Cleary collapsed in a chair. He figured the hole in McNeil's head was made by the same gun that had killed the stunt artist. Somebody was on a murder spree. There were too, too many bodies. Every time he opened a door he was finding one. What the hell was going on?
That's when he heard it. At first, he thought it had come from Tom: a shallow but rushed breathing.
Quickly Cleary moved around the desk. He reached out and touched McNeil's shoulder. The body crashed forward. The banker's lamp spotlighted the gaping hole in the back of McNeil's head. No way had it been McNeil breathing.
A chill crawled up his spine. Someone was behind him, concealed beneath the wall-to-ceiling curtains that covered the chipped wall of the congressman's office. He sensed it. Worse, he imagined a gun pointed at his back. As hard as he tried, Cleary couldn't still the sound of his own smoker's lungs, the pounding of his frightened heart.
He whirled and saw the outline. His arms wrapped around it. There was a cry, high and too feminine. Cleary wrenched the trespasser away from the wall. The curtain rod was ripped free, and together Cleary and the enshrouded figure went to the floor.
Whoever it was fought back. Small fists, constrained by the curtain, tried to pummel his face. Cleary struggled to get a lock on the person's arms. Whoever it was, they weren't overpowering.
"Be still!" Cleary ordered once he had both arms locked down.
The subject underneath the curtain heaved for breath. Cleary reached up and grabbed the banker's lamp. He held it to the hidden face and slowly pulled down the curtains.
"I didn't do it," a woman's voice cried. "I just got here a few minutes ahead of you, and that's how he was—already dead."
Cleary recognized the face and dropped the lamp. "You!"
"I swear to God! I didn't do it."
In its intensity, the look of terror on Eva Miles's face almost matched the look of shocked dismay on Cleary's.
TWELVE
He always drove up to Mulholland Drive when he needed to freshen his perspective. The Eldorado, its top down, was parked in a turnaround, Los Angeles was spread out below, a glittering nest of diamonds: a treasure just sitting there for the taking if you were smart or vicious enough. The view always affected Cleary, occasionally for the better. The night sky glittered, too—full of bright stars. He leaned back and gazed up at them.
Eva Miles sat beside him. She held the harlequin glasses that Cleary had taken from her apartment. "These are Susan's glasses. Where did you get them?"
"From your apartment. From the crime scene." Cleary paused. "I—we—thought they belonged to you, Eva."
The woman's face was sagging with fatigue. She didn't look like the glamorous Hollywood babe. Nor did she look like the virginal cheerleader. Her face reminded Cleary of one of those hookers down in Pershing Square, its features drawn hard by the failure of her dreams. Up to that point, she hadn't shed a tear in Cleary's presence. At McNeil's office, she had displayed fear, but even then she hadn't cried. He had phoned in an anonymous tip to a precinct across town. By the time the message got downtown to homicide, he and the woman had already slipped out of the office building.
She stared at the glasses. "Susan—Susan Greever, that was her name—was my best friend. We were hot stuff back in Modesto. They called us the Sin Sisters, not that we were all that bad. We just liked to play bad. That didn't require much in Modesto. Anyway, I'd written her about Hollywood—lies, mostly. I lied too well. Nothing would do but she wanted to come out here. I tried to talk her out of it, but the more I talked, the better she figured it was."
Cleary watched the twinkle of the city lights. They were hypnotic, almost relaxing.
Eva continued with her story. "She was staying at my place until she could find something of her own. During the day, she would go job hunting. Susan was a pretty good secretary, but she kept wanting me to line her up for auditions—said she didn't want to be a secretary for the rest of her life. She knew I was doing some work, but she had no idea what kind it was. You know about the erotic films, I guess."
"The blue movies? Yeah, I know about them. So, why did you run? Why didn't you just call the cops and stick around?"
Eva placed the glasses on the dash of the Eldorado. "I came home and saw what they had done to Susan. God, it was awful. And I knew they had thought she was me. How long before they knew they made a mistake? I hoped I could buy some time, just a few hours, anyway. I never figured they would mistake her for me. It never crossed my mind. Anyway, I ran—as fast as I could."
"Why did they want to kill you?"
Eva didn't answer.
"I want to help, Eva."
She turned her head toward him, and for the first time he saw tears. "You know how many times I've heard that, mister? I want to help you, Eva. That's the most overused come-on in this town. Every time it was a lie."
Cleary reached over to catch a tear as it rolled down her cheek. "I guess you've heard a lotta folks say 'trust me,' too."
She managed a smile. "Yeah... just about as often."
"Why you? Who would want you dead?" he asked again.
She looked back at the city of dreams. "McNeil did a lot of favors for a lot of people. He helped them make lots of money. I was part of his payoff, but there was a little catch. We spent a night together. They put something in my drink and—"
"McNeil?" he was saying. "He was crooked?"
"He wasn't as bad as most of them."
She stopped to catch her breath. "Anyway, they kinda drugged me, and then they filmed us—me and Tom. They were blackmailing him with it."
Cleary understood then. "But you somehow got the film. That's what you were doing at McNeil's office."
Eva nodded. "I was supposed to collect the money from him."
"Five thousand dollars," Cleary said. "A little blackmail of your own."
Eva's eyes widened. "You're in on it!"
"No, not as a knowing participant."
"They owed me, Cleary! That was my money. Ever since I stepped off that bus from Modesto, I've been cheated and lied to. I've been abused and—anyway, they stripped me of my last shred of self-respect. That money was gonna fix things."
"I guess you were going to use it to find a sunny place to start over," Cleary said, remembering the words from her diary.
The words must have sounded familiar to Eva. She gave him a funny look.
Cleary quickly changed the subject. "Who are these people?"
But Eva was remembering Susan. She didn't even hear him. "She didn't even have any face left. There were parts of her—anyway, I drove as fast as I could away from this place. Then, it came to me. The only asset I had was that film, it was my power and my shield. They'd been more than willing to use it against me. I figured I'd use it against them. 'Turnabout is fair play.' Isn't that what they say?"
Cleary sighed. "You're in over your head, Eva. They won't stop until they get that film. You have no idea how serious these people can get."
She looked at him with defiant eyes. "Don't say that to me, mister. I saw Susan. I saw how serious they got with her."
"Where is it, Eva?"
"Someplace safe. I don't wanna talk about it anymore."
If he was any judge, here was a woman at the breaking point. He didn't want to be the one to shove her over the edge.
"You know a fella who calls himself Orin?"
"Orin? Orin Schooley?"
"He's in town, trying to track down your killers."
"Orin? I can't believe that."
Cleary shrugged. "He's pretty busted up over you."
The tears came again, this time in more copious amounts. "He's the only guy that really ever cared about me. God knows why... I treated him like garbage. If I had just stayed in Modesto like he wanted me to... does he know about the blue movies?"
Cleary nodded that he did. "You have a place to stay?"
"No."
He checked his watch. "I have an appointment tonight. I'll drop you off at my place. You'll be safe ther
e."
"Just let me out downtown. I'll manage."
He started the car. "You still don't trust me, do you?"
"Why should I?"
Cleary backed the car out onto Mulholland. "Because Schooley notwithstanding, I'm the only one in this whole mess who gives a damn about keeping you alive."
"Why?" she asked.
Cleary gunned the car down the winding road toward the freeway. "Let's just say I'm doing something I should have done many years ago. It's not for you as much as it is me."
Back at his apartment, he helped Eva up the stairs. "You want a drink before I leave?"
"A double. No, a triple. I wanna be unconscious for awhile."
He went to pour it. "You want me to let Schooley know you're here?"
"No," she said, the fatigue heavy in her voice. "Not right now, anyway. I don't want him to get hurt. Besides, I really wouldn't know what to say to him."
He recapped the bottle and started back into the living room. "Eva, you've got to tell me who was using your film to blackmail McNeil."
Eva Miles was slumped on his couch, fast asleep. Cleary went to the closet and pulled out a blanket for her.
Cleary didn't reach The Crescendo Club until ten-twenty. He looked around outside the night spot for Johnny Betts. The rockabilly was nowhere to be seen. Inside, he found Nick D'Rosa, Rita Marlo, and Avon at a table near the stage. Nick and Rita appeared to be wrapped up in each other. Avon, looking totally bored with everything but Sam Cooke, kept her eyes on the black singer. He was trying to make the place jump with "Too Cool to Fool." As Cleary approached the table, he saw that Rita was holding onto D'Rosa as if he were her last possession on earth.
What In the hell did she see in the bastard?
Nick saw Cleary first. "There he is—my savior. Man, you look ragged out."
"It's been a long night," Cleary said.
"You ain't tangled with no more taxis, I hope." Cleary sat down at the table. Rita smiled at him, but he could see the tension in her eyes. Avon didn't even bother to smile.
Rita patted D'Rosa's sport coat. "How do you like Nicky's suit, Jack? I bought it. You shoulda seen everyone give him the once-over when we came in. It's the real Nicky, don't you think?"
Cleary saw nothing at all too special about the jacket.
D'Rosa saved him from having to answer. "If a guy showed up in my old Cleveland neighborhood in threads this loud, they'd shoot him on general principles. That's Hollywood for ya."
Rita closed her eyes. "Don't mention that name, Nicky. I don't even want to think about Hollywood tonight."
D'Rosa gestured around the room. "You sure picked a funny place to come then. Agents, producers, actors—this place is loaded with Hollywood types."
"Present company excluded," Rita quipped.
Nicky The Rose patted his own chest. "Take me, for example. Everyone sees me as some high-flying Hollywood gangster. I gotta flash it up to keep the cheap seats happy."
He took Rita's hand. "And you, hon, you're a twenty-foot-tall celluloid sex symbol."
Again, he gestured around the club. "Our court surrounds us—bit players, wheelers and dealers, directors..."
Avon joined in the conversation for the first time since Cleary arrived. "Nicky's right. Most of the people in this room look like they were sent by Central Casting."
Rita hiked her eyebrows. "Oh, really. And just what role are you playing, precious?"
Avon looked at Cleary when she answered. "That's easy. I'm playing the same part I've always played—the daughter of Rita Marlo."
The star stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
D'Rosa headed off a confrontation. He patted Cleary on the back. "Guess that makes you the only guy here playing it straight."
Cleary caught a look in D'Rosa's eyes, a hint of something he didn't like.
D'Rosa hoisted his glass. "Here's to you, Jack. What you see is what you get."
Sam Cooke's voice turned forte as he sang. "If it's wrong wanting you, wanting you as I do, then my one sin in life is loving you."
Avon seemed to chill. "I just love those lyrics."
Her eyes went first to Nicky, then to Cleary. "Would you like to dance, Mr. Cleary?"
Cleary looked at Rita. She wanted to talk. It was obvious—he hoped, only to him. "Nick, you once said you owed me. How about paying off? Avon's too nice a kid to have her feet mangled by somebody as clumsy as me."
D'Rosa laughed. "I like a man who knows his weaknesses. C'mon, kid, let's show 'em how."
Rita waited until they had vanished into the dance crowd. "You have something to tell me, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do."
"It's bad. I can tell by the way you're looking at me.
"It's what you thought," Cleary said. "Nicky's seeing somebody else."
The only reaction from her was a tightening around her lips, a slight narrowing of her deep blue eyes. Cleary turned his gaze away from her. He had said what he needed to say. It was then that he saw Johnny, standing at the door, looking as out of place as he was. He had already spotted Cleary. The kid held up a manila folder for Cleary to see and moved to the club's bar.
Rita took his hand. "Who is she, Jack?"
"I don't know for sure. I'm trying to track that down. I should have some photos later tonight."
Rita swallowed her drink. "I don't understand. He sends me a dozen red roses every day. Did you know that?"
"Like I told you early on, Rita, you can't expect the guy to be much more than what he is."
She picked up her purse and rummaged through it. "I need a cigarette."
Cleary offered her one of his—his last. "I'll go to the bar and get some more," he said as he lit it for her. "Be right back."
Cleary took a stool next to Johnny. He held up his cigarettes as a signal to the bartender that he needed a pack.
Johnny was staring at Rita. "I'm surprised to see she's out doing the town. Considering what they did to her, she looks pretty good."
Cleary forgot the pretense and looked at the kid. "What are you talking about?"
"I was looking for you, and I was near her place. So I eavesdropped a little more. She got a phone call. I guess Dangerous Summer isn't doing so well."
"Make some sense, Betts. A phone call from who?"
"From Diamond Studios. They dumped her this evening."
Cleary's frown deepened. "They what?"
"She didn't tell you?"
Cleary swiveled around slowly and stared at Rita. She was managing to smile back at him. "Not a word," he mumbled.
"Surprised me, Cleary."
"That son of a bitch Kaplan. He tries to buy me off, telling me what a big asset she is. Then he turns around and does this. Whatever Kaplan wanted from me, it had more to do with D'Rosa than Rita."
"Whadaya mean?"
"Nothing. I want you parked right out in front of the club," Cleary said, not looking directly at his young operative. "When he comes out, you get D'Rosa."
"I thought we were done with this."
Cleary glanced back at Rita. "So did I. You get the blowups?"
Johnny slid the manila envelope to him. "Get a load of Nicky's new squeeze. And I do mean squeeze."
Cleary worked the photos out of the envelope. They were grainy. The lighting was lousy, but the face on the photo jumped right out at him.
"Avon?" Cleary whirled around on the bar stool. His eyes scanned the dance floor. Rita Marlo's innocent daughter and Nicky The Rose were moving in and out of small clusters on the dance floor, not too close together, but exchanging looks that would have warmed the coldest night.
"No wonder she liked the friggin' song."
The Lincoln Continental was parked in the middle of the lonely parking lot at Santa Monica Pier. At three A.M., there wasn't a lot of traffic. Even the arcades were silent. The figure inside the car popped the top on a cigarette lighter and fired it up. D'Rosa closed it quickly and kept the cigarette low, just in case there was someone watching.
And
there was. Johnny Betts's Mercury sat in the shadows thrown by the arcades. He fought to stay awake. At that moment, he wanted something—anything—to happen. If he sat there much longer, he was going to nod off. His attention was riveted on the Lincoln, and he didn't see—or hear—the long dark shadow roll in and stop twenty yards behind him.
It wasn't until the door of the Mercury clicked that Johnny knew he wasn't alone. He reacted quickly, flicking out his wrist at the figure opening his door. A strong hand put a grip on his fist.
"You're not too careful, Betts. No wonder somebody managed to mangle you the other night."
"Cleary. You scared the bejesus outta me."
Cleary started to get inside the Mercury, but took one look and changed his mind. "Come on back to my car."
"How long's he been out there?" Cleary asked once they were inside.
"Maybe thirty minutes. He's just sitting there. Maybe he's relaxing."
"You gettin' anything on the bug?"
"Not a thing. It's either too far or it got wrecked in the car wash today."
"Maybe he made you, Betts."
"Not a chance, but he's edgy."
Cleary studied the shiny Lincoln for a long time. From his point of view, the case was over. He had done what he had been paid to do. Rita didn't know about Avon yet, and he wasn't sure he was going to tell her. On the other hand, there was no reason to continue to maintain the surveillance on D'Rosa. "Ah, the hell with it," he finally said. "Let's pack it in."
Johnny cocked his head toward his boss. "Are we finished with the guy?"
"Yeah, I've had it with this peep show. I guess I'll turn the photos over to Rita tomorrow. She's paid for 'em. I'd best just let it go. From here on out, I'd just be out to satisfy my curiosity, and you know what they say about that." He handed the envelope to Johnny. "Drop by the office and lock these in my desk. I gotta get home."
Johnny shrugged and accepted them. "Too bad. I was beginning to appreciate this guy's style."
Cleary shook his head. "You think D'Rosa's got life by the tail, don't ya?"
Johnny lit up a cigarette. "Hell, he's sure not suffering. Five-hundred-dollar threads... million-dollar babes. Where I come from what he's got most just dream about. You only get it from a rich uncle or a big-time bank heist."
Private Eye 2 - Blue Movie Page 11