The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm wondering how they knew that was our number calling."

  Carter thought for a moment. "They probably check all the numbers that call in."

  I nodded, checking the rear-view mirror. They were still on our tail. "Yeah. But I'm still worried about Anita."

  "While you and Howie were getting breakfast, Mike talked to her before she went into work. Said they hired—"

  "What town are we in now?"

  "Monterey Park."

  "They're still following us. What did Mike say about her being hired?"

  "Just that she was hired on the spot on Thursday. She said it wasn't difficult and that she was given four numbers to call for the same kind of pick-ups. She memorized three of them. The first one she made before she realized what it was. She said that a supervisor comes around and gives out call assignments and picks them up once they're made. She also said the place is huge and busy all the time. A couple of the other gals said they work twenty-four hours, seven days a week, and that, unlike other places they'd worked before, you had to have seniority to work anything but normal business hours. They figured it had to do with the management not wanting to hire aspiring actresses who would be going on casting calls in the middle of the day. Something like that. Are they still behind us?"

  As Carter had been talking, I'd kept one eye on the mirror. "Yeah. The cop in the passenger seat is back on the radio. What town are we in now?"

  "We just passed a sign saying El Monte. I wonder why they're still following us?"

  Right then, traffic began to slow down. Looking ahead, I could see the reason. We were moving down off the freeway. The segment ahead of us was under construction. All the cars had to merge into a single lane on the right. That was the one that we were in. The driver of the Ford tried to stay as close to us as he could, not wanting to let any other cars merge in between us. At one point he was right on our bumper. They were so close that I could clearly see the faces of the two men in the car. Traffic began to pick up again as we moved through the construction zone. A sign ahead pointed to an exit for Hoyt Avenue. The freeway resumed at the same spot where the exit was. As we continued back up onto the freeway, the Ford went right and followed the exit traffic. I could see the slightly disappointed expression on the driver's face.

  . . .

  Following Carter's instructions, I continued along the freeway to the next exit for Peck Road. It was a clover-leaf interchange. I took the exit for the northbound side and then made an immediate left onto Valley Boulevard.

  Carter said, "We follow this for a while and make a couple of turns and we'll be in Pasadena."

  I nodded. "So you think Anita is OK?"

  "Yes, Nick, I do. What's got you so rattled?"

  I sighed. "I guess now that Martinelli is home and safe, I'm more worried about who really killed William. Finding that person was always about getting Martinelli out of jail. But now that he is, what's next?"

  "Well, we know who did it."

  "Sure. We have three possibles. Juan Zane, John Taylor, and the mystery up-and-coming actor. It could only be one of those three."

  "Don't forget Humphries, the butler."

  I shrugged. "Maybe."

  We drove in silence. When we came to Rosemead, Carter said, "Turn right," so I did. "Where do we go from here?" I asked.

  "Make a left on Colorado, but that's—"

  "No. I mean, where do we go from here? Maybe we should just pack everything up and go home."

  Carter didn't reply immediately. After a moment, he said, "We could. But that wouldn't sit well with you. I know I couldn't stand the thought that we let a killer get away with murder just because the Beverly Hills police tried to warn us off and because we turned tail and headed home."

  I nodded. "You're right. It just seems like this is going on and on and we're not getting anywhere. Kind of like driving through the Southland."

  Carter snorted. "I think you're losing the big picture, son."

  "How so?"

  "Well, think about it. Between Errol Flynn and Howie, you managed to construct how this whole distribution thing works. The cops who investigated the Rose Marie Cabral hit-and-run probably had no idea what they were actually investigating. They probably thought the burglary was a coincidence. But because of you wanting to talk to Father Patrick, there's another piece of the puzzle."

  I sighed. "You're right. The part I still don't get is why William was murdered. Juan Zane would only be interested in him as a kid to seduce. Humphries might have been protecting his boss. And William might have found something on Juan Zane that he thought was blackmail material. He tried it on me, after all."

  "But those rogue F.B.I. agents put him up to it, right?"

  I shook my head. "No. They were dead by then."

  Carter sighed. "Weren't there rogue agents down here?"

  "What do you mean?"

  He said, "Remember, back in January, when Harvey Reynolds, that accountant from M-G-M followed us into City of Paris and Sam caught him? The one that I hustled out to Las Vegas. Whatever happened to him?"

  "I dunno. Walter is the one who went down there to debrief him and got all those names and phone numbers."

  "Right," said Carter. "Is he still in Las Vegas? William was from there. By the way, what happened to his body?"

  "I guess it was sent to his parents in Vegas. I'm not sure there's a connection."

  "What if one of those rogue agents down here killed William and then dumped his body at Juan Zane's?"

  I sighed. My head was beginning to spin. "Could be. We really need to talk to Mike about all this. He's the only one who knows all the pieces."

  "Speaking of Mike. And Greg. Where are they?"

  "Good question. I was gonna ask Kenneth but didn't get a chance." I sighed. "That's one of the things that's driving me up the wall about this case. It's like we get little bits and pieces and are always being interrupted."

  "Except Howie."

  I looked over at Carter. "I can't decide whether to kiss you or slug you."

  He grinned. "Keep your eyes on the road, Boss. You have plenty of time to decide. Meanwhile, we're getting close to Colorado Street, so be ready to make a left when we get there."

  I laughed. "Kiss it is."

  "That's good to know."

  "Yeah."

  . . .

  By the time we'd driven a few blocks down Colorado, we both realized we'd never had any lunch, so we pulled into the first drive-in we found and ordered some hamburger sandwiches along with Cokes. Once we had our food, I said, "Let's talk about Howie."

  Carter swallowed his bite and said, "Speaking of slugging, I'd like to belt him one about once a day."

  I nodded and bit into my sandwich. In between bites, I said, "Yeah. He can be an annoying twerp but that photographic memory of his is something else."

  "Yeah?"

  I nodded. "You should've seen it. He was rattling off details about poor Mrs. Cabral like he was reading it right out of an encyclopedia. Amazing thing to watch."

  Carter took a drink of his Coke and said, "So, as I was trying to point out earlier, that was a lucky break. He seems to know everything about their system."

  I nodded and had a disturbing thought. "I wonder why he didn't try to take advantage of that?"

  "But how could he? It's pretty tight. The only person he could've exploited was Mrs. Cabral. She was his only contact."

  I said, "Maybe he was the hit-and-run driver."

  "What?"

  I nodded. "Maybe he killed her and broke into her house."

  "No, Nick. Remember what Father Patrick said? She knew something was up. She started going to church twice a day. She was obviously nervous about something."

  I chewed on my sandwich for a moment. Finally, I said, "I'm just trying to go down every possible road. It's not personal. I like Howie. I want him to fall in love with Walter and move to San Francisco and have them become the brainiac twins. Seriously. He's so smart, but he's also so
manipulative."

  Carter popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth and balled up the paper wrapper in his fist. He stuffed it into the greasy brown-paper bag that the sandwiches came in. He asked, "If he's so manipulative, then why do you want him and Walter to fall in love?"

  "Walter's smart. He can handle anything."

  "Unless it's in trousers and over six feet tall."

  I guffawed. I was drinking my Coke right at that moment. I somehow managed not to spill the drink all over myself and the car.

  . . .

  As we drove into Pasadena, the traffic got worse and worse. As we slowly crawled through an intersection, I banged my head on the steering wheel. "Are we ever gonna get out of this?"

  Carter laughed and said, "I've been looking at the map. We can stay on this street and get on the Colorado Freeway which'll take us into Eagle Rock, whatever that is. Or, we can zig-zag our way down to the Pasadena Freeway. That'll drop us downtown. But where are we going?"

  "Good question. I really wanna talk to Mike."

  Carter didn't reply. I looked over at him. He was staring out the window.

  "What?"

  He pursed his lips and sighed. "You know I love Mike—"

  "No."

  "No, what?"

  "No, I don't wanna talk about how you're jealous that I wanna talk to him."

  Carter crossed his arms. "Fine."

  "Look." I kept my eyes on the road, not wanting to watch his reaction to what I was about to say. "He and I get together and we break the case down. There's something about the way his mind works that helps me think straight."

  "Sure."

  I put my hand on Carter's thigh. He didn't relax like he normally would. I couldn't blame him.

  Right then, I saw a street where I could turn right. Without signaling, I turned on Los Robles. It was much less congested. I hit the pedal and sped up the street as fast as I thought was safe.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Getting us out of that mess. I couldn't take another minute of it."

  Carter looked down at the map. "OK. Make a left on Orange Grove. That looks like a sort of back way to get on the Colorado Freeway."

  I nodded and followed his instructions. Neither of us spoke as we sped along. Following the signs, I got up on the freeway. It was actually less than a mile long and dumped us on Colorado Boulevard. As soon as I could find a parking lot, I pulled in. It was for a hardware store which appeared to have gone out of business. The lot was empty and the building was vacant. I parked around the back, behind the building and next to a big pile of wooden pallets.

  "What?" That was Carter.

  "I can't do this. I can't breathe another drop of this stinkin' air and I can't deal with this goddam traffic. And I need to tell you how much I love you." I reached over and pulled him close to me, which wasn't that easy. He leaned over and kissed me deeply. I didn't care if anyone saw us.

  We stayed like that for a while. When we finally came up for air, such as it was, he smiled and said, "I'm not jealous about Mike in that way. I just want in on the case. I wanna be the one you talk to about what doesn't make sense."

  I ran my hand over his sweaty face. "Yeah. Me, too."

  "And that's what I've been trying to do."

  "I know. But you gotta let me run with my theories. Let me find the holes."

  Carter looked at me. "I will. I promise." He kissed me on the lips. "Damn, it's hot."

  I grinned. "Yeah." I looked at him.

  He shook his head. "No."

  "What?"

  "You know what."

  "No, I don't."

  "Yes you do. You're getting my motor running."

  I ran my finger under his chin, collecting some of his sweat as I did. "I don't mean to, Chief." I popped my finger in my mouth and grinned.

  "Nick. Seriously."

  I looked around, wondering about the possibilities.

  Carter shook his head. "No. The longer we're out here, the longer it is before we get to that pool above the smog."

  "Can't argue with that." I turned back face-forward to start the engine. Before I could turn the key, he put his hand over mine and said, "I'll drive."

  "Good."

  "But you'll have to get out and let me move across the seat. I, uh, can't stand up right now."

  I laughed and said, "Fine," as I opened the door to get out.

  Chapter 41

  14301 Deseo Drive

  Friday, July 15, 1955

  A quarter past 5 in the afternoon

  When we came up the hill, there were three cars in front of the house. Oscar's station wagon was parked to the left side of the garage. The Mercedes was parked to its right and a Pontiac Chieftain was parked to the right of that. Howie's Indian motorcycle was parked between the station wagon and the Mercedes.

  We'd just left the Burbank airport. When we'd arrived at a quarter until 5 to pick up Walter, we found the DC-3 already parked. When we'd checked with the pilots, they'd told us they'd been there since 4 and that Walter had taken a cab, along with the big trunk of clothes that Gustav had sent with him, over to the house. We'd thanked them, met Joan Fontaine who'd told us how happy she was that the pilots had agreed to drop her in Monterey on the way to San Francisco, and made our way to Ventura Boulevard and up and over Beverly Glen.

  I parked to the right of the Pontiac and we both got out of the car. I stood for a moment and looked out over the thick haze covering the city below. Once again, there were only big blue skies above us and it was noticeably cooler than it had been down in the mess of it all. Carter put his hand on my neck and said, "Come on, son. Let's go get wet."

  I laughed and said, "Sounds good to me."

  We walked up the slate steps and across the lawn. The front door was unlocked, so I pushed it open and announced, "We're home."

  I was startled as I looked around the living room. All the furniture that had been there when we left that morning was still in place. But all the blank spaces, particularly the bookshelves, were filled in. It suddenly felt like a home. I looked to my left and was surprised to see an opening in the wall between the dining room and the living room that hadn't been there before. And, even more surprising, beyond that was a window that hadn't been there. Or not that I remembered.

  Howie and Walter were sitting on the couch talking with each other when we walked in. They both stood up. Howie was more nervous than I would have ever imagined possible.

  Walter looked up at Carter and, with wide eyes, said, "Hello. I'm sorry I didn't wait."

  Carter smiled and said, "That's fine. I wouldn't have wanted to wait down there in that heat. It's much nicer up here."

  Walter nodded, owl-like.

  I said, "Looks like you two are getting to know each other."

  They both nodded.

  I continued, "Did Oscar show you your room, Walter?"

  He nodded. "Yes, thanks."

  Carter asked, "Did you bring your swim trunks?"

  Before Walter could reply, Howie took his hand and said, "Why don't we let Nick and Carter get cleaned up. I'd like to see your bedroom."

  Walter looked over at Howie and smiled. The kid was obviously smitten and it seemed to go both ways.

  Walter replied, "I would like that very much, Howard." I smiled, trying not to laugh. That kid was never gonna be a Howard in my book.

  Carter said, "That sounds like a good idea..." His voice trailed off as he watched the two of them make their way around us and down the hall, completely oblivious to our presence.

  I looked up at Carter and said, "That looks promising."

  He put his hand on the back of my neck and said, "You're right. It does." We walked down into the living room and began to look at all the new additions. After a minute or so, Oscar walked in from the kitchen and grinned. "Welcome home. You like all this new?"

  "Yeah. Did you do this?" I asked.

  "No. Mr. Haines. He came and work much of the day. He leaved about an hour ago."

  I
pointed to the wall opening. "How did that happen?"

  Oscar said, "Watch, please."

  He walked over to a spot next to the big painting and pressed against the wall. As he did, a door popped open, revealing a panel of buttons. "Mr. Haines show me this." He pressed a button and a whirring sound began. A panel slid to the right of the opening and made the wall appear to be solid once again. He pressed the same button and the panel slid back to the left. It was impressive.

  After getting a full tour of all the buttons, Oscar walked us through the rest of the house, except for Walter's room, of course. Billy had added artwork and little bits and pieces, here and there, including a library of classic books in the living room. It was very nice and made everything feel more homey.

  As we were standing in our bedroom, I looked out the sliding glass door and saw Mike and Greg making out in the pool. Greg, who was handsome in a nondescript way, seemed be having a lot of fun in the pool. Mike would kiss him, Greg would wiggle away and splash him, then Mike would then chase him down. And the whole thing would repeat. They looked like oversexed teenagers.

  I looked at Oscar. "What about dinner?"

  "Mr. Mike tell me how many are coming which is nine."

  I nodded. "Can you make dinner for us?"

  Oscar tilted his head as if he didn't understand what I'd said. "Yes, Mr. Nick. Dinner is almost ready."

  Carter put his hand on my shoulder. "Did all that smog burn your nose?"

  I took a big whiff and suddenly realized there was the delicious aroma of something that reminded me of roast beef. "I guess so, but now I smell it." I looked at Oscar. "Smells good."

  He nodded. "It is a French beef dish. I think you like. The menu is all very American. Meat. Potato. Salad. I bake a cake for dessert. All very good."

  "Thanks, Oscar."

  Carter asked, "When is Hans coming over?"

  Oscar blushed. "I tell Mr. Mike I will stay late for serving dinner and cleaning up. He say I don't need to stay but I say I will. Then I call Hans and he is very cross. So I tell him to come to get me if he is so upset." Oscar made a face I didn't recognize. "So he is." He seemed to be mortified, if the tone of his voice was any indication.

  Carter asked, "Is there enough for the two of you to join us for dinner?"