“Are you sure you checked all the pockets?” Andrews asked.
“Yes,” she assured him. “I always look through things twice. I had double-checking drilled into my head by my high school math teacher.”
Barrister watched as the actor playing him rubbed his mouth and eased back onto the corner of his desk. As the cameras rolled, Andrews then studied the man playing Sparks for a moment before picking up his line of questioning.
“Miss Beckett, what did you do with the coat when you finished?”
“I hung it up on a rack just behind my work station.”
“And how did Mr. Sparks get it back?”
“He came by a few hours later,” she explained. “In fact, there was another actor in wardrobe when Flynn walked in.”
“Who was that actor?”
“Dalton Andrews.”
The actor playing Barrister stopped, as if remembering a certain moment, then plunged on. “When the jacket was in your department, who had access to it, besides you?”
Shelby paused before saying, “Betsy Minser, my supervisor, and Willard Mace.”
A completely fascinated Barrister moved his gaze from the action to where Yates and Rains were standing just out of the cameras’ viewpoints. The studio head seemed as though he’d just received the best news of his life, while Rains’s reaction was just the opposite. Her face had turned ashen gray.
Andrews, depending upon his own devices, looked toward the real Flynn Sparks. “Barry, if what she says is true, then someone might be trying to set Sparks up.”
“So it would appear,” came the quick reply.
Andrews reached back and picked up the desk phone. After dialing a zero, he barked into the receiver, “Get down to Galaxy Studios and bring Betsy Minser and Willard Mace to this station. I need to question both of them.”
After the actor placed the phone back into the cradle, Melton called out, “Cut.”
76
July 22, 1936
During the twenty-minute break, Yates strolled back to Barrister and shrugged. “I didn’t expect this. I thought it would be open and shut. I thought our writers had everything figured out. Does this ever happen with police work?”
“If you’re asking if we ever think we have a ribbon tied around a case and then watch it come undone, the answer is yes. In fact, what I’m seeing now is pretty realistic. And that guy you have playing me is asking all the right questions. I might just want to hire him when this is over. Unless, of course, he’s the actual murderer.”
Barrister turned back to look at Andrews still sitting behind the desk. The man seemed to be lost in thought. It was as if he’d become an actual homicide investigator and was plotting his next move. He only looked up when two uniformed policemen brought Betsy Minser into the room.
“Are those real cops?” Melton asked.
“They are two of my guys,” Barrister admitted.
“Betsy,” the director explained, “Dalton is going to question you as if he is a real cop. Film will be rolling. Just answer him as you would if you were at a real police station.” Melton looked up, “Nelson, move back to the couch against the office wall. When the officers bring Betsy in, put her in the chair where Nelson has been sitting. By the way, where is Willard Mace?”
One of the cops looked past the director to Barrister, “We couldn’t find him. He was taking clothes to some studio and wasn’t in wardrobe. We’ve got a couple of guys looking for him and two more waiting in the wardrobe building.”
Barrister nodded.
“OK,” Melton barked, “we’ll go with Betsy and bring Willard in later. Let’s get things set up. Dalton you take the lead again. I want all three cameras rolling just like last time.” He paused and looked around, “Action.”
Andrews sat on the corner of this desk and studied the latest addition to the scene. After folding his arms he asked, “Miss Minser, Miss Beckett has informed us that when clothing is brought in to wardrobe to be mended that everything is removed from the pockets. Is that correct?”
“It is,” she quickly replied. “It is put in paper sacks, and we write on the outside the date, time, and name of the actor or actress whose outfit we are working on.”
“What happens to those sacks?”
“We fold them over a couple of times and put a staple in them. Then we set them aside.”
“So,” Andrews noted, “you don’t put those items back in the clothing.”
“No, sir,” Minser explained, “there are times when, after mending the clothing, it needs to be washed or cleaned. We keep the sacks in our department until the people whose possessions are in those sacks come by and pick them up.”
“Did Mr. Sparks come by and pick up the items that Miss Beckett took from his jacket before she repaired it?”
“No,” Minser replied. “I actually have that sack with me now.” She reached into her purse, pulled out the small paper bag, and handed it to Andrews, still playing Barrister.
Andrews held it for a moment before looking back to Nelson. “Mr. Sparks, do you mind if I open this and look at the contents?” Both Nelson and the real Flynn Sparks nodded approvingly.
Andrews opened the bag and dumped it on his desk. He looked at what fell out before noting, “Nothing unusual here.” He then turned his attention back to Minser, “Did you place a bracelet in Mr. Flynn’s coat after it was mended?”
“No, sir. In fact, I actually looked through the coat soon after Shelby worked on it. You see, Mr. Sparks called and asked if he’d left a lucky rabbit’s foot in the jacket. First, I looked through the sack, and, when it wasn’t there, I went through every pocket. There was nothing in the coat.”
Andrews looked to Nelson and then moved his gaze to Sparks. “Barry, I remember Dalton Andrews telling me he saw Sparks put the jacket on when he picked it up and take it off when he returned to the set. Do you remember where our suspect set the coat after removing it?”
“It was on a table, just to the right of where the set ended. It was kind of out of the way and to the back.”
“Could anyone have had access to the jacket while it was there?”
“I don’t know,” Sparks replied, “but there is a man who could tell us for sure.”
“Who’s that?” Andrews asked.
“The director, Vic Melton. And he is waiting outside in the main part of the station. He came in because he felt Miss Minser needed a friend with her.”
Barrister looked over at a shocked Melton. This was getting better by the second.
Andrews ordered Sparks, “Go get him and bring him in here.”
Sparks, now seemingly enjoying his role as Jenkins, rushed out the door, behind the camera and to Melton’s side. The director shrugged and followed the cop back onto the set. A few seconds later, he made his first on-screen appearance.
“Are you Vic Melton?” Andrews asked.
“I am,” the director assured him. “And Mr. Jenkins brought me up to speed on the information you need. I was watching the whole time, and no one crossed the set to the place where the jacket was sitting. I would have seen it if they had.”
“So,” Andrews said, “that means the bracelet could have only been dropped into the jacket when it was in wardrobe.” He looked back to Minser, “What does Willard Mace do?”
“Mainly our heavy work,” she explained. “He picks up bolts of fabric and takes racks of clothes to various soundstages. He also sorts things for me.”
“How long has he been working for you?”
“Just over eleven months.”
“Why did you hire him?” Andrews asked. “Was he the best man for the job?”
“No,” she admitted, “there were a dozen applicants who would have been better. I wanted someone who also possessed some basic sewing skills, and several of our applicants had those skills.”
“Then,” Andrews asked, “why did you give him the job over the others?”
“Because Mr. Jacob Yates told me to.”
Beyond the set, the
mogul quickly glanced over to Rains. She was looking at the floor and didn’t return his worried stare.
Andrews looked from face to face in the room before turning back to the woman, “The head of the studio demanded that you hire Mace?”
“Yes, sir.”
Seemingly relishing his role, Andrews looked back to Sparks, “Find out if our people have tracked down Mace.” Sparks hurried through the door and looked toward Barrister. The cop shook his head. Retracing his steps, the actor once more stepped into the camera’s view and through the office door.
“No sign of Mace yet.”
“Then get me the head of the studio . . . Jacob Yates. I want him in my office as soon as possible! And if we don’t find Willard Mace soon, I’m going to fire someone!”
77
July 22, 1936
Barrister watched, his arms folded, as chaos seemingly broke out on the set. The most interesting action was taking place about six feet to his right with Yates who was facing off with Melton.
“I’m not going to let that actor interview me,” the mogul yelled. “There is a limit to what can be done here.”
“Oh,” the director shot back, “I seem to remember you were the one who tossed the scripts away and opened things up. It seems to me that Andrews is running the show now. Go talk to him. Tell him you won’t be interviewed.”
Barrister slowly pushed out of his chair and ambled over to the two squabbling men. “Mr. Yates, your man playing me has opened up a new avenue of evidence in this case. You can either talk to him as the cameras roll, or I will take you down to the real station where you can visit with me in my real office. In truth, even as good a job as your actor is doing playing me, in real life I’m a lot tougher.”
“Fine,” Yates fumed. “But I’m not doing this alone.”
Barrister followed the mogul’s eyes across the stage. He appeared to be staring holes through Ellen Rains’s orange dress. What did she have to do with Mace? As the cop was continuing to try to figure out the body language between the mogul and the columnist, Dalton Andrews left the set and approached the cop.
“Can I talk to you?” the actor asked.
“Sure,” Barrister answered.
“Let’s go over by the back door where no one can overhear us,” Andrews suggested. “I need a bit of advice.”
The cop followed his acting counterpart back to the corner. Once out of earshot of the rest of the cast and crew, Andrews spoke in hushed tones.
“I know a couple of other things that need to be addressed. One involves the first murder of the woman from Gary, Indiana. The other centers on something I found out about the Leslie Bryant strangulation. But right now what I know on those murders doesn’t seem to fit with the others. Now I have to admit, when Shelby dropped that bombshell, it pretty much blew what I was sure was true and turned it all upside down.”
“That happens more than you could guess,” Barrister said. “The fact is, most murder cases are not cut and dried. And, remember this, murder doesn’t make sense. Sane people don’t murder people. Unless you’re crazy, you have to be motivated by greed, self-preservation, or hate. It can also be a combination of all three with a bit of insanity tossed in.”
“But,” Andrews noted, “I’m acting on instincts. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Actually,” Barrister assured him, “you are doing just what I’d be doing right now. You are following the trail. Just keep going down it, and when you get a chance and the time is right to toss in your new information, then do so.” The cop looked back to the set. “It appears that Melton has Yates convinced to get some camera time too. So this is the moment for you to go back to work. I can’t wait to watch.”
78
July 22, 1936
After the director called for action, Andrews stood at the side of his office and studied those present. Seated on the couch against the wall were Shelby, Minser, and Nelson. Sitting on the far corner of his desk was Sparks. Directly in front of his desk were Jacob Yates and Ellen Rains, and he was fully aware both of them had the power to end his career in Hollywood. This was anything but an ideal situation. As he gathered the strength to get back into character, he wondered if he was playing the last scene of his last role. Folding his arms over his chest, he cleared his throat and jumped headfirst into the lion’s den.
“Mr. Yates, Betsy Minser told me that you insisted she hire Willard Mace in spite of the fact that several other applicants were better qualified. Is that true?”
Yates expression was cold and his look stern, “It is.”
“I want to know why.”
“I did it as a favor,” came the quick reply.
“A favor to whom?”
“Ellen Rains.”
As he moved to the desk chair and took a seat, Andrews looked from Yates to Rains and back. The mogul was obviously angry, but the woman was displaying an emotion he’d never seen in her face . . . fear. Rather than her normal calm, collected self, the gossip queen looked as though she were sitting on a tack—a very hot one.
“Mr. Yates, since when does Miss Rains have the power to make employment decisions on your lot?”
Yates frowned, “Ellen is the kind of woman who knows every skeleton in every closet. As long as she is treated the way she demands to be treated, those skeletons stay in the closet. She threatened to trot out an old set of bones if I didn’t hire Willard Mace. As the job did not require much in the way of skills, I agreed to give the man the position. I also agreed not to fire him, no matter how poorly he did his job.”
Andrews shifted his gaze to the antsy woman. After studying Rains for a few moments, he glanced over to Sparks. “Barry, bring those uniformed cops back in here. I have a question.”
Sparks walked out the door and a couple of moments later returned with two of the city’s finest. Both men seemed more than happy to once more be in the middle of the action.
“Any news on Mace? Do we know where he is?”
One cop looked to the other, before the larger one answered. “We can’t find him. More than twenty policemen are looking for him now. We have people on the way to his apartment. We’re guessing he somehow got off the lot.”
“Thank you,” Andrews said, “you’re dismissed.” As the real cops left, the actor turned his attention to the columnist. “Miss Rains, why was it so important for Galaxy to give Willard Mace a job?”
“He needed a break,” she answered.
Andrews smiled, “Ellen Rains doesn’t just give away breaks. She trades for them. So what was this man holding over you that forced you to demand a favor from Jacob Yates?”
The woman balled up her hands in her lap and looked over to the studio mogul as if begging for help. He gave her none. The writer who spun out thousands of words a day now seemed to be struggling to find just one.
Andrews pushed, “I’m waiting, Miss Rains.”
“What’s the use in hiding the past?” she said as her eyes focused on the floor. “It’s likely poetic justice, maybe it is even God laughing at me, but after all the years of digging up dirt on everyone else, now I’m going to reveal my own little secrets.” She paused and looked over to Yates before continuing her story. “Mace is not Willard’s last name. In fact, Mace was his grandfather’s last name. I told him to use his middle name when I got him the job here. You see, he’d just spent several years in a sanitarium. He’d made a lot of progress there, and the doctors thought he was ready to live life on the outside of those walls. When he was released, I got him a place of his own, some new clothes, and even a car.”
She stopped, smiled, and looked up toward the office ceiling that wasn’t really there. “Except when he’d have his spells, he was always a good boy. And he isn’t really slow. He can read, write, and manage things like spending money and finding his way around. He is a good driver too. And I thought the studio was a good place for him. It was a safe world, and I knew that Betsy would have the patience to put up with his little idiosyncrasies.”
“Miss Rains,” Andrews cut in. “You haven’t answered my question about why you felt the need to help this man.”
“I’ve been trying not to,” she admitted. “Anyway, here goes. Thirty years ago, I lived in New York and was going to college. There was a boy I really liked, and things happened. He moved away and never knew that I was pregnant. About eight months later, Willard was born in a charity hospital. My mom raised him, and I landed a job at a newspaper. Within a year, I was covering the entertainment scene. Things were going pretty well for me. Then twenty years ago, my mother died, and the owner of the newspaper discovered that Willard was my child rather than being my brother. Because of a morals clause in my contract, I lost my job. When that happened, I figured I needed to start over somewhere else. The movie business was just taking off out here, so I moved west. I landed a job at the Times and kind of righted my ship. Then one night I was in a car accident, and Willard was seriously injured. After that, my bright little boy was never the same.”
Andrews leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk as Rains dabbed tears from her eyes. He was about to suggest she continue when she did so without prompting.
“I first noticed something might be wrong when I bought him a kitten. He loved that cat until it took a shine to a neighbor’s child. He reacted so violently to the cat’s playing with the little girl that he strangled the cat. She was dead before I could pull her away from him. A few months later, he did the same thing to a puppy. He’d be fine for months and then something would set him off, and he’d just go crazy. When he was twelve, he attacked a little girl in his school, and that is when I decided it would be best if I put him away for a while. I didn’t just leave him there; I’d check him out of there from time to time, but every once in a while he’d act up again, and I’d have to put him back behind those walls.”
As she took a breath, Andrews thought about the notes Barrister had written in his evidence files. As he went over the various entries, something jumped out.
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