of money.” He started fumbling at his pocket, at last coming up with a tan goatskin billfold. He took out a handful of bills.
I waved them away. “If you don’t put that away, I might have to do something we’ll both regret.”
He stood there with the money in his outstretched hand just long enough to feel foolish. He put it away with one quick motion.
I picked up the envelope Knox had left on my desk and went over to the safe with it. “Had Miss Ehrhardt been in many other pictures?” I asked, just to be saying something.
“No, this would have been her first one, other than a few jobs as an extra.”
I nodded as though that meant something to me, deposited the envelope in the safe, and locked it. Then I went over to the door and gestured for him to vacate my office. “You’re welcome to use the reception room, but I’ve got work here.”
He regarded me for a moment, deflated, and then stepped by me as though I were wet paint he had to worry about getting on his clothes. I pushed the door shut and locked it.
I listened, waiting for his exit. After a minute, I heard the outer door open and his footsteps grow faint in the hall. I could just make out the chime of the elevator when it arrived.
I looked around my office. I didn’t have a damn thing to do. If I sat around long enough, maybe a client would come in, a fat heiress with a kidnapped dog, or a kid sister looking for her missing brother.
I hadn’t decided about the check in the safe yet. It felt dirty to me. Studios didn’t usually hire private investigators to follow their stars. The stars might themselves, but not the studio. And with the murder added in, the whole thing seemed like a setup to me. But who was getting set up? The obvious answer fell too close to home, but I couldn’t figure it. There would have been no way to predict that I would have ended up in Harbor City last night at all. Something was wrong with this thing, and I wasn’t going to figure out what standing around here.
I paced over to the safe and then back.
It’s none of your business, Foster. You got paid off to let it drop.
Yeah, but the patsy costume doesn’t quite fit right. It’s too tight in the neck. And I’m not actually paid until I cash their check.
You’re a damn fool, Foster.
That one I had no answer to. The only kinds of people in this business were fools who could admit it and fools who couldn’t. I could admit it, but it didn’t change what I was.
I started to unlock the door, but before the knob turned, the phone on my desk rang. I hesitated a moment, not eager to add whatever headache was on the phone to the ones I had been handed in the last five hours. But it rang again, insistent and impossible to ignore. I went back to my desk, and watched it ring a third time. I picked up from the client’s side of the desk.
“Foster.”
“Mr. Foster, we met yesterday.” The voice was deep and charming and expertly controlled. “Do you know who I am?”
“I met a lot of people yesterday,” I said. “So many that some aren’t even alive today.”
“This thing with Mandy is horrible,” the voice said and I thought it sounded almost sincere. But who was I to judge? Maybe he was really shaken. Maybe he’d cried all morning.
“It’s also keeping me busy. What do you want, Mr. Stark?’
&nb
sp; “You do remember me! I suppose remembering people is important in your line of work.” He paused to give me a chance to reply, but I didn’t say anything. How many people forgot meeting John Stark? He went on, “I’m calling because Greg Taylor is missing. My...kitchen help. He answered the door for you yesterday.”
“Yeah, I remember him too.”
“I’m calling to see if you think you could find him. But you say you’re busy...”
“How long has he been missing? He was there yesterday afternoon.”
“Since shortly after you left. We had a fight, you see. He didn’t like how you’d treated him and he thought I should have defended him better. Or that was the excuse for the fight. It had been almost two months since our last quarrel. It was bound to happen sooner rather than later. Anyway, he left, stayed away all night. He’ll do that, but he always comes back in the morning. And with this thing with Mandy...I’m worried.”
Now he sounded it.
“Why don’t you go to the police? I’m sure for you they won’t notice that it hasn’t been twenty-four hours. They have a whole operation for this kind of thing.”
“When Greg goes off like this, a lot of the things he does are not strictly legal. If he were in a compromising situation, I wouldn’t want the police to be the ones who find him...”
Knox wanted me off the Rose/Ehrhardt case, and anything I had had in mind to do there was going to be strictly on my own time. Things weren’t so good that I could turn away business.
Stark spoke into the silence, “I’d rather not go into more details over the phone.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” I said. “I take it you can’t come to my office?”
“I was hoping you would come here.”
“Right.”
“They’ll expect you at the door,” he said, and he hung up.
Everyone wanted to keep me in this movie business. Everyone but the person who got me into it in the first place. I went through the routine with the lock and took the stairs so I wouldn’t have to wait for the automatic elevator.
TWELVE
A proper butler opened the door at Stark’s this time. He was bald with a horseshoe of hair around the back of his head, a pencil mustache, and a tuxedo with white gloves. He led the way across the marble entry hall, back through the same set of rooms I had seen the day before, and out onto the same verandah where Stark was in the same position. He was reading a different script, though, because only a few pages of this one had been turned back. Or maybe he was rereading his lines.
The Twenty-Year Death Page 24