by Mary Miley
Wasting no time, I telephoned Carl Delaney to read him the letter.
‘Are you still thinking coincidence?’ he asked.
‘Some of the details sound awfully familiar. The shooting happened at work. A man was shot three times. By a man with a beard and mustache. Who disappeared.’
‘True. But lots of men wear beards and mustaches, and the descriptions of these were quite different in style. And three thousand miles separated the two. And if you want to kill somebody for certain, three bullets will sure do it. But let’s see what we find out about St. Louis before we land on anything definite.’
‘I’ll check a copy of Variety on Monday at the studio.’
Carl’s advice was steady. Still … the coincidences were beginning to preen themselves like a vain woman before a mirror, and I was not one to shove them aside so easily.
ELEVEN
Director Parker gave us a full hour for lunch on Monday, so I tucked a copy of Variety under my arm and headed to the commissary where fifty cents bought me the lamb chop special and warm apple pie. A meal like that would cost seventy-five cents or a dollar anywhere else, but the studio provided us employees with decent food at good prices, if not always the time to eat it. I spread out alone at a corner table and flipped to the page listing the Big Time acts currently playing St. Louis.
‘Excuse me, Jessie. May I join you?’ With my nose in the paper, I hadn’t been aware of Mildred Young’s approach. ‘I see you are busy, but there aren’t any other tables. I won’t bother you with chitchat.’
‘Have a seat, Mildred. I’m finished with the newspaper. Unfortunately, I don’t see anyone I know on this week’s schedule for St. Louis. I’ll take a crack at it again next week.’
‘Hmm, yes. Barbara told me about Joe’s return-to-sender letter.’
‘I’m trying to find someone who can help me learn the particulars about that man’s death. I know a few of this week’s acts but not well enough to ask for a big favor like that. I need someone I’ve toured with, like the Cat Circus or The Little Darlings.’
She nodded. Before she came to work at Pickford-Fairbanks, Mildred had plied her make-up trade in theater circles. Except for the actors who had started their careers in legit or vaudeville, not many people in Hollywood understood the entertainment world outside of moving pictures … it was comfortable not having to explain things.
‘The Little Darlings. Wasn’t that your last act?’
‘I was with them for several years. Longer than any other act. We were like the Seven Little Foys – song and dance, short vignettes. They’re still playing Big Time, but with only three kids instead of seven.’
‘Do you miss them?’
‘Sometimes. They were kinda like family, for a time anyway. Come to think of it, The Little Darlings are the reason I’m sitting here today. If they hadn’t let me go last year, I’d probably still be traipsing around the country with my hair in ringlets and a side-lacer flattening my bosom. I admit, I didn’t appreciate being fired at the time, but now I’m glad it happened.’
‘Funny how things work out, isn’t it? You think you’re facing tragedy, and it turns out to be a blessing you never imagined.’ She paused for a moment of reflection – into her own past, perhaps – and I reflected myself on how much I admired this self-described ‘old maid’. An independent woman long before our modern age, Mildred had paid her own way for a good twenty years when most spinsters still clung to a brother or nephew for support. But as I was thinking about her, she was thinking about me. ‘Why don’t you go to St. Louis yourself? You went East a while back to investigate Ruby Glynn’s murder. You could make the round trip in a week.’
I shook my head and swallowed my mouthful of potatoes. ‘Back then, Douglas was still writing The Black Pirate scenario. Now we’re in the thick of filming. I can’t get away. Anyway,’ I said confidently, ‘St. Louis is a big city. Next week there will probably be an act I know. Care for a bite of this pie?’
I was in good humor all day because Mike Allenby was coming to see me after work. Finally, I would learn something about David and what was expected of me at his trial. All thoughts of the Petrovitch murder evaporated into the warm afternoon air as I anticipated the visit and reviewed in my mind the questions I would ask him.
‘I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind, hon,’ Allenby said as soon as I’d opened my mouth. ‘When I’m finished, if there’s anything I didn’t cover, you can point it out.’ I clamped my jaws shut and twisted my lips into something that I hoped look like an agreeable expression. It wouldn’t help David for his girl to fight with his lawyer. ‘What’s the matter with that little kid?’ he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘She’s staring like there were horns growing out of my head.’
We were sitting on the front porch below an overhead light bulb that shone on the papers in his lap. The other girls were in their rooms or in the kitchen, except Kit who was curled up on the chair swing at the other end of the porch, one bare foot tucked under her. With a pad of paper on her lap and a pencil in her hand, she looked like a stenog poised to take notes. She was, indeed, watching us with that unblinking intensity of hers which, if it no longer irked me, would make anyone who didn’t know her uneasy. ‘The child is visiting her cousin here this week. She likes to draw faces; that’s why she’s staring. But she’s deaf, so you can speak freely.’
‘Fine and dandy. So, first things first. We got a court date. Tomorrow.’
‘What! Why – What – How am I—’
‘I’m ready. And you are too. It’s better if you don’t have too much time to stew over it.’
My heart raced. He had known about the court date for days, I was sure. Weeks, probably. He could have told me earlier, the miserable bastard. I bit back a sharp retort and put as much sugar as I could into my reply. ‘What do you need me to do? Tell me what to say, and I’ll say it.’
‘I appreciate the offer, Miss Beckett, but I’m going to ask you to do something I seldom ask my witnesses. I’m going to ask you to tell the truth about that train incident. This is one of those rare incidences where the truth can’t be improved on, and you’ll tell it more convincingly if we don’t over-rehearse. Sincerity will be your best weapon. I’m calling you to the stand to address the murder charge.’
‘What about—?’
He held up his hand to stop me. ‘The other charges are being covered by other people. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. You’re going to tell about the hijacked railroad cars and the shoot-out. Sheriff Barnes comes in from Arizona tomorrow – he’ll go up after you to corroborate your account.’
‘What about the other witnesses who were on the train with me? The colored waiter and the spinster sisters?’
‘One of the sisters will be here. Miss Eleanor Vandergrift. The other … uhhh –’ he peered down at his notes – ‘Miss Pamela was not well enough to travel but signed an affidavit to be presented to the court. The waiter couldn’t be located. Evidently he left his railroad job shortly after the incident.’
‘Oh dear. I hope it was a new opportunity that took him away rather than fear after our ordeal.’
Allenby’s shoulder shrug told me he had no idea and couldn’t care less. ‘To be frank, I’m not worried about the murder charge. It’s just a case of overcharging, to scare us. They do it all the time.’
‘It worked. I’m very scared about a murder charge, considering the consequences.’
‘The other charges carry lesser penalties but are harder to defend. However, I’m confident we’ll prevail on all charges. Now, I’ll begin by asking you the usual questions: your name and address, how you came to know the defendant, and what your job is. The job will impress the jury.’
‘It’s hardly an impressive job.’
‘True, but it’s with Pickford-Fairbanks. That will make an impact. When I ask you a question, look at me when you begin your response, then shift to looking at the jury. Try to look each one in the eyes at some point. A good witness is likeable.
So, now we’ll rehearse. How did you come to know the defendant, Miss Beckett?’
The lies started here. The lawyer didn’t know the truth or he’d never have been so blasé about wanting honesty. I could only imagine the effect on the court were I to tell how I’d really met David: in Oregon when I’d been impersonating an heiress to swindle her family out of her fortune, where David was Portland’s bootleg king, smuggling hooch from Canada and overseeing speakeasies, brothels, and gambling dens. I didn’t know how much Allenby knew about David’s past, but now was not the time to enlighten him. ‘I met Mr Carr here in Hollywood at a dinner at Pickfair, the home of Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford. We’ve been friends for several months.’
‘Good. Very good. Be sure to remember that part about Pickfair. That’ll slay ’em. You’re as good as a film star yourself if you’ve been to Pickfair. All right, now, tell me, Miss Beckett, in your own words, what happened that day on the train when you were coming home from New Orleans.’
For the next hour, I related what happened on that frightening day last summer when I was returning to Los Angeles and the last two cars on the train were uncoupled at a remote stop in Arizona. Allenby interrupted at regular intervals to clarify something or to improve my testimony in some way, but he never suggested I say anything untrue.
‘The whiskey they were after was legal whiskey, isn’t that correct, Miss Beckett? Be sure to call it medicinal whiskey each time you say it, hon, and throw in that it was government bonded and how you saw the bottles and knew that to be true.’
I told how the men who were supposed to have been guarding the shipment had conspired with sidekicks to loot the train, how they fell out with one another, murdered the colored cook and the stationmaster, held me and the Vandergrift sisters prisoner, and were fixing to shoot us all when David and his men rode onto the scene. I told about the gunfight that ensued and how David’s men killed the last of the thieves just before the sheriff came up with his deputies and federal agents.
‘And you killed two of the men yourself, didn’t you, Miss Beckett?’
‘I wasn’t sure you wanted me to say that. Yes, I did – kill two of them, I mean, but it wasn’t intentional. I’m not sorry because it was self-defense, as Sheriff Barnes later said. He’ll tell them that, won’t he? They shot at the waiter and would have killed the three of us women next. We had seen too much to be left alive.’ I shuddered at the memory.
‘Miss Vandergrift’s testimony will support yours. And the sheriff’s too, of course. Now, after I’m finished, the judge will allow the fed’s district attorney to question you. This will be harder. He’s not your friend, although he’ll act friendly to try to throw you off. He’ll try to make it look like you’re telling lies, and he’ll try to find holes in your testimony. He’ll ask you if I told you what to say, and you’ll say no, that when we met, you told me what you were going to say, not the other way around. Got it?’
I nodded. It wasn’t much different from learning lines for the stage. In fact, it calmed me to think of it as just another performance before an unusual sort of audience.
‘I don’t know what this other lawyer will ask you, but you’re safest sticking to the truth. I’m telling Miss Vandergrift that as well, because we don’t want you two giving different accounts.’
I nodded again. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll pay close attention to the witnesses that come before me and make sure I don’t contradict them.’
‘No, no, no. You aren’t allowed in the courtroom except to testify. You aren’t allowed to hear the other witnesses.’
‘Oh. Sorry. I’ve never done this before.’
‘Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine. Meet me at the federal courthouse at 8 sharp tomorrow morning. Don’t talk to anyone between now and then. There will probably be newspapermen lying in wait as you walk up to the courthouse – this case has received a lot of attention. Just smile and nod at them and don’t open your mouth.’
My expression must have revealed my anxiety, because Mr Allenby squeezed my knee in an overly familiar way and said, ‘Don’t worry.’
‘I can’t help it!’ I said, standing up to remove his hand without actually doing so. ‘What if … what if the jury doesn’t believe us? What if they—’
‘Don’t you worry, hon. I’m the best there is in California, bar none, and if Plan A doesn’t work, I have Plan B waiting in the wings.’
‘What’s Plan B?’
‘Never you mind your pretty little head about that.’
I said good night to Mr Allenby and went indoors. Kit’s perpetual scowl deepened. She unfolded her legs and followed me inside.
TWELVE
If I had been on trial for my own life, I do believe I would have felt more composed than I did on that day, Tuesday, November 3, as I climbed the steps and entered the courthouse at Main and Temple. After all, a lifetime spent in front of audiences that jeered as well as cheered should have equipped me with enough poise to soothe any amount of stage fright, and a jury is nothing more than an audience empowered to judge and to determine a performer’s fate. I knew my part to perfection. I’d chosen my costume carefully – an ivory tunic dress with its pleated skirt demurely hemmed below the knee – and applied my make-up – a light application of kohl rimming the eyes and subdued lipstick – to emphasize my wide-eyed, ingénue honesty.
So why was I shivering like a dead leaf in a gale? Because it wasn’t my life; it was David’s. And I owed him a life for what he did for me in Oregon last year.
Hands clasped tight, I sat on a hard oak bench beside Miss Eleanor Vandergrift, not moving, not breathing, as if absolute stillness would let me hear what was going on inside the courtroom. It did not. The trial had begun an hour earlier, and I could not discern a single word. Mike Allenby had told me I’d be among the first called to the stand. What was taking so long? It must be bad. As if reading my mind, Miss Vandergrift reached over to pat my wrist.
‘It will all be over soon, Jessie.’
I wanted to shush her so I could hear. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’
‘Lawyer Allenby seems quite confident.’
‘It isn’t his neck in the noose.’
It was Eleanor’s and my first meeting since our ordeal on the train last summer. Now, as then, she knew when to talk and when to keep still. I watched the clock on the wall as the hands took an hour to move one minute, straining to hear something from the courtroom. Anything. Nothing.
A door opened. A grim-faced man came out. The bailiff.
‘Miss Beckett?’ He looked uncertainly from Eleanor to me. It felt as if I were watching the scene, not participating in it. The one of us who was Miss Beckett took a deep breath and stood. Willing her weak knees to support her, Miss Beckett followed him into the courtroom with her eyes focused squarely on the man’s back.
Another man was waiting beside the witness box, holding a Bible. He stepped forward. ‘Raise your right hand. Do you solemnly state that the evidence you shall give in this matter shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?’
‘I do.’ The sound of my voice, clear and firm, gave me confidence. Raise the curtain. I was on stage. My confidence surged, as it always did.
‘Please be seated.’
Only then did I dare look at David. It was a quick glance – I did not want to appear to be looking for encouragement or sending a silent message to a lover, but it was long enough to note that he looked fit, if a bit pale, and very serious. It would take all the acting skill I had to handle my role. ‘It won’t help David’s case if jurors think you are romantically linked. Such an idea might cause them to doubt your testimony,’ Allenby had said. So I had resolved to behave in a calm, unemotional manner, as if testifying in court was something I did every Tuesday. Evidently Allenby had given similar instructions to David, for he gave no outward sign of recognition when I entered. Our eyes met for a brief moment as I sat down in the chair beside the judge, and I believe I saw his chin dip in a cautiou
s nod. Words were not necessary between us.
‘Good morning, Miss Beckett,’ said Allenby. ‘Thank you for coming today. Would you begin by stating your name and address, please.’
Preliminaries accomplished, he proceeded exactly as he’d said he would.
‘Miss Beckett, please tell the jury how you know Mr Carr.’
I took a deep breath. Luckily, no one could see how hard my heart was pounding. Allenby crafted his questions to produce short, precise answers, and I responded accordingly. Never elaborate. Never go beyond what is minimally required. If I failed to give enough detail, he would prompt me. Give less; he would ask for more. Each time, I directed my response to him, then turned my head slightly to address the jury. There were twelve jurors, all men save for three women, none of them young. This was good for me – an older male audience is easier to charm than a female one. Whether it was good for David, I could not say. I did wonder, though, about the three women, because Allenby had told me the jury was entirely male.
‘And when, exactly, did you realize your life was in danger from these ruthless gangsters?’ he asked.
A courtroom is nothing more than a theater. As if on stage, I played the part of a sincere, modest, and uncomplicated young woman who had been badly frightened during a train robbery some months earlier – a role not far from the truth – relating my story with just the right touch of hesitation and earnest fortitude to sway the jurors to my side.
When Allenby had finished, I braced myself for the onrushing storm. It was exactly as he had predicted – the smarmy U.S. district attorney pretended to be my best friend. I pretended to believe him.
‘Miss Beckett, thank you for coming today,’ he oozed.
Crossing my ankles and running my fingers through my hair in a casual gesture that indicated I had nothing to hide, I scrutinized this enemy lawyer who would conduct the cross-examination. He was old, fifty at least, and wore a too-dark toupee. He was trying to kill David. I hated him.