by Rod Reynolds
‘I’ve worked crime beats for years, I know cops. I’ve never set foot in this town before today, quit reaching.’
‘Let me see some identification, please.’
I took out my press credentials and passed them to him.
He opened his pocketbook and copied something down. ‘Can anyone confirm your presence in Los Angeles the last day or two?’
‘Buck Acheson, editor of the Pacific Journal. I was in his office last night.’
He wrote the name and looked up again. ‘No photographs of the victim have been released to the press. Mind telling me how you square that with what you told me about a description?’
‘Tom Pence from the LA Times alerted me to the story. He was in town on an unrelated matter. He told his editor the woman matched the description and his editor called me.’ I planted my hands on the table. ‘It was the name, that was the red flag. How many Desjardins crop up in this town?’
He scribbled something else down. ‘Well then, how did this Pence know what the victim looked like?’
I looked at the ceiling and then back at him. ‘Say he was at the scene.’ He started to write. ‘After you found her,’ I added.
Lang looked at me and tilted his head.
‘Look, if you let me see the body, I can confirm whether she’s the woman I know as Julie Desjardins.’
He kept looking at me, flicking his pocketbook slowly with his thumb. ‘That’s a duty for the dead woman’s next of kin. You provide me with their particulars and I’ll see to it they’re reached.’
I thought about what to say, knowing I’d talked myself into a corner and deciding that truth was the safest course. ‘I don’t know her family. My working theory is that Desjardins was an assumed name.’
He got up and stood between me and the door. ‘I think I’d like for you to take a seat.’
‘You’ve no grounds to arrest me. Why would I call in here to—’
‘Who said anything about arrest? That’s the second strange comment you’ve made.’ He pulled a chair out for me and locked his eyes on mine.
I took the seat and told him from the start. Nancy Hill and Julie Desjardins, the conversations with Hill’s despairing mother, the fact that I knew nothing about Desjardins’ identity or where she hailed from. The last sighting of them at Mrs Snyder’s house. The appointment at TPK, no record of them ever making it. I finished up on the detail about Desjardins working at the movie theatre on Fairfax, under the name of Virginia Lake – watching his face as I said it to see if it jibed with an identification they might have made, unlikely as it was. But his expression didn’t change and he never looked up from his notes.
When I finished, he wrote on a moment longer, then closed his pocketbook and placed the pen on top. ‘Were you having relations with either or both of these women, Mr Yates?’
‘What?’ I pushed my seat back.
‘That your wife outside?’ He hooked his thumb towards the staging area.
‘What the hell does that have to do with it?’
‘Looked a little younger than you, is all.’
I stood up, shaking my head. ‘I’ve heard enough.’
‘Don’t tell me you wouldn’t ask the same question, you were sitting in my seat.’
That shut me up. I thought how it could look to anyone who didn’t know me, didn’t know about the lengths I’d go to numb my conscience. Thought about the man I was before Texarkana and realised it was exactly the question I’d have asked. ‘I never even met them. I just wanted to prevent this. If Miss Hill is still alive somewhere, I’d mean to see her returned home safe.’
He pushed his hat back on his head. ‘Hell of a story to walk in off the street with.’
‘It’s the truth, I swear to god. Why the hell else would I drive all the way out here at a moment’s notice?’
‘Hard to understand a lot of the things Los Angeles folk do.’
I planted my hands on the table and dipped my head. ‘Please. I’ve been tearing up Los Angeles looking for these two women. It’s killing me, I need to know. I need to help.’
‘You still haven’t told me why that’s the case. Two girls you never met. Everything you’re saying sounds like it comes from guilt.’
My mouth parted, tears forming in my eyes, keeping my head low so he wouldn’t see. All of it crashing down on me now. All of it. About to say it was guilt – but not the way he meant—
He stood up. ‘Have you arranged any place to stay?’
I shook my head.
‘Wait here a moment. Let’s see if your story checks out.’
Without looking up: ‘My wife …’
‘Best you stay here.’
I rested my head on my fists, guilt and failure suffocating me.
*
Lang posted an officer on the door while he was gone. When I’d tried to go to check on Lizzie, the new man blocked the way. ‘Won’t keep you but a moment.’ When Lang returned twenty minutes later, the two men shared a hushed conversation before he dismissed him again.
Lang retook his seat. ‘I spoke with Mr Acheson, he confirms what you told me to be the case. Even so, I’d like for you not to leave town for a day or two.’
‘Can you get me a look at the body?’
‘How is it you mean to identify a woman you never met?’
He was staring at me in a way that told me he knew the only possible answer. Slowly, I took the photograph from my pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. I put my finger on Julie Desjardins.
He took out a pair of eyeglasses and bent over the photograph. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘It was left at their boarding house. The owner of the property gave it to me. It’s her, isn’t it?’
He sat upright and took the eyeglasses off again, holding them by one arm under his chin. ‘There’s a resemblance. Strong resemblance.’
‘What about the girl next to her?’
He glanced again and then shook his head, saying nothing.
‘Who gave you the name Diana Desjardins?’ I said. ‘Maybe they …’ Leaning over the table, imploring him.
‘One of the local press men. I couldn’t say who.’
‘Did you find any identification on her?’
He shook his head again, staring past me, thinking something I couldn’t decipher. ‘She was found without a stitch on her.’
I closed my eyes, trying not to see it. Every fear I’d held for her, realised in deed. ‘Where was she found?’
He stood up. ‘Mr Yates, I’m very grateful for you coming forward with this information. I’d like to speak with you again. Kindly call in first thing tomorrow morning. If you need lodgings, you’ll find plenty on Fremont Street – try the Hotel Apache. I’ll let you see yourself out.’
He walked out, leaving the door open.
I saw Lizzie through the doorway the same time she saw me. She hurried over.
‘What did he say?’
‘It’s her.’
‘They took me into a room to ask me about where we’ve been and when we arrived. They can’t think—’
I put my hands over my face. ‘I should have expected it. From their perspective …’
She made me take my arms down and linked hers through mine to guide me outside.
I started to say something as we approached the car, but she silenced me with a look and watched as an officer passed out of the building and across the lot to his cruiser. Only when we’d climbed inside did she say, ‘You ought to be mindful of how you’re carrying yourself. What if they try to hang this on you? From the questions he was asking me – it’s plain he had suspicions.’
I’d been thinking of my innocence as my ultimate protection, but I realised she was right; that to certain men it was an irrelevance.
I thought about his invitation to come back the next day. Enough time to trump up a charge, no matter how flimsy. Then I thought again. ‘Why would they go to the trouble? They don’t even know who she is, no one’s clamouring for this case to be s
olved.’
‘Are you willing to take that chance?’
‘Nancy Hill is still missing. If she’s here …’
‘What about matters in Los Angeles?’
‘I can’t leave until I know.’
‘And the consequences be damned?’
‘The consequences of going back are worse. That’s as good as leaving her for dead.’
‘If we don’t go back now, we can never go back. I can settle myself to that, but I want to be sure you can.’
‘I can’t have another on my conscience, Liz.’
We looked at each other – stalemate.
Or so I thought until she broke it.
‘Dammit, Charlie, you couldn’t have saved them.’ Shutting her eyes, regretting raising her voice. She looked again, hands splayed in front of her. ‘You couldn’t have saved Alice, and I don’t love you any less because of it. You can’t hold yourself responsible for all the world’s ills, we’ll never put it behind us.’
I rubbed my eyes, grit and sand accumulated, more than a day since I’d last slept.
She closed her hands tight in frustration. ‘I’m sorry.’ She brought them to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to go off on you. I have this feeling as though we’re skating along a knife edge, and not knowing when we’re going to fall off is worse than anything else.’
I reached out to take her hand in mine. ‘Siegel will kill me when this is through. I know you know that. Going back only hastens that.’
She held my gaze, red eyes bursting with anxiety.
‘I don’t trust Tanner,’ I said, ‘and we know he can’t protect us anyway. So the only way out of this is to take it to Siegel. That hotel is his weak spot; that’s where we hit him.’
*
I slotted the coins into the payphone and looked along Fremont Street as the operator made the connection. A row of neon signs: The Golden Nugget, The Boulder Club, The S.S. Rex – the last seemingly named for Tony Cornero’s cruise ships that sailed out of Los Angeles, floating casinos that carried players out three miles to international waters to gamble in quasi-legal peace. LA’s tentacles reaching all the way across the desert, even before Siegel had set his sights. The promise of money lured them here; had to be the same for Julie Desjardins. That was where to start.
‘Sun, Peter Brown speaking.’
‘Mr Brown, this is Charlie Yates. Buck Acheson said you’d be expecting my call.’
‘Mr Yates – yes. This is in regards to the young woman they found.’
‘That’s right, sir. I’ve been searching for this woman in Los Angeles a long time so I’d appreciate knowing anything you can tell me.’
‘I understand that, Buck said as much, but I don’t know how well placed I am to help. They know virtually nothing about her.’
‘I heard she was named as Diana Desjardins – was it one of your men reported that?’
‘Yes and no. He heard it from one of the Telegraph-Register men – but all that party will say is it came from a source.’
‘Who he won’t name?’
‘Safe bet.’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose on principle? Why do we ever protect a source?’
He’d missed my point but it was my fault for jumping three questions ahead. ‘Can you tell me the reporter’s name at the Telegraph-Register?’
He let out a small laugh. ‘Buck warned me you were direct.’
Not for the first time, I owed Buck a debt for smoothing my path. ‘Look, I mean nothing by it. I’m already late to this, so I’m eager not to lose any more time.’
‘Without being blunt, she’s dead, Mr Yates, what more—’
‘There were two of them – roommates. They disappeared at the same time.’
‘I see.’ He took a breath. ‘Trip Newland. He used to work here before he went over to the Telegraph-Register. I’ve known him a number of years, he’s a good hand.’
‘Where can I find him?’
‘Their offices are on Main but he might be on the street already, this time of morning.’
I thanked him and rang off, then placed a call to the Telegraph-Register and got my first break in what felt like for ever: Newland was at his desk and agreed to let me buy him breakfast. A diner across the street from him – fifteen minutes.
*
Newland walked in wearing a brown stingy brim fedora that looked out of place among all the western hats. He glanced around once and came over, sitting down without offering his hand. He signalled for a coffee, looking Lizzie up and down. Then he side-eyed me. ‘First time in the desert?’
‘Yes. Thank you for—’
‘Clothes are all wrong. Always that way with Angelinos, none of you have a clue.’ Still staring at Lizzie.
‘We came at short notice. When I heard about the body.’
‘Tom Pence got a fast mouth, don’t he?’ The waitress set his coffee down and he poured in some milk and stirred it with his index finger. He reached for the sugar and I took a grip on it.
‘What’s with the attitude?’
He let go. ‘Los Angeles is always bad news for this town. Now we got bodies turning up on our doorstep.’
I slid the sugar to him across the tabletop. ‘What does that mean?’
He caught it but put it to one side. ‘Place is changing. You would’ve seen the hotel Benny Siegel’s building out on the highway when you came in?’
‘I know about it.’
‘Isn’t even open yet and look where we are. You’re the second hack from LA I had to do this dance with this week.’
‘Are you implying there’s a connection between the two?’
‘It’s made us a magnet for bad sorts. The local owners are doing what they can to freeze him out, but they know they’re on a losing tip. He’s chartering airplanes to bring the hordes in for god’s sake.’
I lifted my hand off the table to slow him down. ‘About the girl – Desjardins.’
‘Not her real name.’
‘Figures. But the Sheriff’s Department haven’t come up with an identification yet.’
‘They won’t. Heck, how can they? Way she was.’
‘Where was she found?’
‘About a mile out of town, in a ditch twenty feet from the LA Highway. Bold as that.’
‘She was strangled?’
‘Yeah, by hand. The beating might’ve been the final cause though, we’ll see.’
‘Why would they choose to dump her there?’
‘Could be they were disturbed in the process of burying the body – some cops sticking to that line of thinking. Ask me, I think they just didn’t care. I mean, she’s young and fetching, so someone’s losing money on not putting her to work, but spilt milk is spilt milk. Why take a risk going to any more trouble than you need?’
‘Losing money? She was selling her body?’
He nodded. ‘Young. Pretty. Not from here. Always the same.’
I ran my hand over my face, a film of muck coating me. ‘How did you source the name?’
‘How does anyone? I asked around, someone answered.’
‘I’d like to talk to that someone.’ I glanced at Lizzie, hesitant to spill the rest, knowing I’d have to anyway. ‘She was with a friend when she disappeared, and the woman in question is still unaccounted for. If there’s a chance your source could lead me to her—’ I stopped myself, realising I’d missed the obvious question. ‘Your source – was it a young woman?’
He tangled his fingers together. ‘Come on, I’m not about to give up my—’
‘If it was her friend – the other girl …’ I was gripping the edge of the table.
‘Don’t get a wrinkle in your pants, it wasn’t a broad.’
Should have expected it wouldn’t be that straightforward. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Nice try.’
I shifted in my seat. ‘You’ve got to give me something.’
‘You speak to the sheriff’s office?’
I nodded.
‘W
ho’d you speak with? Lang?’
I nodded again. ‘Didn’t have much he could tell me.’
‘Of course not. He’s not about to say anything until he figures out which way he needs the cards to fall.’
I came forward in my seat. ‘Meaning what?’
He slouched back, folding his arms. ‘Would you look at me flapping my lips like a greenhorn …’
I drummed my fingers on the tabletop, realising he’d led me to the dinner table just to sell me a seat. ‘If there’s something you want, just come right out with it.’
‘What’s your pull with the Times?’
I squinted at him. ‘Los Angeles? None. I used to work there.’
‘Tom Pence made a point of seeking me out to ask about this girl – that’s a first. Right afterwards, you show up. You have some measure of clout.’
‘News to me if I do. What of it?’
‘This town is as good as dead. Siegel and the kikes will bleed it dry. I got no inclination to see out the last rites.’
‘You’re tapping me for a job?’
‘In crude terms.’
I shook my head in disbelief, the mundanity of it. ‘I’ll walk you into the damn building myself if you give me what you’ve got on the victim.’
‘Fine – but words cost nothing, and buy less.’
Lizzie set her hands on the table, just hard enough to jolt it. ‘What exactly is it you’re asking of Charlie, Mr Newland?’
Breaking her silence caught him off guard and he flicked his eyes between us, in the end settling on me again. ‘Get me a gig at the Times. I’ll settle for stringer work – somewhere on the west coast. Anyplace but here. Then we’ll talk.’
He got up to go and I saw more wasted days, the last thread to Nancy Hill fraying to nothing. I jumped up and put my hand on his arm. ‘Sit down.’ Before he could say anything, I shot over to the payphone and slipped a coin in the slot.
‘Journal.’
‘Buck, it’s me. I need a favour.’
‘Charlie? What goes on?’
‘Can we take a man on as a stringer? Peter Brown will vouch for him.’
Silence came over the line. When he eventually spoke again, surprise had nudged his voice to a higher register. ‘Even by your erratic standards, this is fresh.’