Carlo and Gilbraith stood. They were in an area to the left. A blond man in a navy suit walked forward from the right.
The judge asked, "Are the parties present?"
The blond man said, "Alexander Frankfurter for the State, Your Honor."
Gilbraith stood where he was and said, "John J. Gilbraith for the defendant."
The judge looked at Gilbraith and shook his head with a frown. "Is the defendant present?"
I saw Gilbraith nudge Carlo, who said, "Yes, Your Honor."
Looking back at the prosecutor, the judge smiled briefly, and asked, "What's the charge?"
"Murder in the first degree, Your Honor."
Nodding, the judge made a note. Looking at Gilbraith, he asked, "How does the defendant plead?"
"Not guilty, Your Honor," replied Gilbraith.
The judge frowned and nodded. "So entered. Thoughts, gentlemen?"
Gilbraith said, "The defendant waives a preliminary hearing and is ready to proceed to trial, Your Honor."
Several people in the courtroom gasped and began to whisper.
The judge glanced briefly at Gilbraith as he banged his gavel. "Order." The courtroom got quiet. He looked at the prosecutor. "Mr. Frankfurter?"
"The State has no objection, Your Honor."
The judge nodded and looked down at something. After a moment, he said, "Trial set for Monday, July 18 at 10 a.m." He banged his gavel and the reporters ran out of the room as the room erupted into conversation. The judge banged his gavel again. "Order!" He looked down. "State versus Ramirez. Are the parties present?"
. . .
"What the hell?" were the first words out of my mouth as soon as Gilbraith was in hearing distance.
He said, "Follow me," and kept walking. We followed him up a flight of stairs and into a small room. Once we were inside, he leaned against the door and said, "Judge Ledbetter was on the calendar for next Monday's preliminary hearing. You saw him."
"Who's the trial judge?" I asked.
"Judge Raymond Johnson. Not as much of an idiot as Ledbetter. So, we're better off."
Ben asked, "Can I go see him?"
"No, you cannot." Gilbraith's deep voice had no compassion in it. He sounded more like a teacher telling a student that he couldn't leave the classroom.
Ben crossed his arms but said nothing.
"What's next?" I asked.
Gilbraith looked down at me and said, "You have to find the real killer. And you have to do it before Monday."
I nodded. "OK. But I was told to stay clear of Beverly Hills."
"And that's right. So you'll have to come up with a way to be in Beverly Hills of your own accord." He pulled on his beard for a moment. A faint light of amusement washed across his face. "Why don't you buy a house?"
Carter laughed at that.
"What?" I asked.
"Isn't that what George Hearst is always saying about you?" asked Carter. "That you buy your way out of problems?"
"Sure."
"What's there to lose, then?"
I nodded and sighed. "Nothing."
Carter grinned. "Except you hate it down here."
"Yeah. There is that."
He put his hand on my shoulder. "Now's your chance to figure out if you really do or if it's just your San Francisco blood."
I couldn't help but laugh at that. I stood there and thought about things for a moment. I turned to Ben and said, "Do you still have Billy Haines's phone number?" William "Billy" Haines was a movie star from the 20s and the 30s. He'd left Metro instead of marrying a woman when Mr. Mayer had told him to. He and his lover, Jimmie Shields, had started an interior decoration business and were doing just fine. He was good friends with many of the movie stars, including Joan Crawford.
Ben nodded.
"Call him and tell him everything. Then ask him to get me a real estate agent that he likes. We want a furnished house that's ready to move in. I'll pay rent. And it would be better if the house has been for sale for a while. I have no doubt that Billy will know the right agent and, probably, the right house. Ask him to meet us at the hotel at noon for lunch. Tell him I'll pay him a consulting fee up front. That should get him to drop everything."
Ben nodded and asked Gilbraith, "Where is there a phone? This will give me something to do."
"Go up another flight of stairs. There's a couple of booths right there. You'll see them."
I added, "And call Jessup and tell him we'll meet him at the soundstage at 10 tomorrow morning. Tell him we're still on." I looked at Ben. "If you are."
He nodded. "I am." He looked up at Gilbraith. "You're gonna get Carlo off, right?"
Gilbraith frowned down at him. "No, Mr. White. I am going to have him released before trial since he didn't commit the crime. Getting someone off is what you do when they're guilty. Your husband isn't guilty, is he?"
Ben, in complete awe, probably of the deep voice more than anything, shook his head and said, "No, sir, he's not." Gilbraith stepped forward as Ben slipped around him and out the door.
Once he was gone, I asked, "Anything else?"
He walked over to the table and placed his satchel on it. "I'll need you to sign a retainer agreement."
I nodded and walked over. He unbuckled the satchel, reached in, and pulled out a document. He handed it to me to look at. It was a standard agreement. My name as guarantor and Carlo's name as client were already filled in. I took his fountain pen and signed. "How much?"
"Five thousand."
I pulled my wallet out of my trousers and reached in for a check. I filled it out, signed it, and handed it over.
"Thank you, Mr. Williams." He put the document and my check in his satchel and buckled it closed. "Now, I have to see another client. I'd suggest you take the rear exit. I suspect the papers are waiting for you to leave the building. Don't wait too long. They may come looking for you." With that, he left the room and stalked off.
"Friendly guy," said Carter, wryly.
"It's like you said. He's the ass who's gonna save Carlo's ass."
Carter nodded. "Yeah." He sighed. "And how are you going to find the killer?"
I shrugged. "Start at the beginning and follow the leads until we get the answer."
Leaning against the table, Carter asked, "What leads?"
I thought for a moment. "We go to the places where Ben and Martinelli went to go find him. I have a hunch about the beach."
Carter nodded slowly. "Why do you always call him by his last name?"
"Who?" I asked.
"Carlo."
I grinned. "Because I'm always afraid I'm going to say Chuck."
Carter laughed. "How did that happen?"
"When you first introduced us at the Top of the Mark, you called him Carlo and he said, 'Or Carl,' or something like that. In my head, I heard 'Chuck' but didn't wanna spoil the mood."
Carter crossed his arms and smiled. "Yeah, it was like watching fireworks, wasn't it?"
I walked up to him. He was at just about eye level. I put my right arm on his left shoulder. "Don't tell me you're getting the matchmaker fever, too?"
He grinned at me and shook his head. "And me living with the master? Are you kidding?"
I leaned in and kissed him for a long moment. I jumped back when I heard the door open.
Ben cleared his throat. "Sorry. Am I interrupting something?"
I turned around and adjusted my very tight trousers. "Not really. We were just talking about the night you and Martinelli met."
Ben sighed. "That was the best night of my life."
I walked over and kissed him on the cheek. "So far."
Carter asked, "What did Mr. Haines say?"
"He said he'll meet us for lunch at noon and that he knows the right agent and the perfect house." Looking from Carter to me and back, Ben added, "And he told me where to take you to get some clothes."
Chapter 11
The Beverly Hills Hotel
Monday, July 11, 1955
Just before noon
As we walked into the hotel, Carter arranged for what we'd just bought to be taken to our bungalow while Ben and I made our way to the front desk.
A thin man with a thin black mustache walked up. "May I help you?"
"Any messages for Williams in Bungalow #8?"
The man smiled tightly. "One moment." He turned around and pulled a small stack from one of the boxes behind him. He swung back around with a contrite expression. "Oh, Mr. Williams. I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were you."
I nodded and handed him a folded five. "Thanks."
"Pierre."
I tried not to laugh since Pierre sounded like he was from Omaha. "Thank you, Pierre."
"My pleasure, Mr. Williams."
I turned to leave and Ben followed me. We stopped near the lobby phone. Most of the messages were from reporters. I looked to see if any of them were calling from the hotel. None of them were, so I tossed those in a nearby garbage can.
"Does that happen a lot?" asked Ben.
"What?" I looked up.
"People talk to you like you're a movie star."
Carter walked up right then and asked, "Anything interesting?"
I grinned. "Ben wants to know if people talk to me like I'm a movie star."
Carter nodded. "They do. But sometimes they talk to him like he's a movie star whose movies they hate."
Ben frowned. "That's awful."
I shook my head. "Not really. It comes with the territory." I looked at the one message that wasn't from a reporter. As I read one of them, I said, "Well, I'll be damned."
"What?" asked Carter.
"Did you know that our Miss Russell spells her nickname with a 'z'?"
Carter laughed. "No."
"In my head, I've been seeing it as 'Ros' when it should be 'Roz'."
Carter said, "There's a lot of weird stuff going on in your head lately."
I snorted. "You're telling me."
"So, what does the message say?"
I looked at my watch. It was right at noon. "They're here for lunch and wanted to know if we want to join them." I looked over at Ben. "Do you know if Billy is friends with them?"
"He knows Freddie. And he must know Roz. Everyone in town knows her."
I smiled. "Come on, gang. Let's see what happens when stars collide."
. . .
We found Roz and Freddie halfway through their lunch by the pool.
As we walked up, Roz saw us, smiled, and said, "I just saw Billy Haines. He's gone to make a quick phone call and then he'll join us for lunch."
The waiter walked over and began to set up a table for six. Once we were seated and Cokes all around had been ordered, Freddie said, "We heard about Carlo. How did it go?"
I glanced at Ben, who nodded. I said, "The lawyer waived a preliminary hearing and the trial starts next Monday."
Roz sat back, shocked. "Next Monday?"
I nodded.
Carter quietly said, "So, Nick has to find the real killer by then."
Roz nodded. "I should think so. What's the plan?"
I grinned, remembering how enthusiastically she'd helped us solve a couple of murders aboard the ocean liner where we'd met them. "First, we had to buy some clothes."
Roz pursed her lips. "Good. I hope you're going to change after lunch because it's all still too tight."
Carter laughed. "It's what everyone in Australia was wearing."
Roz replied archly, "This is not Australia, Mr. Jones." She then smiled and said, "New clothes. Check. Then what?"
"Then we buy a house."
She and Freddie both looked surprised. "What?" he asked.
I nodded. "In order to be able to nose around here, we need to be residents. It's the fastest way. That's why we're meeting Billy for lunch. Hopefully he's already found us a place."
"To rent, surely?" asked Roz.
I shook my head. "Nope. To buy. We'll probably be coming down here more often." I tried not to grit my teeth. "And while this place is nice..." I looked around. I could see that, once again, all eyes were on us.
"Nice? The Pink Palace?" laughed Roz. "This is the place to see and be seen." She lowered her voice. "As must be obvious."
Right then the waiter arrived with our Cokes. Billy also walked up. Once everyone's hand was shaken and lunch orders were placed, we got back to the subject at hand.
Ben asked, "Were you able to find a place for them?"
Billy smiled. "And how." He looked over at Roz. "Would you mind having new neighbors?"
"Do you mean the DaCosta house?"
"That's the one. It's cozy. And it's move-in. I swung by and saw it on my way here. Needs some work, but it gets you in and, from what I've heard, that's the point."
I looked at Billy. He smiled and said, "From Ben, here. I haven't breathed a word. The agent, Lila McKenzie, doesn't even know who I'm bringing over at 1-ish."
For whatever reason, the food arrived sooner than the drinks had. We started eating just as Roz and Freddie were finishing up.
As he took a bite of his salad, Billy asked, "Are you really serious about buying?"
I nodded. "Yes. Are you serious about this place being move-in ready?"
He nodded. "If you like it, and I think you will. It will probably remind you of your old house on Hartford Street."
Carter looked up from his shoe-leather steak. "How do you know about that?"
"I talked to Nick's charming stepsister, Marnie, this morning for twenty minutes trying to get a feel for what you would both like." He looked at me. "She sounds like a real doll."
I grinned. "She is. And I'd bet she has a crush on you."
He waved me away. "She's your age, right?"
"More or less."
"I doubt her mother let her see the kind of talkies I was doing at the end."
Carter cleared his throat. "I, uh, saw you in..." He glanced over at Freddie and seemed to think better of admitting to an adolescent crush in front of the man. Freddie, for his part, wasn't paying any attention. He was watching a starlet who was standing by the diving board.
While Carter blushed, I said, "Marnie's great. What about this house makes you think we'll like it?"
"It's cozy."
Roz piped up. "It's a true Cape Cod. Two windows on either side of the front door. Nice brick path through the front lawn. And it has a pool in the back."
"Have you been there?" I asked.
She nodded. "Lilly DaCosta and I did some work together at the end of the war. She was much older than me. She just passed about three months ago. Joe DaCosta was her husband." She snapped her fingers. "Say, I forgot. He was involved at Monumental Studios during its heyday. He was smart and sold out once it was obvious that their talkies were flopping. Harry Cohn, bless his pointy little head, is probably still thanking his lucky stars that Ferriman wouldn't sell out. That place was a real turkey."
Freddie looked at Ben and asked, "Are you still going through with your plan?"
Ben nodded, glanced at Billy, and didn't say anything.
Billy leaned in and said, "I heard all about it. Nick's going to resurrect Monumental Studios. Someone told me that Ethel Merman is already in talks. Is that true?"
I leaned back in my seat and looked at Carter, who was grinning. I said, "We're in early discussions."
Freddie and Roz both burst out laughing.
Billy leaned his head to one side, looked at me, and asked, "What's the real story?"
Roz, who was wiping away the tears with her napkin, waved her hand in the air. "Oh no, Billy. You'll have to wait and find out with the rest of 'em."
He raised an eyebrow at her and said, "Fine. As long as they're not movies about juvenile delinquents. I can't stand that kind of trash."
All the rest of us burst out laughing, along with Roz and Freddie, as Billy stared at each of us in turn.
. . .
Once we were back in the bungalow and changing clothes, I said, "We can always sell this house if we don't like it."
Carter sighed as he s
traightened my shirt. "I'm glad you said that. We're flying a little too high here for my taste."
I nodded. "The goal is to find the real killer. This just gives us permission to snoop around town. That's all this is."
"Sounds like you're reassuring yourself."
"I am. The last time I was this nervous about buying a house was when you threatened to take out your own mortgage."
Carter laughed at that.
Chapter 12
717 North Cañon Drive
Monday, July 11, 1955
About a quarter past 1 in the afternoon
It took all of three minutes for Ben to navigate his big Chrysler to the house. We could have easily walked in ten minutes, if not less. He pulled his car into the driveway behind two '54 Cadillacs. One was blue and the other was pink. I figured the pink one belonged to the real estate agent and the blue one was Billy's.
Ben, Carter, and I piled out of the car. Billy and a trim woman of about 40, who was dressed in a stylish skirt and coat, walked out of the front door of the house. We walked up the bricked sidewalk and were all introduced. Lila McKenzie was friendly but efficient. We followed her inside the house.
The living room was as wide as the house. It had been updated in the last few years. All of the furniture was comfortable in pink and green chintz and there wasn't a stick of Danish Modern to be seen. The wood floor had a couple of rugs. I looked around for a TV and didn't see one. That was definitely a plus.
We followed Mrs. McKenzie through to a small hallway. To the right were two bedrooms. There was a bathroom in the middle. Again, everything was recently updated and it was all comfortable.
To my surprise, there was no formal dining room, although there probably had been one at one point. A large wood table that looked to be a couple of hundred years old occupied the greater part of a space just outside of the modern kitchen that included a built-in dishwasher. The table had six chairs around it with room for four more, each of which sat along one wall. The table was almost too big for the room.
A back door led to a medium-sized lawn surrounded by an eight-foot high brick wall with varying amounts and types of ivy growing on it. In the center of the lawn was a swimming pool. The one interesting thing about the setup was that the grass went right up to the brick lip of the pool. There wasn't the usual concrete apron surrounding the pool. I was overcome with a desire to kick off my socks and shoes and run on the grass and jump in the water.
The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14) Page 8