Mary Beckett smiled, “Even in the moonlight I can tell that is a beautiful suit. And look at your hair. Are you playing Cinderella tonight?”
“Not really,” she answered. “My boss gave me this outfit at work today. It was worn in a movie they finished a few weeks ago and the studio didn’t need it anymore. And she did my makeup for me too.”
“You father told me you had a date,” the older woman explained. “I understand it was with that actor who took you out last week.”
“Yes, but it is nothing serious, Mom.”
“Why’s that, child? Is he not a nice person?”
Shelby shook her head, “No, he’s nice, respectful, and polite.”
“But?”
“But I’m just a kid from Cordell. And no matter how someone fixes my hair or what clothes I wear, I’m still the girl who went to school in a place that was so poor the prom queen didn’t get a crown and the young woman who worked in a dress shop that went out of business.”
“Shelby,” Mary gently prodded, “you’ve got to dream. Just have to. Don’t settle, reach for the stars. If you come up short, you might at least grab a piece of the moon.”
The young woman spun around. Her tone was measured, but firm. “Mom, you just don’t understand. This place is different. The morality I was taught doesn’t fly in Hollywood. At first, they might find my innocence charming, but in time even a man like Dalton Andrews is going to see it as childish. I can’t let myself dream because for my dreams to come true I have to give up things you assured me were important. So I’m just going to live in the moment and not think beyond it.”
Mary patted her daughter on the shoulder, “I guess I understand. But there are times when a person who hangs onto her principles lifts others up. You don’t have to give in to get something special.” She smiled, “I’m going in now. Are you coming? I’m sure we can find something on the radio to listen to.”
“I’ll be there in a minute or so,” Shelby assured her, “but first I’m going to look at the stars for a bit longer.”
“If you see one falling,” her mother announced with a grin, “make a wish.”
Shelby nodded. As her mother stepped back into the bungalow, the young woman turned her gaze back toward the sky. She understood why her mother was begging her not to give up on something big. After all, her mom had been forced to scrape by her whole life. Shelby had seen the woman sacrifice for as long as she could remember. She even listened to her mother weep when Shelby earned the honor of being valedictorian of her class. Her mother had cried not from happiness, but because she knew the family didn’t have the money to hang onto their farm much less send their daughter to college. And while Shelby accepted that and moved on, her mother couldn’t. It still haunted her. And now Mary Beckett was hoping and likely even praying that a man like Dalton Andrews would pave the way for the kid from Oklahoma to forever escape the Beckett family legacy of poverty and despair.
The almost silent sounds of footsteps on grass broke Shelby’s connection from past disappointment and shifted her gaze from the sky to the street. For a moment, as she peered into the shadows between two shotgun-style frame homes, she thought she saw someone. She waited and watched for whomever it was to step out into the streetlamp’s glow, but nothing changed. A cold nose on her hand pulled her attention to the ground. Rex, his mouth open and grinning, had somehow snuck up beside her.
She glanced back across the street and saw nothing. Patting the old dog’s head, she whispered, “I think it’s past our bedtime. Let’s go inside and lock the door.”
33
June 25, 1936
It had been a quiet week for Bill Barrister. Unable to dig for new information that might connect Flynn Sparks to Leslie Bryant’s murder, he sifted through old evidence and tried to find something he’d missed. He’d come up as empty as most of the prospectors did in the Gold Rush of 1849. The ringing of his phone mercifully yanked him out of thoughts of self-pity.
“Barrister.”
“Cap, this is Dick Titan, I work the beat by Canoga Park.”
“What can I do for you, Dick?”
“About thirty minutes ago, I grabbed a burger, drove my car over to a quiet spot, got out, and sat down under a eucalyptus tree. A small mutt came up and, before I could react, he stole the sandwich right out of my hand.”
Barrister chuckled, “Call the robbery division or animal control, this one is out of my line.”
“Actually,” the caller continued, “it is right up your alley. I chased the mutt down by the aqueduct and in the process ran right into a body someone had dumped there.”
“Are you sure it’s a murder?”
“Beautiful twenty-year-old girls don’t usually drop dead in such out-of-the-way places.”
Barrister drummed his fingers on the desk as he worked up the strength to ask a question he didn’t want to have answered. “Dick, what do you think killed her?”
“Looks to me like she was strangled.”
“I was afraid of that,” the captain quickly replied.
There was a knock on Barrister’s open office door followed by, “What’s up, Cap?”
Barrister glanced toward the man who’d just stepped into his private lair. After covering the receiver, the homicide chief whispered, “I’ve got a patrolman on the wire. He’s found another body. This time it’s located at Canoga Park. As soon as I give him a couple of orders, I’m going to put you on the phone and have you get the body’s specific location. Once you’ve got that address, come meet me down at the car. I’m going to run by, notify the crime scene team to grab their stuff, and then get the car out of the garage. I’ll meet you down front.”
After uncovering the phone, Barrister turned his attention back to the caller. “Dick, I’m going to put my partner on the line in just a second. Give him the directions on how to get to your location and then I want you to go back and stay by the body. Don’t let anybody touch it. Oh, and why didn’t you use your radio to call it in?”
“I figured the newspapers and radio stations would be listening to the police band. I just guessed, based on the other strangulations we’ve had in the city, you want to keep this thing on the hush-hush.”
“It’s that kind of thinking that will get you promoted,” the captain promised. “I’m going to hand the phone over to Barry, you give him the best route to where we need to be.”
Barrister tossed the receiver to his partner and rushed from the office, down the steps to the first floor. Sticking his head into an office on the right, he yelled, “We’ve got a body in Canoga Park.” After he was sure he had the quartet’s attention, he lowered his voice and filled in the details. “Looks like it might be related to the Bryant case as well as the women who’ve been strangled. Get your stuff together and have your wagon follow me to the location. I’m about to get my car out of the garage and pull it around front. Let’s get moving!”
Jogging down the hall, Barrister pushed through a door leading to the garage, waved at the attendant and rushed by a half dozen patrol cars. As the old man in the blue uniform waved back, the captain hollered, “Pops, I need my car.”
“It’s in the shop,” the man explained. “You needed new tires. You said it would be OK to put them on today.”
Barrister snapped his fingers, “Well, I’ve got a murder, so I need something now. What have you got?”
Pops rubbed his hand through his closely cropped gray hair, “I have those patrol cars.”
“No, I don’t want to call that much attention to myself. I need something that doesn’t scream cop. I don’t want the press jumping on this yet. For the past few days, they’ve been following me and the chief wherever we go.”
“You can have my Model A,” he suggested. “It’s dirty and kind of beat up, but it makes the city speed limits, and no one will follow you in that. Heck, my wife won’t even ride in it.”
The captain looked along the far wall to an old Ford Phaeton. The top was ragged, both front fenders dented, and
the driver’s side rear door was tied on. “You sure it will run?”
“Don’t let looks fool you,” Pops bragged, “she’s got a lot of life left in her, and I just filled her up this morning.”
“I’ll take care of her for you,” Barrister assured him.
“The keys are in it,” the old man explained.
Strolling quickly over to the Ford, he pulled open the door and was greeted by the hideous screech of a rusty hinge and the site of a seat covered with an Indian blanket. Sliding in he quickly discovered the horsehair padding under the blanket was almost gone and at least two of the springs were broken. Frowning, he turned the old car on and hit the starter. The four-cylinder came immediately to life. So far, so good! Putting the car into first, he let out on the clutch, and the car stubbornly crawled from its parking spot.
“Give her some gas,” Pops urged.
Bearing down on the accelerator, Barrister all but willed the car up a ramp and out onto the street. Rounding a corner, he pulled up in front of the crime scene wagon and to a waiting Barry Jenkins. As the car squealed to a stop, its mechanical brakes fighting to grab the pavement, the captain grumbled, “Get in, and don’t ask any questions.”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as his partner shut the Model A’s passenger door, Barrister let out the clutch and headed for the street. Glancing into a rearview mirror held in place with two strands of bailing wire, he watched in horror as the crime scene wagon disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke. Sadly, as long as he stayed on the force, he knew he would never hear the end of this.
34
June 25, 1936
She’s over this way,” a bemused and confused Dick Titan announced as Barrister shut off the coughing Model A, threw open the door, and stepped out onto a gravel drive. The uniformed cop took a final long look at the jalopy before pointing to a spot that apparently was just over the hill.
“Lead the way,” the head of homicide suggested. “Is she in the water?”
Titan headed through a stand of weeds, “No, she’s in the grass next to the edge.”
“Good,” Barrister grumbled. “I didn’t want this to be a water adventure. Barry, you and the crime scene boys coming?”
“We’re right behind you,” Jenkins called out.
“Can I ask you something, Captain?” Titan asked as he led the way up the rise.
Barrister looked toward the young man and nodded.
“I know the economy is tough right now, but I can’t believe the chief is making you drive a wreck like that.”
“It’s a step up from last week,” the captain jibed.
“Really?”
“Yes,” Barrister replied, “they had me in a 1914 Model T then. They assure me if I get this murder solved, I’m going to get a 1929 Moon.”
Titan scratched his head, “Didn’t that company go out of business?”
“Yep, and that’s why the department can get them so cheap.”
“Gee,” the patrolman said, “I guess we regular cops are lucky. We never drive anything more than a couple of years old, and it’s always made by one of the big companies.”
Barrister nodded, “And never forget how lucky you are. Now son, where is this body?”
“Just a few more feet,” Titan explained. “It’s right at the bottom of the hill.”
The captain, breathing hard from the energy it took to bring his two hundred and sixty pounds up the rise, stopped and looked down toward the aqueduct. Sprawled out beside the edge of the manmade waterway’s concrete wall was a woman dressed in a pale blue, tea length dress. He glanced back to his crew, “There she is. Let’s get a bunch of photos. I’ll be down in a second.” He paused and watched the quartet of men make their way carefully down the embankment before turning to his partner. “Barry, what do you see?”
The young man looked from the water to the body and back to his boss. “A woman’s been killed and dumped.”
“Yeah, and you can see the tracks our crew just made going down to her and those of Titan, but there is nothing else. There are no signs she was dragged. So how did the body get here?”
Jenkins scratched his head before offering a hunch, “On the water?”
“Has to have been brought in by boat,” Barrister agreed. “It took some work getting to this point. But why here?”
“Cap, isn’t that the same question we’ve asked at each scene?”
“It is,” Barrister agreed, “and there has to be a motive behind it. So what are we missing?”
“Bill,” one of the men called out, “we’ve got the scene photographed. You want to see her before she’s moved?”
“Sure, on my way.”
Barrister waddled more than climbed down the steep bank. As the others stepped back, he took a look at the woman. She was small, likely not more than five feet tall, had blonde hair done in a ponytail. She was blessed with what his wife would have described as the perfect hourglass figure and her dress was made to accentuate her curves. And, as Titan had pointed out on the phone, there was obvious bruising on her neck.
“Looks like the others,” Jenkins noted. “There’s a broken, unused kitchen match about two feet beyond her head sitting on the concrete wall. It was as if the murderer placed it there so it couldn’t be missed.”
“I see it,” Barrister said. “Did you boys find a purse or any identification when you looked her over and shot the photos?”
“No, sir.”
“OK, men, let’s put her into the wagon, get her to the ME and let him have a look. Come on, Jenkins, let’s get back in our car . . . if you can call it that.”
After struggling back up the hill, Barrister, now breathing hard, worked his way over to the Model A and slid behind the wheel. He flipped the key on and stepped on the starter. The car kicked right off. After adjusting the spark, he looked across at his partner and asked, “What are the odds you think this thing will make it back to the station?”
“The wagon will beat us,” the younger man suggested.
“No doubt,” Barrister agreed while popping the clutch and hitting the gas. After the badly smoking vehicle made it up to twenty, the captain grimly smiled. “It could be worse.”
“How’s that?”
“We could be walking,” Barrister explained. “Now, Barry, when we get back to the office, you need to run down that gossip columnist.”
“Ellen Rains?”
“Yeah. Have her come down to the morgue and view the body. Beyond the strangling, the pattern I now see emerging is a possible connection to the movie industry. Rains was able to identify one of the others, maybe she can peg this one as well.”
35
June 25, 1936
It was just past seven when Jenkins found Rains and convinced her to come down to the station. Wearing a pink suit and matching shoes and hat, the woman finally walked through the door at eight. After meeting with Barrister, she followed him down to the medical examiner’s place of business . . . the morgue.
“Will I be meeting with Mr. Forrest?” she asked.
“Not this time,” the homicide cop explained. “Arnie’s already gone home. But the body’s on ice, so I’ll pull out the drawer and let you take a look.”
When they arrived at the door, Barrister pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. After opening it, he stepped inside and felt around the wall for the switch. When found, he flipped on the lights and signaled for the woman to come in.
“She’s in drawer sixteen,” he explained as he walked over to what looked like oversized file cabinets built into the back wall. There were two drawers stacked one on top of the other. The bottom drawer on the eighth stack was number sixteen. The lighting was eerie, the shadows caused by the overhead lights giving the place the atmospheric feel of a movie set from a horror film. With his face half bathed in light and the other side all but lost in shade, Barrister stopped and looked back to his guest. He waited for what probably seemed like an eternity to Rains before asking, “Are you ready?”
>
Her expression mocked the man’s attempt at drama. As cool as a winter’s night in Maine, Rains smiled, “If you’d have been here when I viewed the other body, you’d have learned I’m not squeamish. Just open it up and let me take a look.”
He waited until she was beside him before stepping out in front of the drawer, grabbing a handle and pulling it toward the center of the room. When it was three feet out of the wall, he stopped, stepped opposite Rains, and folded a sheet back from the dead woman’s face.
“This is our gal,” Barrister sadly noted. “Have you ever seen her before?”
Rains took a close look and shook her head. “She must have been a pretty thing, but I don’t know this woman. And, as I make my living remembering faces, and this gal had a nice one, you can take that to the bank.”
“That’s not the answer I was hoping for,” the cop replied.
“What’s that on her upper chest?” the gossip columnist asked.
“Looks like a birthmark or a scar,” he replied as he leaned closer. “My guess is a birthmark.”
“Maybe that will help you,” Rains suggested. “Do you need anything else from me?”
“No, that’s it. You are free to go.”
The woman nodded, adjusted her hat and strolled quickly down the hall and out of the building. She walked quickly to a 1936 Lincoln K sedan parked at the curb. A man in a black uniform nodded and opened the door for Rains. After she slid in, he closed the door and hurried around to the driver’s side of the long dark vehicle. After entering, he looked over his shoulder and asked, “Where to, ma’am? Would you like to go home?”
“No,” she snapped, “back to the office. I’ve got a few things to look over, and I need to make a call or two. Because of what I saw in there, this night is just beginning.”
“Yes, Miss Rains.”
As the long car sped off toward her Sunset Boulevard office, the woman shook her head. Why another attack so soon? The others had been separated by months. Was the madman’s lust for blood pushing him to kill more?
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