Contest

by David Wood

  CONTEST

  A Dane Maddock Adventure

  David Wood

  PROLOGUE

  October 7, 1949

  The Mojave Desert

  ––––––––

  The sun beat down on the back of Jean’s neck as the little red sports car zipped along the sun-baked road. The wind swept her hair back and the setting sun’s last rays colored her skin a delicate shade of orange. Jean had given up on trying to keep her hair tied and had just let it fly. She’d fix it when they stopped to fill up.

  Evelyn Knight was on the radio, crooning a love ballad. It was perfect.

  Jean looked over at Kirk, who flashed her an easy smile. “What’s a buzzin, cousin?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t call me that. It sounds so wrong.”

  “Come on, dolly. It’s just a saying.”

  Jean frowned. “I understand idioms. I just don’t care for one that sounds so incestuous.”

  “Don’t flip your wig.” Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes, and the breeze ruffled his thick black hair. He really was a dreamboat. “You are having a good time aren’t you?”

  “Aces,” she said, and immediately felt foolish using the vernacular. Kirk was a writer, a man of words. She didn’t want him to think she was just another chucklehead. “I still can’t get over this car.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the steering wheel is on the wrong side, for a start. And it only has the two seats.”

  “It’s a Jaguar XK120,” he said proudly. “Imported it from England. They race these over there, you know? Leslie Johnson just won a biggie back in August.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing.” Jean had no interest in automobile racing, but she tried to put some sincerity into her words. “How fast can it go?”

  “I’ll show you.” Kirk stepped on the gas. The engine roared and the car surged forward.

  Jean knew she ought to be frightened, but she found the experience exhilarating. The parched landscape flashed by in a blur of tan and green. She threw back her head and laughed. After a few minutes, Kirk slowed down to a normal speed.

  “What did you think? Amazing, wasn’t it?”

  “I loved it!” It was the simple truth. She’d found it utterly exhilarating.

  “I love you,” he replied.

  Jean gasped. She searched his eyes for a sign of laughter, but there was none.

  “Kirk, we’ve only known each other for three weeks.” And what a three weeks it had been! They’d met on the set of Cursed Treasure, where she’d been working as an extra. She’d taken him for an actor, given his good looks, but he said he was a writer and also worked behind the scenes in some unspecified capacity. The first time their eyes had met, she felt as though he could see right through her. He hadn’t smiled, only a quirk of an eyebrow acknowledged her existence, but she’d been smitten from that moment. The courtship had moved rapidly. As a dancer, model, and actress she was accustomed to receiving attention from men, but not from someone like Kirk. He was handsome, self-assured, and by all appearances, rich. What was more, he didn’t seem to mind that she was divorced.

  “Not just three weeks. Three wonderful weeks, baby,” he said. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t want you to think I’m some Able Grable.” Too many men assumed that a divorced woman was always open for business.

  “I know you’re not. You’re a classy dame, else I wouldn’t be with you.” He reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. His leather driving gloves were surprisingly supple. She looked down and noticed a dark patch on the thumb.

  “Oops. You’ve got a stain.”

  He jerked his hand away like he’d been bitten by a snake. His eyes went wide for a moment, but then the easy smile was back.

  “Sorry. I just love these gloves. Guess I’ll need to buy a new pair.”

  “Maybe you can buy some when we get where we’re going.” She paused. He still hadn’t told her his plan. “Where are we going, anyway? You’ve been quite secretive about this whole thing.” She reached out and gave his shoulder a playful thump. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Kirk laughed. “As a matter of fact, there is. Something very important.”

  Her heart lurched. “Oh God. You’re married, aren’t you?”

  He laughed even harder. “No, no. I only meant that I’m not going to tell you where we’re going or what we’re doing this weekend. It’s a surprise. You don’t want me to give it all away now that we’re almost there, do you?”

  “Oh. So we’re almost there? That’s a clue.” She opened the glove box.

  “What are you doing?” Kirk snapped. He slammed the box closed.

  “I was looking for a map.” Try as she would, Jean couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. “I wanted to see if I could guess where we were going. I thought it would be fun. A little game, you know?”

  Kirk sighed, the sudden flash of anger already faded. “I’m sorry, Jeanie. I’ve got all the paperwork for the car in there and I was afraid it would blow away. I’m just so touchy about this new car and everything related to it.” He swallowed hard, his voice trembled. “I just like you so much and I wanted this to be a perfect trip. Now I’ve gone and ruined it.”

  Jean relaxed. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have nosed around. Let’s just forget it ever happened, okay? I’ll let you have your little surprise.”

  “Thank you. You’re too good for me.” Kirk sounded like he truly meant it.

  “Speaking of surprises, I’ve got one for you that you can open now. Just be careful not to drop it. It’s delicate.” He reached under the seat, took out a small white gift box, and handed it to her.

  Jean’s heart raced. She could tell just by the fancy box that it was expensive.

  The last gift her ex-husband had given her was a new frying pan wrapped in the funny pages. She untied the ribbon that held the box closed. Anticipation flooding her senses, she slowly, almost reverentially, removed the lid and extracted the layer of cotton batting. When she saw what lay inside, she let out a little gasp.

  It was a glass flower, rendered in exquisite detail, its leafy stem topped by a many-petaled bloom. The sun sparkled off its indigo surface, each facet reflecting a tiny sliver of light.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she breathed. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “A lot of guys give a lady flowers,” Kirk said, “but those don’t last. This one you can keep for the rest of your life, and it will be just as perfect as it was the day I gave it to you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, a torrent of emotions surged through her. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Finally! It only took a fancy gift to get you to say it back to me.” He winked to show he was kidding.

  “Don’t be like that.” She took another long look at the obsidian flower. “What is it? What variety, I mean?”

  “It’s a dahlia.”

  Jean’s stomach dropped. A thousand images flashed through her mind. Newspaper headlines. Haunting photographs of a beautiful young woman. An unsolved murder. “You gave me a black dahlia?”

  Kirk slapped himself on the forehead. “Jeez, Jeannie, I didn’t even think of that. I read that the dahlia symbolizes dignity and elegance. And when you give it to someone as a gift, it’s a symbol of a commitment and bond that lasts forever.” As he said the last, he reached out and brushed her cheek. She couldn’t help but shiver. “If it bothers you, I’ll get you something else.”

  “No, I was just being silly. The Black Dahlia murder has been in the news so often, that’s where my mind immediately went. I’m so sorry if I made it seem like I don’t love your gift. It’s the most amazing th
ing anyone has ever given me.”

  On the radio, Vaughn Monroe’s Red Roses for a Blue Lady blared from the speakers.

  “I should have gone with red.” Kirk let out a little laugh and then his expression grew serious. “That Black Dahlia thing is something, isn’t it?”

  “I guess that’s one way of putting it. It’s crazy that he hasn’t been caught.”

  “He’s smart. Too smart for the cops, anyway.”

  “I’ll betcha the boys on Dragnet could catch him,” she said, referencing the popular radio drama.

  “Maybe. The real police certainly don’t seem to have a clue. They haven’t even put two-and-two together when it’s staring them in the face.”

  “What do you mean? Do you know who it is?” She almost added in a joke about her glass flower, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings again.

  “I think he’s the same guy as the Cleveland killer.”

  That gave her pause. “Same as the what?”

  Kirk frowned, puzzled. “You haven’t heard about the Cleveland Torso Murderer? The Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run?”

  Jeanie shook her head.

  “He killed thirteen people. Dismembered them, cut them in half, just like the Black Dahlia killer. And he was too smart for the police, too.”

  “I take it they didn’t catch him?”

  “Eliot Ness himself tried and couldn’t track him down. The murders eventually stopped on their own.”

  The sun had slipped below the horizon, darkness crept up on them. Jean shivered, suddenly cold.

  “So, you think he packed his things and moved to Los Angeles?” Jean knew it was idle speculation, but the thought frightened her.

  Kirk nodded. “The killings were ten years ago. I think he drifted west. I’ll bet there are all sorts of bodies lying between Ohio and California just waiting to be discovered.”

  “Are you interested in this sort of thing? Serial killers? Dead women?” she teased.

  “I’m a writer, so I’m naturally curious. I just wonder why he was never caught. I don’t believe a killer like him could ever stop killing.” He glanced at her and his expression softened. “I’m scaring you. I didn’t mean to. Sorry for the morbid turn of conversation.”

  “Not scared. It’s just a weird thing to think about.”

  He slowed the Jaguar and turned onto a dirt road. Really, it was more of a faint track in the sand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “This is the surprise! I’m going to show you something amazing! Something no one but me knows about.”

  Jean lapsed into silence, watched as the moon’s silvery glow replaced the sun’s golden light. They rode on, the twin headlight beams illuminating the dirt, sand, and cactus.

  “I don’t see a road anymore,” she said.

  “There is no road. I found this place myself. No one can know that there’s anything back here but desert.”

  Perhaps it was the unsettling conversation they’d just had, or maybe it was the speakers playing a Dick Haymes tune, a song about telling little white lies beneath the light of the moon, but she found herself growing anxious. She had suspected he was taking her to the Salton Sea, but she’d been wrong. What could there possibly be out here in the middle of the desert that would be worth showing her?

  She was about to ask him to turn the car around when Kirk parked the car and cut the engine. “We’ll walk from here. It’s not far. I know a shortcut.”

  A wave of uncertainty rolled over her. What could Kirk possibly want to show her out here in the desert?

  “I’m not dressed for hiking.”

  “It will be fine. I promise.” Kirk came around to the passenger side. He opened her door with a flourish, and offered his hand. “I’ll take care of you.”

  Unable to resist his charms, she allowed him to help her out of the car and escort her into the darkness. After a short walk, they came to a halt on a ledge overlooking a valley.

  “There it is. Isn’t she magnificent?”

  Down below, sheltered by a giant sand dune, a dark shape thrust up from the sand. It was so out of place here that it took a minute for her mind to process what she was seeing.

  “Is that a sailing ship?”

  “Yes! Can you believe it?”

  She shook her head, surprise and wonder rendering her mute.

  They stood there, holding hands, as their eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight.

  As they gazed at it, the details of the ship became visible. It sat half in and half out of the water, its bow angled upward slightly. The sails were long gone, but bits of rigging clung to the masts.

  “Oh, Kirk. This is...” She couldn’t find the words.

  “Come on. I’ll show you inside.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Of course. I’ve been here several times. I’ve even brought a few friends. Not someone special, like you, though. Just friends,” he hurriedly added.

  Curiosity overcoming caution, she climbed out of the car, took his hand, and allowed him to lead her toward the bow.

  “We’ll have to crawl through this hole,” he said. “Trust me. It’s worth it. Ladies first?”

  “You lead the way and I’ll follow.”

  “Fair enough.” Kirk dropped down on his hands and knees and slipped through the opening. A moment later she heard a metallic click, and a flickering light danced inside the old ship. His fancy cigarette lighter, she wagered. “You coming in, doll?”

  “On my way.” She hitched up her skirt, crawled through, and slid down a pile of sand to the deck below. She stood and brushed the sand from her knees before allowing Kirk to help her to her feet.

  “Atta girl!” He slipped his arm around her waist. “Come on. The thing I want to show you is just through this doorway.

  What she saw took her breath, and not in a good way. Bodies hung suspended by chains from the walls. More accurately, the upper torsos hung there. They’d all been cut in half above the waist. Their lower halves lay in heaps in the sand that covered the deck. Her first thought was this was a slave ship, but these bodies were not hundreds of years old, mummified by the desert air. These were much more recent. Women in contemporary dresses, the corners of their mouths sliced into horrifying, clownish smiles.

  “Just like the Black Dahlia,” she whispered.

  And then she understood.

  She turned, but before she could try to escape, Kirk seized her roughly by the hair and flung her to the ground.

  “It’s you!”

  Kirk smiled, drawing a knife from somewhere beneath his jacket. “You were right about the flower, Jeanie. I did give it to you on purpose. I had it made as soon as the newspapers coined that stupid nickname. I gave it to all of them, too.” He waved the knife in the direction of the hanging bodies. “I told you the flower would keep for the rest of your life. Of course, a real dahlia would have lasted that long.” He made a show of checking his watch. “I try to make it last, but most of my girls don’t hang in there for very long. A shame, really.”

  Jean’s throat seemed to clamp shut. She couldn’t breathe. As she gazed up at this man whom she thought she knew, she wondered how she had never seen the madness in his eyes. Her bladder released and she didn’t care.

  “You...” she managed. “You said you loved me.”

  “Oh, I do, Jeanie. I love you more than you could ever know.”

  He reached for her and Jean screamed.

  But she knew there was no one to hear her.

  Chapter 1

  ––––––––

  The Tango Cat was a Hollywood dive bar that could hardly claim the address, although the adjective fit like a glove. Steven Segar chose the cleanest of the empty tables, tested the chair to make sure it would support his weight, and sat down. Album covers, scuffed and worn, adorned the walls, along with signed photos of the musicians who had paid the bar a visit. None of them had been framed.

  “Can I get you anything, sir?” A young bottle blonde with a spray tan and the biggest ey
elashes Steven Segar had ever seen, approached. Her name tag read KYRSTIN. Even her name was full-on Southern California.

  “No, not yet. Still waiting for my friend.” He stumbled over the last word.

  Smiling, the girl gave a nod and then froze. Her eyes narrowed, and she pressed a red lacquered fingernail thoughtfully to her chin. “Say, haven’t I seen you before?” She pursed her lips, the strain of deep thought reflected in her brown eyes.

  Here we go, he thought. After three decades in the film industry, he had come to expect it. He rocked back in his chair, rested his arms on his belly, and smiled.

  “Yes?” He wondered if she’d want an autograph. People seldom wanted autographs these days, just selfies.

  Her eyes went wide. “I remember! You’re Bekki’s granddad. You sat at the bar on her first day of work and kept ordering mixed drinks that didn’t exist. You were so funny!”

  “No,” Segar said flatly. “I don’t have grandchildren.”

  “Oh. Sorry. You look just like him. I think it’s the...” Her voice trailed off as she cupped her hand over her belly. “The belt buckle,” she said hurriedly. “He had one just like that.”

  “Oh, Clint Eastwood gave this to me. We did a film together a while back.”

  “Clint Eastwood? The guy who did the films with the orangutan? My dad loves him. Anyway, just give me a shout when your friend gets here. What does he look like? I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

  “He’s tall and skinny with long, stringy hair and overlarge teeth. He prefers military-style camouflage clothing, but he never served.”

  “Sounds like an interesting fellow,” Kyrstin said, inching away.

  “Don’t forget my cowboy hat, even though I’m not cowboy.” A tall, angular man stepped around the waitress and dropped his hat onto the table. “Stevie here thinks you have to hail from the Southwest in order to wear one of these.” The man flashed a too-white smile. “I grew up on a dairy farm. I think that makes me a ‘cow boy’ but it pisses him off to no end. Icing on the cake.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Everything about Terry Gold pissed Segar off.

  “All right, then,” Kyrstin said. “Can I start you guys off with some drinks?”