“What’s that?”
“You’re not investigating my death,” he quipped. “Now that makes me a lot luckier than some folks. And besides, no one is afraid of me. I’m just the harmless kind of cop, the old Joe who works the same streets each day, who passes out a few parking tickets, jokes with shop owners and pets the horses that pull the milk wagon. I’m folks’ friend and the guy they tell their troubles to and share the news of graduations, weddings, and grandkids. That makes me kind of related to all the people I serve and that makes me pretty lucky, too.”
Barrister nodded while setting a file down on the table. “Not a bad life, Yancey. Wish I loved my job as much as you do.”
“There’s lots of murders,” Caldwell noted, the grin momentarily fading from his lips, “I’ve seen you handle them through the years. But your eyes are different today and the lines in your forehead are deeper than normal. So I’m guessing this case must be one of those that doesn’t leave you alone. It stays with you even after you go to bed and close your eyes.”
“Kind of like old Miss Taylor’s terrier,” Barrister noted with a smile.
“I’d forgotten about him,” Caldwell laughed. “We were both beat cops back then. What was that old mutt’s name?”
“Benny.”
“Yeah, he didn’t like me a bit. Always nipping at my heels.”
“You griped a lot about Benny,” the captain teased. “You tried every day to kick him.”
“Then I found the secret to winning him over.”
“What was that?” Barrister asked.
“Just a wee bit of ham was all it took to win him over to my side,” Caldwell paused, his smile turning down a bit, “I cried a bit when Benny finally died.”
“We all did,” the captain agreed. Dramatically altering the direction of the conversation, Barrister said, “I read a book once, and when I got to the end, the last chapter was missing. That was twenty years ago and I still wonder if it was the butler or the maid who poisoned the old woman’s soup. Do you know what that says about me?”
“You like to have pat endings,” Caldwell chimed in. “But, Bill, life’s not that way. Everything doesn’t tie up in a neat bow. Sometimes there are questions that can’t be answered and crimes that aren’t solved.”
“And that’s what bugs me.”
“What’s this one about?” Caldwell asked.
Barrister got up from the table and strolled over to a window. He looked out on a street busy with afternoon traffic. “One of those people out there might well be the guy I’m looking for,” he explained. Without turning to face his old friend, he continued, “Four young women have been strangled, and there is no connection between them.” He turned, “Well, there is actually one. There was a broken, unburned kitchen match left at the place where each body was dumped. But what does that give us?”
“The potential for some light,” Caldwell suggested. “You strike a match and things get brighter.”
Barrister crossed his arms just above his bulging stomach and smiled grimly, “And sometimes a match tip breaks off and you strike out.”
“Bill,” Barry Jenkins barked as he rushed by Caldwell into the captain’s office. “We have another body, and it fits with the four others in almost every way.”
“Where?”
“In a park off Sunset. Except this one has been there for a long time. Based on a newspaper found underneath the body—looks like thirteen months. Shultze, a beat cop, is on the line, you want to talk to him?”
“Yeah,” Barrister groaned.
“Pick up your phone,” Jenkins suggested, “I’ve already had it transferred.”
Ambling over to the phone, the captain picked up the receiver and announced his name. He then pulled himself up onto the corner of his desk and waited for a response.
“Captain, this is Rick Schultze. A dog walker found the body today. It seems his hound got off the leash and went racing into some brush.”
“What did you observe about the body?” Barrister asked.
“By the clothes it was obviously a woman, but she is pretty much just bones. I can see a lot of the skull. There’s no purse, so no way to identify her.”
“Any idea what killed her?”
“Nothing obvious,” Schultze replied, “guess the ME will have to tell us that. He should have her body by now. They took it away a couple of hours ago. I didn’t think it was any big deal until I told Jenkins at lunch. He kind of went crazy over it and wanted me to talk to you.”
“Thanks,” Barrister replied. “I’ll check with the medical examiner and see if it connects to anything we are working on.” Setting the receiver back into the phone’s black cradle, the captain pushed off his desk and headed to the door.
“I’ve been there,” Jenkins announced.
Barrister turned, “And?”
“She was strangled,” he explained. “And I went back to the scene, too, but this time I didn’t find a match. It’s been a long time, it could have been washed away by rain and wind.”
The homicide chief solemnly nodded. If this murder was connected to the others, then that made five. How many more were there left waiting to be found, and how many more would there be before they identified the person or persons responsible?
“Bill,” Caldwell asked, “does this give you a hint as to what’s in the missing chapter of your book?”
“Yancey, I don’t think so.”
“Too bad,” the uniformed cop said, “but still try to find something to smile about anyway. Maybe you need to just go home, kiss the wife, and spend some time talking to your kids. You have a boy and girl, don’t you?”
“Yeah, Mike and Molly, both in high school.”
“The case will be here for a while,” Caldwell suggested, “but your kids will be gone before you know it.”
“I know,” Barrister agreed, “but the dead girls were somebody’s kids too. I can’t walk away from them anymore than I can quit loving my own.”
8
June 13, 1936
So are you impressed?” Flynn Sparks asked as he moved near enough to smell his date’s perfume. “Is it everything I told you it would be?”
“More,” Leslie Bryant announced with a hint of awe in her voice. “It’s like I can see the whole world.”
“Only the parts that matter,” he corrected her. “And right now the only two people that matter are you and me.”
He smiled his million-dollar smile, the same one that made women swoon as they watched his films, stepped away from the woman and slowly removed his white dinner jacket. After signaling with his head and eyes that it was time to move inside, he led the way from the patio and back into his five-thousand-square-foot, white, rock home. After tossing his coat onto a brown overstuffed chair, Sparks reached up to his neck, removed his tie, and unfastened the top button on his white shirt. Only then did he glance back to the woman who was shyly admiring him from the door.
Bryant was dressed in a dark blue form-fitting dress that embraced her curves like a road hugs a mountain. Her short brunette bob framed her high cheekbones and deep, dark eyes. If she could just learn to act a little, that look would make her a star. What she principally lacked was confidence. Even dressed to the nines and looking every bit the glamour queen, she couldn’t completely hide the awkward and insecure country girl lurking behind the makeup. And it was her lack of confidence that opened the door for Sparks to have his way with her. Within minutes he was sure she’d be putty in his hands.
“I hope the party was fun,” he said.
“What party?” she asked, confusion showing on her face.
“Your mother’s birthday.”
“Oh,” Bryant smiled, balling her hands up at her waist, “it was nice. Mainly it was just the two of us. I told her I was going out with you tonight.”
He cocked his eyebrow, “And what did she say?”
The woman giggled, “That by going out with you I’d be the envy of all the girls I went to high school with. She also sug
gested that I’d better latch onto you when I had a chance.”
Sparks shook his head, “She’s wrong about your friends envying you.”
“What?” she asked. “I’m sure they will when they find out. I’ll bet even my friends that are married will be jealous.”
“Come here,” he suggested. After she slowly and nervously closed the ten feet between them and he’d put his arms around her back and pulled her close, he explained, “It’s not just the girls in your high school class; right now you’re the envy of every woman in the country.” He leaned closer to her ear, “Do you know how many women would pay to be where you are right now?”
Bryant nodded, “I guess a lot.”
“More than you know,” he laughed.
“I’m lucky to be here right now,” she whispered.
“And,” he continued, “you really want to see this view in the morning as the sun comes up, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she hesitantly replied.
“And you know what that means?” he asked a bit louder.
“I think so,” she whispered.
Sparks smiled; Andrews was stupid to make that bet, the Packard was going to be his. Life was so easy.
9
June 14, 1936
It wasn’t like the country church that had once been her spiritual home in Oklahoma. This was no drafty clapboard building with handmade pews and well-worn songbooks. This church was constructed of rock-solid brick, the windows were stained glass, the hymnals had round notes instead of shaped notes and the pews sported maroon cushions. And because of all those first-rate appointments and a thousand other things, Shelby, dressed in her faded green dress, felt as out of place at the Beverly Hills Christian Church as a bullfrog in the desert. Yet, as the Bible was the same and the message on hope offered a bit of comfort for the homesick girl, the solitary five-block walk produced a little something of value. She was sure that God was here too; he was evidently just a bit better dressed.
After the benediction, and as the organ played “Rock of Ages,” she made her way quickly to the aisle. Her goal was to get through the exit without talking to anyone. And she would have made it if a finely dressed couple, likely in their fifties, hadn’t stepped in out of the back pew and beat her to the door. The woman was short, stout, wore a yellow silk suit, pearls, a fox wrap and carried a large black purse. The man had a thin, gray mustache and was tall, lean, balding, and wearing an obviously tailored blue pinstriped suit. His outfit was completed with a white shirt, yellow silk tie, and shiny leather shoes.
“Thank you so much for visiting us today,” the tall, white-haired, robed pastor announced as they exited. “I am Milton Green.”
A serious expression on her round pale face, the woman looked the pastor in the eye, set her jaw, and proudly announced in a loud, booming voice that could be heard for blocks, “We are the Chattingtons of Sacramento, and we are here visiting the Warner family who run a studio you no doubt are familiar with.”
The preacher gently took her gloved hand and smiled, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Chattington. And I think I’ve seen a picture or two the Warners have made.”
“I’m sure,” she immediately replied. “This is my husband, Basil.”
“Nice to have you in our church,” the pastor said as he shook the man’s hand. “Always good to have friends of the Warners.”
The man leaned close and whispered, “We aren’t that good friends.”
“I understand,” the amused pastor replied as he watched the couple make their way down the six steps to the sidewalk. Only when the Chattingtons were halfway across the lawn did he turn to Shelby. “And it is nice to have you with us as well. And you are?”
“I’m Shelby Beckett of the Cordell Becketts,” she announced as she extended her ungloved right hand. “I’m here because the state of Oklahoma no longer wanted us. And, just so you can be profoundly unimpressed, my family doesn’t know the Warners.”
Green smiled, “Always an honor to have a member of the esteemed Beckett family with us. Are you by yourself?”
“My parents are still getting our house set up,” Shelby explained. “I’m sure they’ll come next Sunday.”
“So you are new to this area?” he queried.
“Just came in from the country, and besides being new, I think we are kind of green too. This is a lot different place than our old farm and the country church where we went, but I did recognize a couple of the hymns.”
“There’re a lot of Okies and Arkies out here,” he assured her as he took her hand. “But I will say this, there aren’t many your age who’d find a church when coming to Los Angeles. Most young women who arrive here are looking for a party and for stardom.”
“I’m not here to act,” she explained.
“That’ll save you some disappointment and heartache,” he replied. “But your natural beauty was not lost on a number of the men in the congregation. They spent far more time finding excuses to crane their necks and glance your way than they did mine. I saw one teenager drop his bulletin at least a half dozen times, just so he could steal a look at you.”
She blushed, “I’m just a country girl, they were probably looking because they saw me as some kind of freak.”
“I doubt that,” he said. “Now, is there anything the church can do for you or your family to help get you settled?”
“If you’re asking if we have something to eat, we do. We brought enough canned goods with us to last a while. And my dad’s got a job. But a prayer or two wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’ll put the Becketts of Cordell on my prayer list.”
“Thank you.”
As she walked down the steps, Shelby looked up into the clear, California sky and sighed. The preacher might have quoted familiar verses, a couple of the hymns were the same, and the God the congregation worshipped was one she’d met, but it still wasn’t home. It became more obvious with every passing moment that home was a long way away. Maybe she should have taken Calvin Kelly up on his proposal. If she had, she likely wouldn’t feel so out of place and lonely now.
Frowning, she made her way past the chatting and happy church members gathered on the lawn to the sidewalk. As she strolled by a drugstore she heard a paperboy calling out, “Cops release name of murdered woman.” The kid, dressed in jeans and white shirt, rushed up to Shelby and asked, “You want a paper, lady?”
She barely finished her, “No, thank you,” when he spotted the Chattingtons and moved on. Shelby watched the old man purchase a copy of The Los Angeles Times before stepping into his black Cadillac sedan. Murders, newsboys, wealthy folks, and a church with both a piano and an organ—she was definitely out of her element.
10
June 14, 1936
Dressed in gray slacks and a light blue dress shirt, Dalton Andrews knocked on the door of the swanky, hilltop bachelor’s hideaway and waited for a response. A few seconds later, the entry swung open to reveal his grinning host. Flynn Sparks was outfitted in red silk pajamas that were almost as bright as his sparkling smile.
“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Andrews observed as he strolled into the home.
After closing the door behind his guest, the barefooted host chuckled, “I didn’t eat the yellow bird, but I hope you have cab fare home. That Packard’s staying here.”
“You don’t mean . . .”
Sparks put his finger over his lips before signaling with his dancing eyes for his friend to walk down the hall and look in the bedroom. Andrews frowned before strolling to the open door and glancing in. In the middle of the bed, covered by a white sheet, was a still sleeping Leslie Bryant. Shaking his head, the guest retraced his steps.
“I can’t believe it,” he griped.
“Shah,” Sparks whispered, “no reason to wake her. Let’s go out on the patio and continue this delightful conversation.” They’d no more than stepped outside when the host noted, “Guess you’ll be car shopping. Shame there’s no dealerships open until tomorrow.”
&n
bsp; Andrews glared at his friend, “I can’t believe you managed to take advantage of that innocent girl. You have no sense of decency.”
“What my charms can’t accomplish my liquor can,” Sparks laughed. “Where are the keys to the maroon beast?”
Andrews reached into his pocket, yanked them out, and tossed them to the other man. “I knew you were out with Leslie, just didn’t figure you’d get her to come up here. I just don’t get how anyone could not get their fill of you within an hour.”
Sparks grinned, “News gets around so quickly in this town. How’d you know we were out together?”
“Ellen Rains wrote about it in her column in this morning’s Times,” the guest explained. “Even had a picture of the two of you at a table at the Cocoanut Grove. I just can’t believe she’s still here this morning. I had her figured all wrong.”
“Dalton, you had her figured just right. She’s every bit as sweet and innocent as you guessed. Your problem is that you always underesti-mate me.”
“No,” Andrews spat, “I never underestimate you, I just always overestimate your character. I seem to forget you have none.”
“Now, now, now, jealousy will get you nowhere.”
“Flynn,” Andrews announced as he folded his arms across his chest, “that’s where you got me wrong. I’m not jealous, not in the least. I don’t care if it meant more money and more fame, I wouldn’t trade places with you even for all that you have right at this moment.” Andrews stuffed his hands into his pocket, turned, walked over to the edge of the patio and looked down on the city. “Flynn, the view you have here is amazing. Not only can you see everything, but everyone can look up here and see you. A lot of those folks might point and whisper, ‘Can you imagine what it’s like to be Flynn Sparks?’ But they don’t see your soul.” Andrews whirled back to face the other man, “In fact, I’m not sure you have a soul. Flynn, how many people have you used and how many hearts have you broken?”
Sparks shrugged, “They don’t see it that way. It might hurt a bit when I move on, but I give them something to remember. I give them something no one else can. One night with me makes them legends in their worlds. They have stories they can tell their grandkids.”
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