“It’s not about the police.” Her voice was stronger now. It sounded more like a cornered animal than an injured one.
“Maybe at Merton Stein they like it when you pull your prima donna act, it makes them feel like they’ve got a real star, but out here, it’s not getting you anything.”
“You think this is an act?”
“Mister Foster,” Miguel said behind me.
“Yeah. I think you’re feeling upstaged by a dead starlet who was having an affair with your husband. You’ve got to remind everyone you’re around, but all you got was a Mexican and me.”
“Mister Foster,” Miguel said again, putting his hand on my elbow now.
“No,” Chloë Rose said, throwing the water glass. She only had enough strength to get it a foot or so away from the bed. The water splashed my pant leg. She was shaking her head. “No. No, no, no. I have no one anymore. My mother...my father... Now my husband, too. I have nobody! Nobody wants me.”
Miguel left then. Probably going back to his stash of medicine.
“What about your adoring fans? Hell, I’m waiting for your next picture.”
She just kept shaking her head.
Miguel was back then with another glass of water and some pills cupped in his palm. I held up my hand to prevent him from going forward. “She’s had enough of that.”
She pushed what covers were on her off and stood, but she was unsteady on her feet and she fell against me. “Hold me,” she said. I put my arms around her. It hurt like hell.
Our faces were inches apart. Her eyes were desperate, urgent with need. Did she want me to kiss her? With her husband missing and her doting houseboy watching?
I held her away from me, one hand on each of her arms. “I know a private place,” I said. “The Enoch White Clinic. I had some dealings with them a year or so back when I was working a missing persons and the missing person turned up...unwell. They’re good, professional, real doctors.”
“You think I need to go to hospital?”
“You think you’re fine here?”
She rested her head against my chest. “I’m not fine anywhere.”
“I’ll ring them right up. They’ve got people on call any time of the day or night. I bet they can be here within the hour.”
She looked back up at me, and now she was scared.
“It’ll be all right,” I said, although I didn’t know if it would.
“But what happened to Mandy...”
“The police are looking into it. Sometimes they surprise you and do their job.”
“You said the police only want headlines, not killers.”
Throwing my own words back at me. I was as crazy as she was to go on talking to her. But up close like that she smelled so nice. A man could get distracted by that.
She straightened a fold in my shirt, studying the weave intensely. “If you would look into it, I would feel so much better. Everyone else seems out for themselves. I’m frightened.”
“I’ve been warned away from this thing by more people in more ways than I would care to list.”
She looked up at me without moving her head. Her eyes glistened, just like they did at that crucial moment in all of her pictures. “Please,” she said, breathing the word so I could feel it on my lips.
I bent down and mashed my lips against hers. It wasn’t right, but I did it anyway, and I won’t say I’m sorry. When we broke apart, I said, “Why does Daniel Merton want to buy your horse?”
Her brow crumpled, and she took a step back, both hands still on my chest. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”
She shook her head, confused, and I could see the hysteria setting back in.
Miguel said, “Mr. Foster, I think you should leave.”
We ignored that.
“When did he give you the horse,” I said.
She still shook her head. “Four months ago, maybe five.”
“Does he often give you things like that?”
“On occasion. When a picture does well. He does it with all of his actresses. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Has he ever asked for a present he’s given you back before?”
She pressed her lips together, and shook her head. Maybe this time it meant no. “I don’t understand, why are you asking me these things?”
“Miss Rose,” Miguel said.
“Forget it,” I said, and then I leaned in, and she met me, and I kissed her again, smelling flowers and something behind the flowers that was really her.
This time when we parted, she said, “Promise me you’ll help Mandy.”
“I’ll try,” I said, because I was a fool.
She collapsed in my arms, going limp, and I struggled to hold her. I leaned her back so that she sat down on the bed, and then I turned back to Miguel, indicating that he should step in and take over. He wouldn’t look at me. He took her arm and leaned down for her legs, helping her back onto the bed. There was a phone on the night table and I picked it up to call the clinic. They did the bulk of their business giving people the cure, booze and dope, but they handled all variety of mental disorders. I couldn’t tell if Chloë Rose had a problem beyond an artistic bent, but if she was suicidal, she needed more than a Mexican with a pill bottle and a stack of handkerchiefs to sop up her blood. The nurse on the phone assured me that they’d be right over.
Miguel had gotten her back in the bed, and was holding a new glass of water to her lips. I didn’t see if he had given her the pills too. I went back out into the hall, feeling that I had done what I could and a lot that I shouldn’t have, and wondering how I had put myself back into this thing right when I should have been walking out. Miguel joined me in a moment.
“Don’t be sore at me,” I said. “I didn’t mean for any of it to go that way in there.”
“We’re all doing our jobs,” he said.
I was too exhausted to fight with him.
“These doctors that you called? Will they call the police?”
“No. And they’ll do all they can to keep the police from her—to keep everyone from her, really.”
He nodded as though that was satisfactory. We went back downstairs and smoked cigarettes in silence while we waited. When the men in white came, they were quick, cool, and professional. We watched Chloë Rose, the great star, led into the back of the white van that read “Enoch White Clinic” in red with a caduceus along the side. They pulled away with her.
“Tell Rosenkrantz where she went, if he ever comes back,” I said. “He can call me if he wants to.”
Miguel didn’t say anything. I didn’t care. I set a brisk pace to my car, got in, made it to my apartment building, and fell on the mattress without taking off my shoes.
TWENTY-FOUR
I missed the sunrise and missed most of what people call morning. I had to get undressed before I could get dressed again, which only hurt a little. No more than getting gored by a bull. I decided that I needed a proper breakfast. I brought out most of what was in the refrigerator and fried it in butter while the coffee brewed and then ate the whole mess in a little less time than it took to cook it. It was eleven o’clock. I had the vague sense that at some point the previous night, I had promised Chloë Rose that I would find Mandy Ehrhardt’s killer. I distinctly remembered getting thrown off that very case by no less than three people, some more emphatic than others. And I didn’t know if Greg Taylor’s death tied in to all of this, but with Chloë Rose and Stark in the same picture, it felt a little too close for comfort. When you added that all up, I guessed there wasn’t much to do except to go see if any more paint had peeled off of the walls in my office.
The waiting room at my office appeared empty when I opened the door. The standing ashtray had the usual number of butts plus the one that Knox had added the day before. The layer of dust on the rough burgundy upholstery was undisturbed. It was the appearance of no business, which was business as usual. I closed the outer door and
turned to face the space behind it.
“That’s far enough,” Benny Sturgeon said, holding a .32 automatic in his right hand. The barrel pointed at me.
“When you want to hide in doorways, Mr. Sturgeon, it’s best to leave off the aftershave,” I said, like I was an expert at hiding in doorways.
He took a quick step towards me, but when I didn’t move, he stepped back again. “I’m the one who’s going to do the talking, you get me?”
I laughed, and the hard expression on his face turned to pained confusion.
“I’ve got a gun here,” he said.
“You’ve been watching too many of your own movies.”
I turned away from him to go to my office door.
“That’s far enough,” he said.
“You said that already,” I reminded him while getting the key out and fitting it into the door. “When you want to threaten somebody, it’s best to have the safety catch off. It makes the whole thing more effective.”
He moved behind me, but I ignored him. Hollywood. The talent was crazy and the people behind the scenes were crazier. I opened the office door, and flicked on the overhead light.
There was a man standing against the opposite wall with his arms over his chest. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
“Who the hell are you?” I said.
“My partner,” a voice said behind me. “McEvoy. You met yesterday.”
“How do you do,” McEvoy said, bobbing his head.
“Samuels,” I said, and turned to see him. “You couldn’t wait out front like a civilian would? You’ve got to break into my office?”
“It’s not breaking in when there’s probable cause,” Detective Samuels said. “You’re suspected of interfering with a police investigation.” He looked over at Sturgeon, who had come in, his gun still outstretched. “You can drop that, Sturgeon,” Samuels said.
“Don’t mind him,” I said. “It’s just a prop. You’ve got blanks in there, don’t you, Sturgeon?”
His hand dropped to his side and he was the same ineffectual man who had tried to hire me the day before. “Yes. They’re blanks.”
“And the safety’s on,” Samuels said.
“Okey, the damn safety’s on!” Sturgeon said.
I nodded my chin at Samuels. “You mind if I sit down? I’ve kind of been running around the past few days.” I went around my desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down like I was all alone, bringing my hands up behind my head and resting it on both of my palms. Samuels was still staring at the director. “What are you doing here?”
Sturgeon looked around at each of us like he was going to ask for directions.
“He came by yesterday,” I said. “He wanted to hire me to work the Ehrhardt murder. He had this crazy idea that you wanted Chloë Rose for the spot. I told him I’d already been warned off of that case and anyway I’ve got a job going and I only work one job at a time. So he came back to change my mind.”
“You know, I never saw his lips move,” Samuels said, eliciting a choked-off laugh from his partner.
“Is that what it was all about?” Samuels said to Sturgeon. “You thought you could scare the peeper into working this case?”
Sturgeon nodded. “Yes. It’s all exactly as Mr. Foster says.”
“What, you don’t trust the cops?” McEvoy said.
“Do you?” I said.
“Okay, enough from you,” Samuels said. “You know, Foster, the other morning I liked you all right, and I’m not a man who likes peepers.”
“You’re not alone.”
He ignored that. “You played it straight with me. You didn’t hold anything out.” He looked at me sharply. “Did you?”
“No,” I said, leaning forward in my chair and resting my hands on my desk.
“You see? He didn’t leave anything out,” Samuels said across the room to McEvoy as if they had been arguing about it before I got there. Samuels looked back at me. “So how come I find out you’re working the Ehrhardt murder when I told you not to?”
“Who says I am?” I said, squinting.
“I say it,” Samuels said. “And an informant who I won’t mention. You’ll understand.”
“Did you find everything you needed in here, or do you need me to get out any other files for you?”
“This one’s a real riot,” McEvoy said.
“Who asked you?” I said.
“Enough. Just tell me what you found out, Foster, and then that’s the end of it for you. Understand?
I nodded over at Sturgeon. “Do we want company while we talk?”
“Sturgeon, you wait outside,” Samuels said.
Sturgeon slumped his shoulders, and went back out into the reception room. Samuels closed the door behind him. I listened for the sound of the outer door, but it didn’t come. Sturgeon was waiting.
“So my friend at the Chronicle ratted me out,” I said, taking a cigarette from the pack on my desk.
“Why do you say that?” Samuels said.
I waved out my match. “Only person who could have talked.”
“You think what you want,” Samuels said. “Just spill.”
“I’m guessing you already know everything I know. There was a woman killed the same way as Ehrhardt back in December, just before Christmas. Found in Harbor City, never identified. So naturally I got to thinking that maybe they were killed by the same person. You see why I might have thought that?”
Samuels pressed his lips together and squinted. He saw all right. But it looked like it might have been the first time he saw. Maybe it hadn’t been Fisher who had ratted me out after all.
“So who was the Jane Doe?” Samuels said.
“Never identified,” I repeated, slower than before. “You can find everything I know in the S.A. Times for December 23.”
“Fine,” Samuels said. “What about this man under the boardwalk in Harbor City last night? Or did you think I hadn’t heard about that?”
“A different job.”
“He’s connected to another actor in Ehrhardt’s movie. I don’t like that.”
“You saying there’s a connection between their deaths?”
“Am I?”
“Don’t let me be the one to tell you,” I said.
Samuels took a deep breath then and let it out. His whole face went limp. “Look, Foster. I don’t mean to give you a hard time, but you know how it is.”
“Yeah, I know it,” I said, and held back a sneer. At least, I thought I held it back.
“Peepers,” Samuels said and stood up.
“Yeah,” McEvoy said, dropping a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Peepers.”
“Here’s a little advice, Foster. Don’t find any more bodies in Harbor City.”
I smiled.
Samuels opened the door to the reception room just as the phone rang. He and McEvoy both turned back to look at me. The phone rang again.
Samuels said quietly, “Well, aren’t you going to answer it?”
TWENTY-FIVE
We all looked at the phone. I let it ring one more time, and picked up. “Foster.”
“Foster, you bastard, you’re a real pain, you know that?” It was Pauly Fisher at the Chronicle.
“Some people were just reminding me of that.”
“I don’t have anything for you on any other murders yet, but I found out who buried the story about the Jane Doe.”
“Yes,” I said, noncommittal. I looked up at the officers. Sturgeon was standing behind them, and all three of them were watching me. I gestured that it was nothing and that they should go, which worked about as well as I could have expected. I turned away in my seat a little, so that I wasn’t facing them. “Go on.”
“You okay, Foster?” Fisher said on the phone. “You don’t sound like your usual self.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You’re not alone, is that it?” Fisher’s voice lowered as though the people in my office could hear him.
“That’s right.”
&
nbsp; “Okay,” he said. “I’ll keep it quick. That article you mentioned was by Ronald Dupree, a guy I’ve known for a thousand years. So I called Ron and asked him why the story had been buried. He was cagey at first, but I pushed and finally Ron told me the story was quashed by none other than Daniel Merton.”
I turned farther in my seat, so I was facing the grimy window behind my desk, the cord of the phone dangling over my shoulder.
“You there, Foster?” Fisher said.
“Did your friend have any idea why?”
“No. And after he told me, he tried to make out like it was just a rumor, and there was probably nothing to it. Which tells me it’s the truth.”
Someone cleared his throat behind me. “Yeah,” I said. “Listen, thanks. I mean it.”
“Like hell you do,” Fisher said. “We’ll talk later when you can talk.” He hung up.
That was the second time that Daniel Merton’s name had come up, first with the horse and now this. Why would the head of one of the studios, one of the richest men in California, want to keep the murder of an unidentified woman in Harbor City quiet?
I turned back and cradled the phone. “My dry cleaner. My other suit is ready.”
“Cut the comedy, Foster.”
“All right, it was my guy at the Chronicle. I’d asked him to look for more murders that matched the pattern, and he was calling to say he hadn’t found any.” I looked Samuels in the eye. “That’s the truth. Now if you boys wouldn’t mind clearing out, I have some real work to do.” I opened one of my desk drawers as though I were looking for a file.
“If I find out that you made my job harder,” Samuels said, “I’m going to come down on you with everything I’ve got.”
“Doesn’t look like you’ve got too much,” I said, “if you can waste your time hanging around a peeper’s office, listening to his phone calls.”
Samuels tapped a forefinger against my desk. “If your friend calls you with anything,” he said, “you call me with it. Otherwise, you stay away from my case.”
He stalked out of the office, leaving the door open behind him.
McEvoy tipped his hat to me with one finger, nodded at Sturgeon, and then walked out. He pulled the door shut.
The Twenty-Year Death Page 31