Anyway, I hate TV.
‘The script is not crap!’ shrieked the director.
Bloom, sick of the little drama being enacted below us, switched off the microphone feed to the control booth. We could still see the arm flailing but ignored it.
‘So why has Teen Scream started filming here again?’
‘The LAPD shut down this sound stage while the forensics team was working,’ replied Bloom. ‘But as soon as they packed up, everything started again. Heron Studios couldn’t afford to leave this rental space inactive for any longer and Clearstar didn’t want to move their series, so …’ He waved to indicate the set below. ‘Here we are … crime scene and TV set all in one.’
Shelby Bloom was the senior partner of Bloom, Hand and Nerrit, a high-profile Los Angeles law firm servicing the A-list of the entertainment industry. He was known as the Silver Fox and not just for his hair. The silver-grey suit that matched his hair colour, the perfect manicure, the arctic-white teeth against the smooth, tanned face. He had to be in his seventies but expert hands, fuelled by a lot of money, had managed to polish off at least a decade or two.
Bloom was small with fine bones but there was no Napoleon complex here — he was too relaxed. He already knew he had enough pull to get what he wanted. Still, it’d taken all of his connections to get us in here. Clearstar was super-protective of its hit show. They were freaking out about how to handle the media tsunami that was breaking over their collective heads.
Bloom had rung out of the blue late last night and informed me that he’d booked a seat on the 9.35 am flight out of San Francisco. His driver would meet me at LAX and bring me out to Heron Studios in Culver City.
While I was still wondering who this Bloom was — and how the hell he’d got hold of my very private home number — he’d introduced himself and outlined his brief.
That’d made me shut up and listen.
The Earl Curtis case had been in the news, one way or another, every day since the grisly discovery had been made.
First, the shock of a cadaver being found in the floor of a hot new TV show … which of course seemed like a tacky publicity stunt. But after the identification was made everything had changed. The media had drawn a collective breath and exploded into a frenzy of reminiscences and speculation.
You see, Earl Curtis was a legend.
Curtis had gone missing while directing in this very studio. Just seemed to walk into thin air, leaving behind a grieving family, a brilliant career and a reputation that’d skyrocketed with the years. According to all the experts, Earl Curtis was one of the pre-eminent directors of his generation; a shooting star in 1939, the golden year of old Hollywood.
And his disappearance while directing Gone with the Wind was one of the great unsolved Hollywood mysteries.
I’d known very little about Earl Curtis, he was too many generations removed from me, but even so I’d followed the case when I could. This was a classic ‘who done it’. How could I not be intrigued?
But the police had not revealed details of any solid leads and the media speculation had become so truly outrageous it was impossible to sort the facts from the fantasy … everything from Nazi conspiracies to alien abductions laced with vengeful ghosts. So when Bloom had rung last night and demanded that I take the case, on impulse I’d agreed to come down and meet with him.
‘So, tell me more about who found Earl Curtis and how?’ I asked.
‘Heron Studios, the company that owns this lot, were upgrading all their sound stages and discovered him in the process. The electrical crew had to cut a trench in the cement floor for a new cable — and there was Earl Curtis in the corner of Sound Stage 3. The LAPD say that back in 1939 someone scooped a body-sized cavity out of the wet cement the night it was laid and reset it with Earl in the mix.’ Bloom qualified that. ‘To be exact, that piece of floor was actually being recemented.’
‘Recemented … Why was that?’
‘Earl went in for interesting camera angles, so he’d had a section cut out of the original floor so he could shoot up from below floor level. When he was finished, Earl had it filled in again.’
‘And that night someone took advantage of the fresh disposal site?’
‘Yes.’
Hmm. ‘If Earl’s been in that floor since before World War II, why’s it taken so long for anyone to discover him? I’d have thought this building would’ve been knocked down and replaced over the years.’
‘Not on this lot, Ms Dupree; it’s a heritage site. Heron Studios was one of the first in Hollywood. Some of the greatest movies of all time have been filmed here: Citizen Kane, Gone with the Wind, Hitchcock’s first American films, Rebecca and Spellbound. Who doesn’t want to act in the building where Orson Welles filmed Citizen Kane?’
I scanned the set below. ‘Even if you’re wearing fangs while you do it?’
‘Particularly if you’re wearing fangs.’ Bloom was less cynical than pragmatic. ‘Anything that contributes to your credibility … that’s gold in this industry.’
‘Oscar gold?’
‘Exactly. Every hack in this town firmly believes that one day they’re going to be up there, thanking their agent in front of the Academy and a billion adoring fans.’
‘So was the LAPD able to ascertain when Earl Curtis was killed?’
‘Pretty much so. Well, the date at least … Earl was wearing the same clothes he was last seen in and the records show this floor was recemented the day he disappeared.’
‘May 1939?’
‘Sunday May 28th, to be exact.’
‘And they know how he died?’
‘Yeah,’ said Bloom, his lip curled in contempt. ‘Someone crushed Earl’s face into the back of his head.’
Bloom was too busy watching the bickering below to see my reaction. It was as though Bloom knew Earl Curtis … and not in a friendly way either.
‘So it’s murder. Mr Curtis presumably didn’t put himself in that floor.’
‘Yes.’ Bloom gave a half-covered yawn. ‘That’s how the police are handling it.’
I studied him.
A yawn is a classic sign of passive-aggression, yet Shelby Bloom had done his level best to get me down here. He’d harangued me on the phone for two hours last night to persuade me to fly down from San Francisco this morning … and the distance was the least of my concerns. But, now that I was here, he seemed too preoccupied … or too something … to brief me properly. I had to drag everything out of him.
Thunk.
The side door into the control room had been swung open so hard it bashed against the back wall.
‘What are you doing up here, Bloom?’ The intruder was a big man, built like a gone-to-seed wrestler and trying to disguise his extra weight in an expensive suit. ‘Who the fuck let you on my set?’
‘Calm down, Leonard,’ said Bloom, unfazed. ‘I have …’
‘Fuck you, Bloom! I’ve had those LAPD drones in and out of here disrupting shooting for the past month, the paparazzi crawling over the walls trying to get a photo of the hole in the floor and now you show up with your underage girlfriend. Get off my set!’
I grimaced. My real age was already enough of a liability in this business without being stuck with a babyface too.
‘Talk to your CEO, Leonard,’ fired back Bloom with pointed satisfaction. ‘Clearstar gave me permission.’
Leonard’s eyes bulged but he bit down on his reply.
Bloom turned back to me. ‘Ms Dupree, this is Leonard Brewster, Teen Scream’s executive producer.’
Leonard completely ignored me, overcome by his own grievances. ‘This fucking set,’ he muttered. ‘I warned them not to put the show here.’
‘Really?’ Bloom eyed him cynically. ‘Why did Clearstar insist on putting the series here in the first place?’
Leonard didn’t respond to that either.
‘Didn’t they want to cash in on the ghost story?’ Bloom looked around assessingly. ‘This is Heron Studios’ famous haunted sound stage.
Clearstar thought it was a pretty good choice for the home for a horror series at the time … didn’t they?’
‘What do they know? Idiots …’ muttered Leonard. ‘And now see what’s happened! I wanted to shoot the series out in Death Valley. On the Manson Ranch. I’d made a deal with the owners, they wanted to sell.’ He warmed to the topic. ‘We could have raised the capital. Built a modern TV studio. Made it a real showplace …’
‘The Manson Ranch was going cheap,’ I cut in, ‘because they’re still finding dead bodies out there. That would’ve hampered your little real estate development plan, don’t you think?’
What a reptile.
‘Well, Leonard, no one can accuse you of letting sentiment get in the way of a buck.’ Bloom radiated disgust.
‘Yeah, like you’re any better.’ Leonard puffed out his wrestler’s chest. ‘So what the hell are you doing here, Bloom? That crazy old lady still leading you round by the balls?’
Leonard must be talking about Susan Curtis, Earl’s widow and Bloom’s client.
For one brief second the lawyer’s smooth facade tipped open — what was inside surprised me … grief.
Leonard leant in for another assault, his voice softly intimate. ‘I’ve heard she keeps Ceiba House exactly as it was when Earl was alive. That she sits alone in that heathen monstrosity still waiting for him to walk through the door …’
‘Leonard, you of all people,’ interjected Bloom, more than recovered, his voice dripping with innuendo, ‘should know better than to trust the tabloids.’
At that, Leonard puckered like he’d sucked on a particularly sour lemon and backed off.
Which made me curious …
‘So what are you doing here, Bloom?’ demanded Leonard Brewster, only one degree more calmly.
‘Mrs Curtis has decided she’s not satisfied with the police investigation, so she’s hired a private investigator.’
‘Yeah? A whole lot of good that’s going to do you. Christ, Earl died before World War II …’
‘Exactly,’ said Bloom. ‘That’s why we’ve got Ms Dupree here.’
Leonard checked me over with an insulting attention to detail and snorted, ‘This is your best option, Bloom? You’re thinking between your legs …’ Then he swung back to me, spluttering, ‘Hey, I know you … You’re one of those Time Investigators the NTA is training.’
In six months’ time I will become one of the first private investigators ever licensed to use the National Time Administration’s portal. That means my clients can employ me to retrieve information from the past.
Well … not the recent past. There is a thirty-year curfew. No time travel to any period closer than thirty years from the present. For lots of reasons, privacy not the least of them, everyone wants that curfew upheld. Especially the politicians who oversee the NTA.
But 1939 was well outside that limit.
Bloom wanted to hire me to investigate Earl Curtis’ murder because the LAPD doesn’t have access to the time portal.
In fact, no one outside of the NTA has access to it and the NTA only use their facility to service government commissions … projects that come straight from the White House, not for solving ordinary criminal cases or private mysteries.
‘Jesus, you can’t do this to me …’ bellowed Leonard, looming over the old lawyer. ‘Teen Scream can’t have its shooting schedule disrupted any further … and the media will go crazy.’
‘Get a grip will you, Leonard?’ barked Bloom. ‘The investigation won’t be done in the present and, unless you tell them, the media aren’t going to know a thing. This is Mrs Curtis’ private business and she shall not be disturbed any further!’ He hastily checked his watch. ‘Which reminds me, I have to call her now … Excuse me, Ms Dupree, I’ll be back in a moment.’ He cast Leonard Brewster another filthy look and left.
I studied Leonard Brewster. God knows how this lumbering gorilla had made it to executive producer; it wasn’t because of his charm.
Leonard turned his sights on me. ‘I’ve read about you …’
I sucked in a deep breath.
I’d had my fifteen minutes of fame last year and still got this kind of reaction. Occasionally it was pleasant, most of the time it wasn’t. One thing I’d learnt was that a photo on the front page meant you were more likely to be nailed to the public’s dart board than not …
Spotlights are used in hunting for a reason.
‘You’re the daughter of that Time Marshal who went missing last year.’ He leant over me, trying to intimidate.
I didn’t move.
I hate bullies. ‘So you can read, Leonard? Congratulations. Your family must be so proud.’
He missed that, too intent on a new line of thought. ‘Hey, wait a minute … doesn’t the NTA want to get rid of your training program? They don’t really want anyone to graduate at all now …’ He leant even closer, his mean eyes drilling into mine. ‘Is that true?’
I didn’t answer.
Damn — the hulk had stumbled onto my weak spot.
We were meant to be the first group of private investigators to be allowed access to the time portal. But of the ten carefully selected candidates who’d started in the training program a year ago, only three were left. One way or another our trainers had managed to whittle us down.
‘They’ve already washed out most of the candidates, haven’t they?’ Leonard nodded to himself. ‘Yeah, that’s right. There’s only four of you guys left.’ He was chuffed with his own brilliance.
‘Three,’ I snapped. ‘The three best. Can’t risk amateurs going through the time portal.’
But Leonard was right. For some unknown reason the NTA had changed their minds about the program and wanted to flunk us all.
‘Bullshit, you’re not the best,’ fired back Leonard. ‘You’re only in the program because of your mother … that marshal.’
Now I wanted to smack him.
I got this kind of insult every single day. The ruthless whittling down process had made the competition between the remaining candidates … Well, cutthroat was an understatement.
I’d earned my place, but the other two — Klaasen and Melnick — hated my guts and were determined to get rid of me. I knew this because they kept ramming home my deficiencies at every opportunity: I shouldn’t be there; I was too young; I didn’t have enough experience … So they went on.
When that hadn’t worked they’d buddied up for real and started sabotaging me at every opportunity. So far I’d kept ahead of them.
Leonard scanned my tight face. ‘How long before you can actually take private cases? It’s six months, isn’t it?’
I didn’t bother to reply. His smug expression said he knew he was right.
‘Six months …’ Leonard rubbed his meaty paws with anticipation. ‘That’s enough time for the NTA to find a way to jettison you … and your two pals.’ Well pleased with this deduction he congratulated himself. ‘That’s good. That’s very good.’
‘Don’t bet on it, Leonard,’ I snapped. ‘They’ll have to carry me out on a stretcher first. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘You get in my way, bitch.’ Leonard stuck his meaty finger in my shoulder and shoved. ‘And I’ll make sure they do carry you out!’
I stared down at his stubby digit, still joint-deep in my flesh. My diplomatic skills ebbed away. ‘If you don’t get your finger away from me, Leonard, I’ll break it off.’
I’d trained in Japanese martial arts since I was a kid.
‘Oh, will you?’ A nasty grin lit his simian features. It was sexual … ‘Just how are you going to stop me from doing anything I want to you?’ He tried to crowd me back into the wall, digging his finger in even deeper.
I didn’t move. ‘Back off, Leonard. Don’t start something you’ll regret.’
My lack of fear enraged him.
‘So, you want me to start something, do you, bitch? You like the rough stuff?’
He had no idea who he was dealing with …
Leonard sid
led even closer, as though to cover my mouth with his, and slid his paw from my shoulder down towards my breast …
That was it.
I wrenched Brewster’s hand off my chest and twisted cruelly, locking his wrist, elbow and shoulder into excruciating over-extension. The move flipped him around 180 degrees. He sucked in a shocked breath, but it was staccato. If he swayed even half an inch I would dislocate his shoulder.
‘Are you going to behave now, Leonard?’
He squawked in frustrated fury, ‘Let me go! You got me off guard. You just wait …’
I sighed. I didn’t have time for this out-of-control thug.
But how to get rid of him?
I strong-armed Leonard over to the window, pressing his forehead into the control desk beneath.
I stared at the set below, then held him up so he was forced to see it too. ‘Leonard, look down there! Don’t you think you’d better go and do your job?’
Bemused, Leonard followed my gaze, then cursed at the sight.
The verbal tussle between the director and the two stars had degenerated. As we watched, the director slapped the blonde actress full in the face and Vampire Boy stepped up to defend her, fists raised.
‘That stupid director. I knew she’d blow it!’
Extreme self-interest had taken over, Leonard had forgotten all about me …
I released him like a salmon ready to spawn and he raced for the stairs.
3
RUMOURS
‘What’s with the raging bull impersonation?’
‘Leonard Brewster’s desperate.’ Bloom was mildly pleased to find the surly producer absent. ‘After a decade of D-grade flops he brought Teen Scream to Clearstar and managed to parlay it into a new career.’
He noted with bored malice, ‘Leonard only got this far in Hollywood because of his father’s connections. But Brewster Senior is dead now and Leonard’s managed to run through the family fortune, so this is his last chance.’ Bloom dismissed it. ‘What a fool; all this free publicity has boosted Teen Scream’s ratings right through the roof …’ The lack of business acumen irked his shrewd soul. ‘And they need it.’
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