Cold Desert Sky

by Rod Reynolds

  ‘Who knows? Unlikely.’

  I took a dollar bill from my fold and passed it to him, thanked him for his trouble. The dots wouldn’t join, but there was no reason they should. The information on their movements had come from the landlady at their boarding house – but there was any number of ways it could be wrong. Maybe she was mistaken about the studio they were headed to that day – easy enough to do. And that was assuming they’d told her the truth; what if they’d been spinning her a line for their own purposes?

  CHAPTER SIX

  The boarding house was in a planned neighbourhood in Leimert Park and I made the dash over there in no time. A grey stucco building in Spanish Revival style, it was fronted by four decorative arches, partially concealing a long veranda along the ground floor and balconies outside the upstairs rooms. It was set back from the sidewalk behind a neat patch of yard, purple bougainvillea adding a splash of colour to the front of the property. Two women were just visible behind the upper right archway as I walked up the path.

  The landlady, Mrs Betsy Snyder, answered the door. Her face was blank a moment when she saw me, until recognition set in. ‘Mr Yates – we spoke before.’

  ‘I’m sorry to call unannounced, ma’am. I was in the neighbourhood and wondered if you’d answer a few more questions?’

  ‘What sort of questions?’

  ‘About Miss Hill and Miss Desjardins.’

  She blanked again a moment, as if she couldn’t think why I’d be asking after them. Her countenance threw me. ‘Would you like to come inside?’

  I thanked her and followed her into a simple dining room with two tables and seating for a dozen. She gestured for me to sit. ‘May I offer you something to drink?’

  ‘No thank you, ma’am.’

  She remained standing, holding onto the back of a chair, so I stayed on my feet. ‘May I ask what is this about?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get a fix on Miss Hill and Miss Desjardins’ movements before they disappeared. Last time you mentioned they told you they were expected at TPK for an audition that morning, but I’ve been to the studio and there’s no record of them having made it there.’

  She pulled a puzzled face. ‘Mr Yates, you have me at a loss. What do you mean disappeared?’

  The line almost floored me. ‘Mrs Snyder, do you recall the conversation we had previously? You told me your two boarders had disappeared and—’

  ‘Of course I recall it, that’s what I said – disappeared. But I didn’t mean …’

  I waited but she didn’t finish. ‘You didn’t mean what, ma’am?’

  She took her hands off the chair and sat down now. ‘To imply anything. Disappeared – it’s just a word. One day they were here, then they were gone. Thankfully it doesn’t happen often, but they’re not the first fly-by-nights I’ve encountered.’

  I looked at her, plucking at my shirt cuff to mask my surprise, trying to remember how our prior conversation had unfolded. ‘But … when we spoke, you expressed concern for their welfare. You said you were sure they weren’t the type to skip out and you thought they might be in trouble.’

  She waved it off. ‘I suppose I still expected that they’d come back at the time. I don’t like to think the worst of people.’

  I couldn’t think what to say. The impression I’d taken away was of a woman deeply concerned; I remembered being dragged under by a sense of dread as she’d talked, the feeling that the next cycle in an unending loop had begun. And now—

  ‘What about their effects? You told me they left everything behind.’

  She shifted her gaze from me to the cabinet filled with white crockery against the wall. ‘They did, but they didn’t amount to much in the first place. A few items of clothing, some costume jewellery – nothing of any significant value.’

  ‘What about their personal things? Were they gone too?’

  ‘I couldn’t say – I’m not in the habit of making an inventory of my boarders’ rooms.’

  I didn’t know whether to believe her. A silence settled as the foundations of everything fell away under me. There was a noise from the hallway outside and Mrs Snyder snapped her head around to look over. A faint scraping, then the sound of footfalls on the staircase. She moved to the door and opened it, glanced around.

  After waiting a few seconds, she left the door open and sat down again, looking rattled. ‘I told you they owed me two weeks’ lodging, didn’t I? In the context, a few dresses would be no great loss.’

  I tapped my finger lightly against my leg. ‘You did.’

  ‘I’ve involved the police, of course, but I don’t expect to ever see a cent of it.’

  I took a step towards the door, Lizzie and Ben Siegel crashing my thoughts on the flood of doubt. Thinking that Lizzie was right all along and we should have run the minute we had the chance. It felt as if I were waking from a bad dream to a worse reality.

  ‘I’ve taken enough of your time. I’ll see myself out.’

  She followed me to the front door. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea last time, Mr Yates.’

  I stepped out into the sunlight and put my hat on, unease washing over me. I jogged across the road to the car and ducked inside, picturing the streets around there; trying to think where the nearest payphone booth was, meaning to call Lizzie and tell her she was right and to start packing.

  Then I lifted my head and noticed a scrap of paper under the windshield wiper – a note, one corner lifting in the breeze. I climbed out again and pulled it free, looking around me as I did so. It was a single line in a neat cursive script:

  Please come to O’Doull’s on Crenshaw & 39th as soon as you read this

  *

  The name had me expecting a bar, but O’Doull’s turned out to be a small coffee shop sandwiched between a post office and an insurance outfit, situated on a short commercial strip running parallel to the main boulevard.

  I walked in hinky, waiting for someone’s eyes to meet mine. Ten tables, each of them occupied. No one reacted at first, and I started to get mad at the games, but then a young woman with a wilting curl-job made eye contact and held it. I recognised her and made my way over.

  I sat down and set the scrap of paper in front of her. ‘Was this your doing?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Charlie Yates. What’s your name, miss?’

  ‘Angela Crawford. I’m a boarder at—’

  ‘Mrs Snyder’s place. I saw you on the balcony before.’

  ‘Yes, sir, that was me.’

  I waited for her to elaborate, noticing her accent – East Coast. A waitress came over and neither of us spoke while she poured me a black coffee from her pot.

  When she was gone, Crawford took the message slip in her hand, turning it. ‘You’re looking for Nancy and Julie, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. Do you know where they are?’ It was a dumb question, getting ahead of myself.

  ‘No. We’ve heard nothing since they disappeared.’

  ‘But you were friendly with them?’

  ‘Sure, friendly enough. We’re all trying to make it the same way.’

  ‘Meaning what? The movies?’

  ‘What else is there?’

  Another time I might’ve said, but my interest was only in whatever she had to say for herself. ‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

  ‘May I ask why you came to the house again today?’

  Again. I didn’t like the idea of her taking note of my movements. ‘Miss, I’m not about to sit here and play twenty questions. If you know something about where those girls are at, I’d be obliged if you’d spill it.’

  She chewed her cheek, trying not to show I’d upset her.

  I glanced to the side and breathed out, furious at myself for snapping. ‘Pay me no mind, ma’am. I’m going crazy looking for them and I’m getting nowhere. If you can help, I’m all ears.’

  She looked at me a moment and then down, righting the fork on the place setting in front of her. ‘Mrs Snyde
r said you’re a journalist, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Another man came asking about Nancy and Julie. Did she tell you that?’

  I shook my head, putting my coffee down, alert now.

  ‘Why are you looking for them?’

  I started to say it was for a story, but instinct told me to tell the truth. ‘I’m concerned about their wellbeing.’

  ‘Me too. Bridget thinks they might be in Mexico. She says—’

  ‘Who’s Bridget?’

  ‘We’re roommates. At Mrs Snyder’s. You would’ve seen her on the balcony earlier. She says the Mexicans take white girls across the border to keep as maids.’

  An old story I’d heard as a kid, still going strong in the minds of California newcomers; Anglo parents told it to their daughters to scare them away from pachucos. But it made me think about the rumours of starlets being lured over the border with promises of movie work, then finding themselves forced into skin flicks. ‘Do you have any basis for thinking that? Did you know them to associate with any Mexican men?’

  She frowned, shaking her head. ‘No. No. I think Bridgy is just guessing but do you think she could be right?’

  ‘I think it would be hard to get an American citizen over the border against their will. What about other men – friends, a sweetheart, anyone they were dating?’

  She shook her head. ‘There’s no one I knew of.’

  ‘Did you talk about that sort of thing? Boys?’

  ‘No one in real life.’

  ‘Movie stars you mean?’

  She nodded, looking down and smiling. ‘We all daydreamed about who we’d marry when we made it big.’

  I leaned forward over the table. ‘Miss, who was the other man came asking about them?’

  She feathered her collarbone. ‘He said he was a detective with the LAPD, that Mrs Snyder had called them in.’

  That didn’t chime right. Detective bureau involvement didn’t fly for two girls skipping out on a couple weeks’ rent. ‘Go on. Did you get his name?’

  ‘Yes, it was Belfour, he showed me a badge. Do you know him?’

  ‘No. I don’t work with the LAPD much.’

  ‘He asked about you.’ She put her hand to her mouth after she said it, as though she’d shocked herself by letting slip.

  I spoke slow so as not to let my voice waver. ‘Asked what?’

  ‘Who you were, why you’d come around, what your involvement with them was. I don’t know all of it for sure, he mainly spoke with Mrs Snyder.’

  I remembered the noise in the hallway, the sound of someone rushing upstairs, Mrs Snyder being jumpy. ‘You were eavesdropping on their conversation. Same as you did to me just now.’

  She reddened. ‘That was Bridgy. And she wasn’t snooping, she was just watching out for me.’

  ‘While you put that on my car?’ I pointed to the note.

  She nodded. ‘Mrs Snyder wouldn’t like me talking to you.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘I can’t say for sure. She’s been acting strange since that man came around. My guess is she’s scared the police will blame her. She’s the nervous type.’

  I wondered if that explained Snyder’s change in attitude. If she was a square John who got nervous around the law – or there was more to it. ‘Do you think there’s something she’s not letting on?’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t know. Like what?’

  The conversation was fracturing and my head swam. I couldn’t be sure if she was building up to something or she was just enjoying the chance to gossip. ‘Speculation doesn’t serve anyone’s interests. May we talk about the detective again a moment – did he speak to you on your own?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘What did he ask?’

  ‘What I told you before. About Nancy and Julie, where they could be, if they’d talked about running off, anything like that.’ She flicked her thumbnail against the one on her little finger. ‘If we’d spoken to you.’

  Her mannerisms sent off all kinds of signals – suspicion foremost, but also a willingness to give voice to something unspoken. ‘Miss, did this detective unsettle you in some way?’

  She studied the tabletop. ‘My uncle Patrick is a policeman in Fells Point in Baltimore. Not a detective, he walks a beat.’

  I watched her, saying nothing. Jitters in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘The man that came by … he didn’t remind me of Uncle Patrick and his friends.’

  Play devil’s advocate. ‘Los Angeles is a very different town to Baltimore.’

  ‘I know, but … I just had this feeling that—This feeling that he wasn’t a real policeman.’ Her face dropped when she said it, as if saying it aloud had increased the burden rather than taking it away.

  Questions crowded my thoughts. Lizzie knew about my search, but aside from her, the only people knew I was looking for the girls were those I’d spoken to in the course of the investigation. ‘Can you describe what he looked like?’

  She gestured with her hands. ‘Thin.’ She looked at the ceiling, remembering. ‘About as tall as you, but he had sandy-coloured hair. But he was really thin, like he hadn’t eaten – not how most cops look. That’s another thing made me wonder.’

  It didn’t bring anyone to mind. I couldn’t find a way to make sense of it.

  I reached into my pocket for some coins to pay for the coffee. ‘Thank you for telling me. I know this can’t have been easy.’

  She sat back in her chair. ‘How long will you keep looking for them, Mr Yates?’

  I set a quarter on the table. ‘As long as I’m able.’

  *

  There was a payphone across the side street on the corner of Crenshaw. I called LAPD headquarters and asked if they could put me in touch with Detective Belfour. After a few minutes holding, they redirected me to the South Bureau. The operator there told me Detective Belfour wasn’t available at this time, and she didn’t know when he would be.

  I walked back to the car feeling as though someone was at my heels.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lizzie peeked from behind the curtain when I pulled up outside our motel room.

  Seeing it was me, she opened the door and stood behind it, something tentative in her manner.

  I kissed her and took my tie off, then checked around the room, hoping against hope that was where I’d left the photograph of the girls.

  ‘What’s wrong, Charlie?’

  ‘I misplaced something. I’m—’

  ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’

  I turned to see Lizzie holding the photograph towards me. It showed the two girls hanging from either side of a palm tree trunk, posing with one leg bent at the knee, making a mirror image. Both of them laughing. Nancy’s head thrown back, Julie with a snaggletooth on the left side of her mouth. At a guess, both of them in their early twenties.

  ‘You found it? Where was it?’

  Her free arm was across her stomach, her elbow propped on it. ‘I took it from your jacket.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I had to find a way to get through to you. And even that didn’t work.’

  ‘This is—’ I reached across and took it from her fingers, staring at her, the silence between us like a brick wall. ‘I spent all morning canvassing people with no picture to show. What were you thinking?’

  ‘I could ask the same of you. Think about what you just said.’

  ‘You’re trying to hinder me, is that it?’

  ‘No, never. I wanted to do something to give you pause – to stop and think. But nothing is working. You’re obsessed, Charlie, and you’re ignoring the danger we’re in.’

  ‘How can you stand there and say that to me?’

  ‘You’ve been gone all day. All day, not a word. Even after what I told you last night.’

  ‘I’m—Goddammit, Lizzie, I’m trying to figure this out. I need your help, not some try at silent protest.’

  ‘I am helping. I’ve been walking around for hours showi
ng this photograph to people. I told you I couldn’t face sitting here wondering again.’

  ‘You did what?’

  She took a step closer to me. ‘Exactly what you would have done. If nothing else, to prove I wasn’t acting out of spite.’

  I held my hands out. ‘You accuse me of ignoring the danger and you’re out there parading yourself for Siegel to find.’

  ‘What does it matter now? They found you, they’ve made their threats. Why would they even care to look for me?’

  My own thoughts from that morning, somehow sounding deluded coming from the mouth of another. I took a breath and put my hands on her shoulders. ‘This isn’t a game. They—’

  She shrugged me off. ‘Don’t patronise me. I’ve lived through every second of this with you, I know damn well how serious this is.’

  Alice’s memory lingered in the space between us. My sense that an unvoiced accusation was close to the surface: that she was tired of me acting as if I carried a heavier burden of grief than she did over the loss of her own sister.

  I screwed my eyes closed, trying not to raise my voice. ‘If they don’t know where you are, they can’t harm you. That’s the one thought keeping me going right now.’

  ‘They found you before, Charlie. They let you go without so much as taking your telephone number. They can get to us anytime they like if we stay in the city, you must see that.’ She walked to the table and planted both hands on it with her back to me. ‘What you mean to say is that you don’t care if they kill you so long as they can’t touch me.’ She gave me a hard look in the mirror. ‘You can’t know how terrifying it is for me to realise that.’

  I put my hands on my hips and looked at the wall, flailing for something to say as it dawned on me she’d recognised something I hadn’t yet seen in myself. ‘I’m trying to protect you.’

  ‘You’re being reckless on account of something you can’t fix.’

  I went over and stabbed the tabletop. ‘If they’re alive, I can find them.’

  She lifted my finger off the table and interlinked it with hers. ‘You can’t bring Alice back. Any of them.’