Hollywood Lost

by Collins, Ace;

  “I know what you asked,” Shelby admitted, “but I have no desire to be with him in any way, shape, or form.”

  Barrister shoved his hands into his pockets, “Are you scared or stubborn?”

  She didn’t immediately answer, instead she turned her head and watched two boys playing pitch and catch across the street. As she followed the ball from one kid to another and back, she tried to deal with the fact the cop had hit a sticking point. She was both scared and stubborn. But it was far more complicated than he could guess. She was not frightened Sparks would kill her, she was concerned he might cause her to say yes to something she’d always been taught to say no to. She also didn’t like anyone pushing her to do something she didn’t want to do. The harder someone pushed, the more she felt the need to push back. Finally, after sorting out the reasons she didn’t want to get near Sparks, she spoke.

  “I’m not scared for the reasons you think I am. I don’t believe Flynn killed those women. I don’t think he would physically hurt me. But I don’t want to be used by him or you.”

  Barrister moved closer, “Would you rather someone else died?”

  “You can be sure,” she turned to the cop and forcefully said, “I don’t want anyone to die.”

  “Miss Beckett, all I need for you to do is get into his house and see if there is any evidence linking him to the crimes. If he’s the guy that killed these women, I’ll bet there are souvenirs there.”

  Still not looking at the cop, she shook her head asked, “What do you mean by souvenirs?”

  “I think the killer,” Barrister explained, “keeps things that he takes from his victims.”

  She turned to face him, “I won’t do it.”

  “Fine,” he said with a shrug, “when the next girl dies, I hope that you can sleep at night.”

  Barrister adjusted his hat, walked back to the street, and opened the door to his car. Just as he was sliding into the seat, she turned his way. “All you need me to do is get in his house and look around?”

  He pulled his bulky form from the car and nodded.

  Walking quickly to Barrister, Shelby set some conditions. “I’m not going to sleep with him. If this requires sex, I’m out.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to do that,” he assured her.

  “And I need to explain what I’m doing to a man I’ve been seeing.”

  “Who?”

  “Dalton Andrews.”

  The cop shook his head, “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “But,” she argued, “if I don’t it will ruin any chance I have with Dalton. He hates it when he sees me with Flynn. I’ve just convinced him that I didn’t want to have anything to do with Flynn. If he sees me go back on that, how can he ever have any faith me again?”

  “Sorry,” Barrister explained, “if you told Andrews then Sparks would likely find out. That would compromise everything.”

  “But . . .”

  “Sorry, ma’am, this has to appear to be on the level. After all, this isn’t some movie, this is real life and people are dying. And when they die, they don’t get back up.”

  Shelby pushed her hand through her hair. Just when she got things fixed this had to come up. It just wasn’t fair. But what kind of person would she be if she said no? How would she feel if another girl died? And, as she believed Flynn was innocent, shouldn’t she at least want to prove that the jerk couldn’t be this horrible madman?

  “I’ll play by your rules,” she grudgingly gave in. “But you have to promise me something.”

  “What’s that?” he asked while placing his arms on the top of his car.

  “When this is all over,” she said, as her eyes caught his, “you explain everything to Dalton.”

  “I’ll do that,” he guaranteed. “Now, you’ve got my card; just call me when you can to give me updates. And there is one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t wear blue.”

  “Why?”

  “We think that the color blue somehow sets the killer off,” he warned. “Each of the victims has been dressed in some shade of blue.”

  “OK,” she replied, “I’ll take that to heart.”

  “I appreciate this more than you know.” Barrister soberly offered his thanks. “Your studio church might save a few souls, and the mission you just accepted will likely save some lives.”

  “I’ve got one more question,” Shelby announced.

  “What’s that?”

  “How are you going to feel if Flynn is the murderer and kills me?”

  Barrister looked from the woman to the ground before whispering, “I hope I don’t have to find out.” He then got into his car and started the engine.

  As Shelby watched Barrister drive off she wondered what in the world she’d gotten herself into. She would be dating a man she couldn’t stand and betraying a man she might be able to love. In the process, she could be putting her own life on the line. No, she wouldn’t. There is no way that Flynn Sparks could be a murderer.

  58

  July 10, 1936

  As Vic Melton went over his wishes for the office scene, a smiling Flynn Sparks walked by the cameras, past a script girl, and over to Dalton Andrews. Rather than actors playing cops, the two eyed each other much like boxers sizing each other up before a title fight.

  “You’re in a better mood than when I last saw you,” Andrews noted.

  “Why shouldn’t I be,” Sparks shot back, “Shelby just accepted a date with me for tonight.”

  Andrews tensed, “What?”

  The reply was smug. “You heard me. But if you want I’ll say it loud enough for the whole world to hear.” Sparks chuckled, “Go ask her, she’s at the back of the stage organizing today’s wardrobe.”

  His face red, the actor shoved past Sparks and, with his shoulders thrown back, marched to the opposite side of the set. He was halfway there when the director shouted out a warning.

  “Hey, we’re about to shoot a scene with you. Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be back in a second,” Andrews barked, “cool your heels.”

  “We’ve got to stay on schedule,” Melton warned.

  “What I’ve got to say won’t take long,” Andrews promised.

  Pushing by several technicians, he walked over to the back door where Shelby was arranging a number of men’s suits on a rolling rack. He fumed for a few seconds before lashing out.

  “I can’t believe you’re going out with him.”

  The shocked woman turned to face the angry actor. It almost seemed there were tears in her blue eyes.

  “Shelby,” Andrews raged, “I gave you more credit. You told me you saw him for what he is. And now he tells me you are going out with him tonight.”

  “You don’t own me,” she whispered.

  “Who would want to own you?” he snapped back cruelly.

  “That was low,” she argued. “What I do with my life is my business.”

  He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, “Do you know what happens to women who date Flynn? They die. Someone literally squeezes the life from their bodies and then throws them away like trash.”

  She shook her head, but said nothing.

  “That’s what this movie we are filming is all about. I’m playing the guy looking for the madman who is killing these women. There’s a man named Barrister running the case, and I’m playing him. But I have an advantage; you see, I know the identities of one of the victims that he has not identified. I have the stuff the studio has dug up, and I have access to the police case files too. I can assure you that we are miles ahead of Barrister and his crew. I can guarantee that what you’re doing is suicide.”

  He pulled his hands from her shoulders and shoved them into his pockets. “You know that girl you saw with Flynn at Musso and Frank’s? Well, she’s dead.” He pulled his right hand from his pocket and pushed something her way. “What does this look like?”

  “A handkerchief,” she whispered.

  “Look at the initials,
” he demanded. “This was Leslie Bryant’s; I found it in my car after I won it back from Sparks. It was in the back floorboard. I wonder how it got there?”

  “I don’t know,” she softly answered. After taking a second look at the handkerchief, she continued. “Why don’t you call the cops on him? Why don’t you give them what you know?”

  “Because I want to expose him on this movie,” the still livid Andrews explained. “I want to hang him out to dry on film and let the whole world see him for what he is.”

  Shelby, her eyes open wide, asked, “And you think you have what it takes to do that?”

  “Not enough to convict him in court,” Andrews admitted, “but I know something the cops don’t. And when that plays out, it’ll tie the noose around his neck.”

  A script girl came running up to the actor, “They need you now.”

  He waved, “I’m coming. I’ve got no more to prove here.”

  Andrews set his jaw, spun, and walked back to the set.

  59

  July 11, 1936

  As she observed the coconut trees that were used for deco-ration in the Hollywood hot spot, Shelby Beckett, in a dress the studio had given her, did her best to act pleased as punch to be out with Flynn Sparks. In truth, after her blistering encounter with Dalton Andrews, she was nervous as a cat in a dog kennel. She was simply no longer sure that Sparks was innocent. Even as she pretended to flirt with the handsome actor, she watched the clock praying that time would fly by. It didn’t.

  “So what do you think of the band?” he asked, during a break in the music.

  “They are great,” she assured him. To keep the conversation going she asked, “How often do acts like Benny Goodman play at the Grove?”

  “Quite a bit,” Sparks explained, “and even when the name bands aren’t here the local combos still light it up.” As the strains of a new tune sounded, he turned his attention back to the stage. “Oh, this is one of their new ones.”

  “I think I’ve heard it,” she chimed in.

  Sparks nodded, “It’s called, ‘The Glory of Love.’ If you would like to dance to it, I’d love to take you out for a spin.”

  “Sure,” she answered apprehensively. At least if they were in public she was safe. But, until she got into his house, she would also have to keep seeing him.

  Sparks pulled her chair back and Shelby got up, smoothed her pink evening gown and led the way to the dance floor. As he took her in his arms and spun her around the floor, she listened to the female vocalist sing the number’s upbeat lyrics.

  Tonight, the words about the give-and-take of love just didn’t ring true. She was giving a great deal and not wanting anything back, except for her date to do something that might give the police what they needed to toss him on death row. The other thing she was sure of was, this wasn’t the story of love. At least none she’d heard about.

  As the song ended and the pair and forty other couples made their way back to their tables, she leaned close to Sparks and, in the most seductive voice she could muster, suggested, “Why don’t we go someplace quieter?”

  “Don’t you like the club?” he asked.

  “It’s wonderful,” she admitted, “but I deal with loud sewing machines and people barking out orders all day at the studio. I’m tired of yelling just to be heard.”

  He stopped and looked sadly into her eyes, “There are places I’d love to take you where we could be alone. I’d like nothing better than that, but Jacob Yates has me on a leash. If I’m with a woman, it has to be in a public place. And, if I take a girl back to my home, I have to write a check for five grand. So we better stay here and enjoy the music.”

  Disappointed, Shelby took a seat and mournfully observed the merriment that filled the club. It was going to take more than one date to get inside Sparks’s mind and maybe even longer to get to his lair.

  60

  July 12, 1936

  Shelby’s second night out with Flynn Sparks proved even less exciting than the first. The actor drove her to Wrigley Field in South Los Angeles to watch the Angels take on the Portland Beavers in a Pacific Coast minor league baseball game. Supper consisted of hot dogs and peanuts, and most of the conversation centered on John Bottarini and if he had a chance to make it to the major leagues. Sparks was even nice enough to buy her an Angels cap. She was disappointed it didn’t have a halo.

  As they drove back to her parents’ home, the actor put the top down and sang along with the radio. It didn’t take the woman long to figure out he would never be a threat to take Dick Powell’s place in musicals. His off-key concert, which likely woke up half the city, only ended when he turned the blue Auburn into the drive by their bungalow.

  “It’s been a great night,” he said with a smile. “This is the most relaxed I’ve been in weeks.”

  She turned sideways and put her back against the door. “I’ve heard there has been some tension on the set.”

  “You mean between me and Dalton?”

  “That’s been the gossip around the studio,” she said, trying to push him a bit.

  “There’s not much to it,” he laughed. “I always get the girl and he doesn’t. You know, it’s been that way in all our movies too.”

  “I’ve heard the script is kind of touchy too,” she pushed harder.

  “We’re not supposed to talk about it,” he explained. “That’s another of those things that could get me fined.”

  She shrugged, “You forget I’ve been on the set. I know it’s all about the series of murders that are rocking the city right now.”

  “It’s strange,” he admitted. “There is another guy playing me, as I play a cop. You know what’s really weird?”

  “What?” she thought she might have finally struck pay dirt.

  Sparks looked at her and grinned, “He’s got me down pat. The lines he’s using on women are my lines, and every time I hear them I’m embarrassed.”

  What was up? For a man whose guilt was being questioned in a script, at a police station, and in the media, Sparks was sure playing it cool. Why wasn’t he worried?

  “The parts I’ve watched filmed,” a now curious Shelby pointed out, “make it seem like the cops are after you.”

  He smiled, “That’s the way movies are written. They set the audience up to suspect the obvious and then pull something out of a hat at the last minute to shock them. But I’ve been thinking how funny it would be if my character of Jenkins had to arrest the guy playing me in the movie. That would be a big chuckle.”

  “Flynn,” Shelby’s voice was now assertive, “don’t you get the fact that the cops believe you killed Leslie Bryant and the others?”

  “Of course I get it,” he replied, “but I also get this. If they had the goods on me, then I’d be in jail. Here’s something you need to understand. Jacob Yates has a building filled with the best legal minds in the state, and they are all working around the clock to make sure I never spend a day in jail.”

  “But,” she argued, “what if the cops find something that directly links you to one of the murders?”

  “They won’t,” he explained, “if there was anything like that, the studio would have destroyed it. Someone will get hung for this thing, but it won’t be me.”

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself,” she said.

  “When you’re Flynn Sparks, you’ve got nothing in the world to worry about except paying fines.” He checked his watch. “And I have curfew. If one of Yates’s flunkies doesn’t see me drive into my house by eleven, it will cost me a thousand.”

  “When are we going to see each other again?” she asked.

  “I guess next Saturday.”

  “That long?”

  “The studio has me booked the next few nights at charity events. I’ll be signing autographs, posing for pictures, and dancing with a few fans.” His face grew suddenly serious, “And by the way, I kind of enjoyed church this morning.”

  “You did?”

  Sparks grinned, “I didn’t know preachers ta
lked about second chances. I kind of related to that. I think golfers call them mulligans. And I’m all for them. After all, we blow lines all the time on the set, and we just get to start over and do them again.” He leaned across and gently kissed her, “Sleep tight. I’m sure we’ll see each other at the studio.”

  It was a confused Shelby who walked to her front door. Either Flynn Sparks was a much better actor than she thought possible or Barrister was barking up the wrong tree.

  61

  July 14, 1936

  After work on Tuesday, Shelby walked to a corner drug store about a block from the studio’s main gate and slid into a back booth. Ten minutes later, when she was already half finished with her Coke, Bill Barrister joined her.

  “What have you got for me?”

  “Nothing really,” she admitted. “I’ve pushed and prodded, but either he has nothing to hide or is giving nothing away. I keep suggesting we go to a place so we can be alone, and he always shies away. He keeps telling me he’ll get fined if he takes any girl to his house.”

  The cop nodded, “That means the studio has the same suspicions we do and are babysitting their bad boy. When are you going out with him again?”

  “Not until Saturday.” She then sipped on her straw as Barrister rubbed both his chins.

  “Well,” he sighed, “the good news is we have found no more bodies. So you being with him has kept him from killing anyone. But it’s also kept us from getting him behind bars. You’re going to have to push harder on your next date. You’ve got to get in that house.”

  “Let me explain something again,” Shelby shot back. “If he takes a woman to his house, Galaxy will fine him five thousand dollars. Even in his world that is a lot of money.”

  Barrister set his jaw, “Then you’ve got to make it worth five grand.”

  “Now wait just a minute,” her words spitting out like bullets, “I didn’t sign up for that.”

  He held his hands up, “I’m not asking you to do that, I’m just asking you to make Sparks believe you would be willing to do that.”