“Thank you,” I said, and drove ahead past several sound stages to the second intersection. Several movie extras walked past me in period garb, obviously from some sort of Western movie that was being shot on this lot. I found building J on my right and parked next to the bungalow-type building. The door was open and I let myself in. I found a middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk as I walked in. The name plate on the desk identified her as one Harriet Brewer.
“I’m here to see Barbara Albright,” I said.
The woman looked me over, head to toe. “It won’t do any good,” Harriet said.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You’re not the type at all,” Harriet said. “She’s looking for an older man, someone with character lines in his face. I’m afraid you’re just too young.”
“Are we talking about the same thing?” I said.
“You’re here to see about a part in Mr. McCormick’s next picture, aren’t you?” Harriet said.
I shook my head and handed her a business card. She looked it over and then looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper,” she said. “I just naturally thought, well, you understand. I’ll see if Miss Albright is available. Wait here, please.”
Harriet disappeared behind a large oak door marked ‘Private’ and returned a moment later, crooking her finger at me. “Come in, Mr. Cooper,” she told me.
The inner office wasn’t so big. I’d seen gymnasiums bigger than this. Harriet walked me over to the woman behind the desk and introduced me.
“Miss Albright, this is Elliott Cooper,” Harriet said. “He’s a private investigator.”
Harriet excused herself and left the room. Barbara Albright invited me to sit on an overstuffed leather sofa about as long as my car. She took a seat next to me, looked me over for a moment and then smiled.
“I hope you’ll excuse the once over,” Barbara said. “But in my business, everyone is a potential new face for the screen. Have you ever considered acting, Mr. Cooper?”
“Not really,” I said. “I’ve found something that I like much better—not acting.”
“Ah, a cynic,” Barbara said. “I don’t see too many of those in my business. What is it I can do for you today, Mr. Cooper?”
I pulled out the scanned photo of Jay Fuller and showed it to Barbara. “His name is Jay Fuller,” I said. “He’s missing and his father has hired me to find him. I was hoping you could help.”
Barbara looked briefly at the picture and handed it back to me. “How is it that you think I can help?” she said.
“I’ve spoken to a few people regarding Jay,” I said. “I understand that he was among several actors who worked on one of your recent movies. I wonder if you could check your records for any mention of Jay Fuller.”
“I can at least do that much for you, Mr. Cooper,” Barbara said, flipping up the lid on her laptop computer and switching it on. “We keep records of everyone who works on any of our films. Just give me a few seconds to bring up his name. That was Fuller, you said.”
“Yes,” I said. “Jay Fuller. I don’t know the name of the movie, but it was being shot within that past couple of months in the valley.”
Barbara scrolled through a list of alphabetically arranged names and slowed the scroll when she got to the F section. She shook her head. “There’s no Fuller here,” she said, “Jay or otherwise. Are you sure the movie was being made at our studio?”
“Positive,” I said. “I spoke to another kid who worked with him as an extra and he said…”
“Did you say he was an extra?” Barbara said.
I nodded.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper,” Barbara said. “If an extra has no lines or is an unpaid participant, we simply don’t keep records of the time they spent with our movie crew. If you like you can ask around the lot, as long as you don’t disrupt any production in progress. You said you didn’t know the name of the movie in question. Do you have any idea what it was supposed to be about?”
I spread my hands. “Sorry,” I said. “All I know is that Jay and the other kid I spoke with were supposed to be portraying migrant workers picking oranges.”
That sounds familiar,” Barbara said, pressing the button on her intercom box. “Harriet,” she said into the box, “do you know if any of our productions involve migrant workers picking oranges?”
“I’ll check on it and get right back to you,” Harriet said. A few moments later the intercom buzzed. “There’s was one shot in the valley several months ago called Sway the Vote, but they wrapped production three weeks ago.”
“Can you tell me who the producer was, Harriet?” Barbara said.
I could hear papers rattling through the intercom before Harriet answered, “Maurice Smith.”
“Do you know where I can find him today?” Barbara said.
More paper rattling and then Harriet said, “He’s in the building doing post production work in building D until four o’clock.”
“Thank you Harriet,” Barbara said and then turned to me. “Do you know where to find building D, Mr. Cooper?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said.
“Just ask Harriet on your way out,” Barbara said. “She’ll direct you. Sorry I could have been more helpful, Mr. Cooper.”
“Oh, but you have been,” I said. “Thank you for your time.”
Before I left Barbara called after me, “You might want to give some serious thought to acting, Mr. Cooper.”
I nodded politely and walked over to Harriet’s desk. I learned the location of building D and drove to it in less than a minute. As I approached building D, a man was coming out, walking toward a Mercedes sedan parked ahead of mine. I held up one finger.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Can you tell me where I could find Maurice Smith?”
“Why?” the man said, a twinge of suspicion in his voice.
“I’d just like to ask him a couple of questions about a movie called Sway the Vote,” I said. “Is he inside?” I gestured toward building D.
“Well,” the man said, “I’m Smith, but I don’t have time right now to talk to you, Mr….”
“Cooper,” I said. “Elliott Cooper. It’s about a missing boy who had a small part in your movie.”
Smith thought for a moment and then said, “I’m on my way to a processing lab on LaBrea. You’re welcome to ride along. Perhaps I can answer your questions on the way.”
“Are you coming back here when you’re finished?” I said.
Smith nodded and I slid into his Mercedes, letting my body settle into the plush leather seat. Smith pulled out of the lot and drove toward downtown Hollywood.
“So,” Smith began, “what is it you’d like to know?”
I passed one of my business cards over to him. He looked at it briefly and dropped it in his shirt pocket. “A private eye, eh?” he said. “You look like you could play one on the screen. Ever considered acting?”
“You’re the second person to suggest that in the past ten minutes,” I said. “Actually I’m quite happy doing what I do without turning to acting, but thanks for the suggestion.”
I pulled out the picture of Jay Fuller, unfolded the sheet and handed it to Smith. He glanced at it briefly and handed it back. “Good looking kid,” he said. “And you say he had a part in my film?”
“An extra, yes,” I said.
Smith shook his head. “That could make it a little harder to find him. We really don’t keep track of extras, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s pretty much what Barbara Albright told me, but she suggested I talk to you. Is there any chance he could still be doing extra work on any other productions at the studio?”
“There is only one other production going on at the studio right now,” Smith said. “Everything else is being shot on location.”
“Which production is that, Mr. Smith?” I said.
“That would be Roger’s film, Stand-In For Murder,” Smith said.
“Roger Thurman?” I said.
“Oh, do you know Roger?” Smith asked.
I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “I’ve met him on occasion. You think there’s a chance this Jay Fuller could be acting in his film?”
“I couldn’t really tell you, Mr. Cooper,” Smith said. “But if the kid is working at all in town, it would have to be on Roger’s production. You can always ask him about the Fuller kid.”
“I plan to,” I said, “just as soon as we get back to the studio.”
We drove for the next five minutes in silence, when Smith pulled his Mercedes to the curb and got out in front of a film processing business on LaBrea. He came back to the car a few minutes later with several round film cans under his arm. We drove back to the studio and he let me out in front of building D. I thanked him and got back in my car, maneuvering it through the maze of building back over to the back lot where Roger Thurman’s movie was still being shot.
I could see a rotating red light atop a tall pole just before I saw where they were filming a scene for Thurman’s movie. Supposedly the red light was to warn people to remain still and silent during filming. The red light eventually stopped rotating and I stepped over to where Thurman was still sitting in his canvas-back chair. I tapped him on the back of his shoulder and he flinched noticeably.
“What’s the matter, Thurman,” I said. “You’re awfully jumpy. You spooked by something?”
Thurman turned around, saw it was me and relaxed his tense shoulders. He let out a deep breath and said, “Cooper, I thought you quit the movie business. What are you doing back here so soon?”
I noticed the chair next to Thurman was empty so I sat down and turned toward him. “You’ll be the fourth person here at the studio I’ve talked to. I’m here to ask you about…”
“Give it up, Cooper,” Thurman said. “You cried wolf once and no one believed you. What makes you think you’ll have any better luck this time?”
“Huh?” I said. “Oh, you’re still talking about your little cover-up from before. I get it. No, I’m not here for that. I’m looking for a missing boy who had a small part in Maurice Smith’s last movie in the valley. He suggested I see if maybe the kid found a part on your movie as well.” I pulled Jay Fuller’s picture out of my pocket, unfolded it and showed it to Thurman. “The boy’s name is Fuller, Jay Fuller. Have you seen him around your set or anywhere else, for that matter?”
Thurman took the picture, gave a cursory glance and handed it back to me. “He’s not working on my picture,” he said. “It’s a simple picture with a simple premise and not that many parts, especially for a nobody like this kid.”
“Well,” I said, “at least I can go to this kid’s father and tell him I tried. And you know, now that I’ve pretty much concluded my investigation into the kid’s disappearance, I’m free to devote all of my time to that other case. You remember, the one with the dead actor lying on your back lot street? The guy who miraculously rose from the dead when the cops arrived? That guy. And I intend to find out what happened to Stu—the real Stu, not that flunky you dressed up like him to make me look like a fool.”
Thurman grabbed the picture back from me and looked at it a little closer this time. I could see he must have been an actor at one time himself, because he was putting on an Oscar-winning performance now for me.
“You know,” Thurman said. “Upon closer examination, this kid does look a little familiar. He still hasn’t had a part in my film, but I do believe I know where you can find the kid, that is, if you’re not too busy still crying wolf.”
“Really?” I said. “And just where would that be?”
Thurman grabbed a clipboard, paged through its contents and said, “Look, Cooper, I’ll be wrapping this up for the day in about thirty minutes. Suppose you meet me right here after I’ve had a chance to see the rushes. Let’s call it an hour and a half.” Thurman checked his watch. “How does eight-thirty work for you?”
“I’ll be here,” I said. “Just make sure you are.”
I left the studio and drove to a coffee shop on Sunset. I ordered a glass of chocolate milk and a muffin. While I waited for my order I called the office and got Dad on the phone. “What are you still doing at the office?” I said. “Don’t we close at six?”
“It’s not like I have someplace else to go and something else to do,” Dad said. “Where are you calling from?”
“Some coffee shop on Sunset,” I said. “Did you and Gloria find out anything about Jay Fuller that we can use?”
“Gloria hit a dead end in Beverly Hills at the Lane Bryant store,” Dad said. “I didn’t do much better with Jay’s two gal pals in Glendale or with the kid that put Jay up for a couple of nights, either. How about you?”
I filled Dad in on my day and the people I’d seen. “I keep running into people who send me to someone else to check on Jay,” I said. “I seem to be running in circles. Either that’s the biggest conspiracy since the grassy knoll, or no one really does know anything about Fuller’s kid. But you know what? I’m supposed to meet with Roger Thurman again at eight-thirty, back at the studio. He claims he can steer me to the kid.”
“And you believe him?” Dad said. “Sounds like a setup to me. Think about it, Elliott. He claims to know nothing and then the second you say you’re looking into Stu’s murder, suddenly his memory kicks in and he wants to see you. Sounds fishy to me.”
“I thought the same thing,” I said. “I have a few tricks of my own up my sleeve and you can be a part of it, if you’re up to it.”
“I’ll still be up to it long after you’ve retired,” Dad said. “Fill me in.”
I laid out my plan for Dad and closed my phone. I opened it again and dialed Gloria at home.
“Elliott,” she said when she picked up, “where are you? Do you know what time it is?”
“Didn’t I just get you a new watch for your birthday?” I said. “Don’t tell me you lost it already.”
“Smart ass,” she said. “Where are you and when are you coming home?”
For the second time tonight I laid out my plan and told Gloria not to worry. I closed my phone just as the waitress brought my muffin and chocolate milk. I finished it as slow as I could and still had forty-five minutes to kill before my meeting with Thurman. I left anyway and drove back to the studio. I spotted Dad’s car parked half a block away and breathed a little easier. The guard at the gate let me in when I explained that I had a meeting scheduled with Roger Thurman.
“My business associate should be along shortly,” I said. “Would you let him know where he can find Mr. Thurman and me?”
“Certainly, Mr. Cooper,” the guard said.
I drove onto the lot and parked in some out of the way place behind a prop warehouse. I soft-footed it back to the last place I’d seen Thurman and proceeded to check out my surroundings. There was an entire street of façades to choose from. I decided on the false front of the barber shop. It was closest and handiest for my purposes. It was just eight-fifteen when Dad showed up. I explained what I needed from him and gave him what we needed before I returned to the spot where I was to meet Thurman. Thurman was early by five minutes and I was there waiting for him.
“All right,” I said, “I don’t want to waste anymore of your time or mine, so suppose you tell me where I can find Jay Fuller.”
“To hell with the Fuller kid,” Thurman said. “Let’s talk about you and this obsession you have with one of my actors that you are convinced is dead.”
“Cut the crap, Thurman,” I said. “This is one big Hollywood cover-up. You know it and I know it, so let’s talk facts, shall we? One, I know the man I saw lying in the street was dead. Two, you did what you needed to do to get me out of the way while you substituted your ringer in his place. No doubt that new actor will rise to the top quickly just by keeping his mouth shut, acting talents notwithstanding. Three, you’re afraid that I just may convince the police of what I saw and they’ll come back and topple this little empire you have going here.”
“And four,” Thurman said,
pulling a .32 automatic from his pocket, “You’re never going to be able to tell anyone about my little back lot switch. Stu needs company and you’re perfect for the part. Don’t you find it ironic that the phony back lot cemetery will be your final resting place? Too bad you never got your SAG card. I’m afraid there’ll be no royalties in your future. Goodbye, Mr. Cooper.”
Thurman raised the gun just as the flood lights hone overhead, illuminating the entire back lot street set. The booming voice from the bullhorn bellowed, “Drop the gun, Thurman. Do it, NOW.”
Thurman let the little automatic drop to the ground just before Dad stepped out from behind the barber shop façade holding his .38 in front of him. In his other hand he held a small black device. He stepped up to Thurman and pressed a button on the black box.
Thurman’s voice radiated from Dad’s hand. “You’re never going to be able to tell anyone about my little back lot switch. Stu needs company and you’re perfect for the part. Don’t you find it ironic that the phony back lot cemetery will be your final resting place? Too bad you never got your SAG card. I’m afraid there’ll be no royalties in your future. Goodbye, Mr. Cooper.”
Dad switched off the recorder just as the area flooded with swirling red lights. A black and white cruiser squealed to a stop a few feet behind Thurman. Two uniformed policemen jumped out of the patrol car and hurried up behind Thurman. One of them grabbed Thurman’s hands and cuffed them behind Thurman’s back. They led him to the back seat of the police cruiser and pushed his head down below the door frame.
The back window was rolled down and Thurman stuck his head out and yelled, “Cut!”
The rest of the film crew stopped what they were doing and waited for further orders. One of the patrolmen opened the squad car door and pulled Thurman out, removing the cuffs from his hands. Thurman looked at the other cop and said, “Let’s take it from the point where you drive up and get out of the car.”
The director turned to me. “Mr. Cooper,” he said, “if you expect to earn your pay, I suggest you act a little more afraid when I point the gun at you. Okay, everybody, let’s do it again. Places.”
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 242