“Thank you for being honest,” she said. She took a breath, glanced over at a picture of her daughter on the table, and asked, “What do you need to know?”
“Where was Janet going the last night you saw her?”
“She left here to go to a party at the Roosevelt Hotel,” Reverend Sykes explained. “I guess you already know she was a page at Galaxy Studios. She’d won the chance to be at the Hollywood party because she was named employee of the month.”
“She was excited,” the woman added. “She bought a new royal blue dress with her own money. I fixed her hair and makeup. The studio sent a limo for her. I thought she looked like a movie star when she got into the back of that Packard. That car seemed to stretch forever.”
As the woman’s eyes filled with tears, Reverend Sykes picked up the story. “She called us from the hotel. She’d been invited to a smaller party at someone’s home and wanted to let us know it would be after midnight when she got home. Even though she was still living at our house, she was nineteen, working, making her own way, so what could we say? We told her to have fun. That was the last time we talked to her.”
“Do you know where the party was?” Barrister asked.
“No,” Mrs. Sykes explained. “She was so excited, she didn’t ever tell us. I know I was foolish not to ask. I’ve kicked myself a hundred times for not getting more information.”
The cop continued to gently dig, “Who was hosting the party at the hotel?”
“Galaxy Studios,” Reverend Sykes explained. “They were doing it to celebrate some kind of press awards. A few weeks after she turned up missing, Mr. Yates was nice enough to send us a picture that was taken of her at the party. Would you like to see it?”
As Barrister nodded, the woman got up, opened the door in an end table, pulled out a small photo album and opened it to the final page. “Here it is,” she said as she handed it to her guest.
Janet Sykes, outfitted in a gown with a high neck, was smiling while standing beside Flynn Sparks. The movie star, a huge smile covering his face and a drink in his free hand, had his right arm wrapped around the young woman’s shoulder as if pulling her close to his side. As Barrister continued to study the faces of those in the background, he posed another question.
“Did your daughter know Mr. Sparks before the party?”
“Oh yes,” the preacher answered, “she constantly talked about the way he flirted with her at the studio. I think he made her feel like she was the only girl in the world. He sent flowers and a nice note after she turned up missing. He even called and talked to Judy a couple of times after that to check if there had been any progress made in the case.”
Barrister took a final look at the photo before handing the album back to the woman. Putting his hands on his knees, he stood. “It’s time for me to go. I’m so sorry I had to deliver such horrible news.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Sykes softly said, “at least I won’t be constantly looking down the walk now. And I’m so glad that you were honest with me.”
“I may have more questions down the road,” Barrister advised the couple.
“We aren’t moving,” the preacher assured him.
“You two stay where you are,” the cop proposed. “I can find my own way out.”
“Thank you, again,” Reverend Sykes said, almost choking on those three words.
Without saying anymore, Barrister hurried down the hall, out the door and to his car. While the last few moments had been some of the toughest in his life, he did leave with more information than he expected. Now there was another link to Sparks, but how could he break down the wall that had already been erected to protect Hollywood’s greatest star?
26
June 21, 1936
Shelby relished observing her date squirm uncomfortably in the pew. This was even more fun than watching the actor in a movie. He was completely out of his element.
Dressed in a custom-tailored, dark brown suit, Flynn Sparks had likely never spent much time in a sanctuary, and having to keep his mouth shut for more than a few minutes was probably an even more foreign concept. He was a fish out of water. Everything that happened seemed unfamiliar to him. He sat when he was supposed to stand and stood when he was supposed to take a seat. Every eye in the church followed his every move. And, as the sermon was on fidelity, it likely hit the man right between the eyes. But the service was just round one. The second round took place at the Becketts’ small home.
Sitting with the family around an unsteady, small wooden table and eating ham and pinto beans had to be a sharp contrast to the star’s normal Sunday afternoon experience. Then as Shelby helped her mother with the dishes, Sparks, with no script in hand, struggled to find a line of conversation with John Beckett. Finally, Shelby, in an act of compassion, escorted her guest outside where they sat on the running board of his sporty blue Auburn speedster. For all practical purposes, he appeared like a man who’d just been released from a long stretch in prison.
“So this is your life?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the bungalow.
“Does it shock you that I am so backwoods? Have you ever eaten off metal plates and drunk tea from Mason jars?”
“Not recently,” Sparks admitted. “In truth I never have. I just don’t see how people live this way.”
“Can’t buy fun,” she said.
“I seem to be able to,” he argued. “And that preacher was crazy. Guilt is for losers. I think the poor and unknowns invented it, because they didn’t have the means to find out how much fun temptation is.”
“Interesting line of reasoning,” she quipped. “Of course, those photographers who lined up outside the church as we came out were just there by chance. I’m sure you didn’t alert them you were going to be there this morning. Or did you?”
“No,” he laughed, “but Jacob Yates thought it’d be a nice touch after all the bad news from last weekend. He also made sure I was alone last night. I guess until the cops catch whoever killed that actress, I’m going to have to behave.”
Shelby frowned. His words seemed cold and heartless. Didn’t he have any feelings at all? “Flynn, you don’t even remember the name of the actress who was murdered, do you?”
“Was it Lisa?”
“Leslie,” she corrected him.
“Yeah, that’s it. Let me be honest. When I was with her she didn’t do anything memorable enough to make much of a mark. She was so boring. Trying to talk to her was like pulling teeth. In fact, kids’ radio quiz shows are more entertaining.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that she died?” she asked.
“I’m not happy about it,” he admitted. “This whole thing has put me in a tough spot. But I learned a long time ago you can’t worry about anyone but yourself. My job is to keep me alive, entertained, and happy. What happens to other people is not something I dwell on.”
“So,” she asked, “why are you here with me? Why did you do something today that seemingly offered no entertainment value and likely didn’t have a prayer of making you happy?”
“It’s the challenge,” he proclaimed.
“The challenge?”
“You’re locked in a world with no future and no fun,” he explained. “My goal is to find a way to unlock that door and set you free. That preacher was trying to save my soul. Well, I am trying to show you that your soul would be a lot better off if it were enjoying the very things in life the church tries to keep you from seeing or doing.”
After thinking about the man’s explanation, Shelby pushed off the running board and walked over to her dad’s dusty truck. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the back fender and closed her eyes. For a few seconds she enjoyed the warm sun splashing on her face and the wind blowing through her golden hair. She only looked back toward the actor when she posed a question that she likely had no right to ask.
“Dalton told me that Leslie Bryant was a really nice kid. She was innocent and fresh when she arrived in Los Angeles. Did you set Leslie Bryant free?”
He frowned, “If you’re asking if I killed her, I can assure you I didn’t. She was alive and well when I dropped her off at her apartment.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” she shot back. “I want to know if you stole her soul and broke her heart. I want to know if you left her broken and sad.”
He pushed off the running board and quickly closed the distance between them, “Let’s just say I took her places she’d never been.”
As he leaned his face close to hers, she put her hand on his chest and challenged the actor. “But did she want to go there?”
“What difference does that make now?”
“Why did you do it?” Shelby demanded. “Why her? What was so important you had to lure her to your house and take what you wanted?”
He studied Shelby’s huge blue eyes as his right hand traced her cheek. “For an innocent country girl, you sure talk about things most women don’t even mention.”
“You grow up fast,” she explained, “when you’re eighteen and already supporting your parents. You get a sharper picture of what’s important when you are hungry and wondering where your next meal will come from. I had to grow up fast because when you’re poor and good-looking, wolves are always howling at your door, and I had seen many others fall to their charms. I saw what happened when they gave in. It wasn’t pretty; hearts were broken and lives were crushed.”
He smiled, “Maybe you’re viewpoint’s wrong. Maybe you think the way you do because you’re scared of giving in to your real emotions.”
“Me, scared?” She mocked him.
“Scared and beautiful,” he added. Taking her chin, he leaned close and whispered, “Do you know how we kiss in the movies?”
“Yes,” she assured him, “with the lights on and cameras running. And as there is no director here to shout, ‘Action,’ why don’t you back off?” As her sharp words hit home, she ducked under his arm and walked about ten feet toward the house.
“Millions of women would love to have the chance at what you just turned down,” Sparks complained. “You ought to read my fan mail. It’d make you blush.”
She whirled. “I don’t blush easily, and no one takes me for a ride that I don’t want to go on.”
“You can be melted,” he assured her, “and I’m the man who can—and will—do it.”
“You aren’t man enough for me,” Shelby answered. “I met a lot of men back in Oklahoma, and I mean real men. You’re just a spoiled kid who hasn’t begun the first steps of maturing. You can’t even begin to melt me until you become an adult. You see, I don’t date children, I only babysit them.”
If her words stung, he hid the pain well. “I could make you something special. People who are with me are viewed as being a step above other people—they are somebodies. Let me assure you it is better to hit that level once than live your whole life as a nobody. That actress who was strangled, she will always be remembered because she spent her last weekend with Flynn Sparks. She’s immortal now. The folks in that church, they will never have their picture in the paper. No one will ever ask them for their autograph. When they die the world won’t be talking about them. But because she was with me, Leslie Bryant is more famous than almost anyone on the planet.”
She shook her head, “You might want to work on your self-esteem. It seems to be in a fragile state.”
“Your preaching doesn’t work on me,” he taunted. “I live in a world where I make the rules and those who want to be with me play the game my way. Let me tell you a little secret. Even Jacob Yates, the head of the studio, does what I say.”
Shelby wanted to hate the man, but she couldn’t. In truth, she felt sorry for him. He was headed down a lonely road that few got to travel. If his star ever faded, and she figured it would, someday he’d be sitting in some big house by himself looking at scrapbooks reminding him of how life used to be. But there was no use trying to tell Sparks that, so it was time to find a way to end this date on some kind of happy note.
“Flynn, speaking of the fact that you are Galaxy’s biggest star, I was working on a gray suit for you on Friday. Guess you’re starting another picture.”
“Yeah,” he laughed, “and my costar is your buddy Dalton Andrews.”
“I’m sure it will be another winner for the studio,” she replied. “What’s it about?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted. He glanced at his watch, “I have a tennis match with Gary Cooper at the club, so I need to be going.”
“Flynn, thanks for taking me to church. I’ll be there again next week if you want to join me.”
“I don’t think so,” he assured her. “But, as you have done a lot of talking today and trying to put me in my place, let me tell you something.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“There will come a time,” he bragged, his brown eyes sparkling in the early afternoon sun, “that you’ll beg me to take you up on the hill. In time, you’ll realize the view you’ll see there is more important than anything else in your life.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Already have,” he announced as he opened the door to his car. “Made it with Dalton.”
She stood in the grass and watched as he switched on the V-12 and pulled away from the curb. She’d never met a man with so much gall. He was selfish, arrogant, and immoral. And for reasons she didn’t fully understand, she was drawn to him. Did she want to save him or did she—deep down inside—want to be like him?
27
June 22, 1936
Dalton Andrews, his arms folded across his chest, was dressed in a cheap blue suit, white shirt, red and yellow tie and scuffed brown shoes. It was just past nine on Monday morning, and he was leaning up against the desk in a police station that had been assembled on soundstage 6. He and the rest of the cast, as well as the extras and crew, were listening to director Vic Melton. Melton was the king of rapid-fire movie-making. If you needed a film done in a hurry, he was your man. And the mere fact Melton had been assigned this picture meant that things were about to be fast and furious.
“OK, folks,” the redheaded, short, stout Melton began, “let me explain the rules. First of all, this set is closed. You will not grant interviews about what goes on behind these doors or when we go on location. You will not even talk to your friends or family about this movie. We are ripping this story from the headlines. The actors will be playing real people. We are not even changing the names. The script is being written on a day-by-day basis, so we will be shooting this story in order. This might be the only time you ever get to make a motion picture that starts with the first scene and ends with the last. Hopefully, it will also be the only time you are handed your scripts for that day first thing in the morning and will be expected to learn all of your dialogue right then. This is important . . . the script pages will not leave this lot. You can only study them here. After shooting the scenes, they will be burned. If you accidentally take them home, please destroy them. Don’t let anyone else read them.”
Melton sternly studied the 107 people surrounding him before asking, “Are there any questions?”
“You say it’s taken from the headlines,” Andrews called out, “but what headlines? We were assigned to this film and not even told what it was about.”
“Your scripts will be here within the hour,” Melton explained, “you will learn more about your characters then. But I can tell you this much, Dalton, you will be playing the city’s top homicide cop—Bill Barrister.” Some in the room chuckled forcing Melton to smile and admit, “I know, Barrister is short and fat, but for our sakes, he is going to be a bit better looking.” The director’s eyes scanned the room until they locked onto another familiar face. “Flynn, you will be Dalton’s partner—Barry Jenkins. The movie starts with you two. The rest will find out your roles when the scripts arrive. Now, as I need to set up the shots with the crew, you all can grab a cup of coffee and a donut.”
As the actors relaxed, the mystified crew gathered around the director. A curious Andrews observe
d the proceedings with interest. What could be so important that the studio was taking things to the top-secret level? As he turned the recent news stories over in his mind it hit him, there was only one case that was that hot right now. They must be shooting a movie about the murder of Leslie Bryant. Noting Flynn Sparks ambling up on his right, Andrews turned and smiled, “Interesting premise, the cops suspect you of doing in Leslie Bryant and, if I’ve guessed right about this film’s focus, you’re playing one of the cops trying to prove you killed Leslie. I just love ironic casting.”
Sparks’s face went red, “How did you know the cops talked to me?”
“How could they not?” Andrews quipped, “I mean, she spent the night at your place and then died. And, unless they have something else to go on that the papers don’t know about, that means you are the likely target. You didn’t kill her did you, Flynn?”
“You’re just jealous that I won the bet,” Sparks shot back. “You miss that Packard. Did I see a Hudson parked in your spot this morning?”
“I wonder who’ll play you in the movie?” Andrews cracked.
“If you’re right about this being about her murder,” Sparks quipped, “I won’t be in this film. They only wanted to talk to me because they thought I might give them some leads. That’s hardly worth mentioning in a script. But it will be interesting to see who they cast as Leslie.”
“I’m not Leslie,” a small blonde woman announced, causing both men to spin around and readjust their views, “but you are right on what this movie is all about. And I am playing the first victim. She must get killed on the beach because they’ve been having me trying on bathing suits since five this morning.”
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