by Jesse Miles
“Zara Manning? The rich broad that kicked the girl cop, had to do a little time for it?”
“That’s the one.”
“Okay, gimme the details.”
I gave him the name of the deceased, her general appearance, and the address of the Castellammare house.
In the meantime, Zara had finished her phone call and lit another cigarette. I approached her slowly. “How did she take it?”
“Mother can put up a good front, but she’s devastated.”
We walked along the side of the garage, back to her car.
She slipped into the front passenger seat, leaving the door halfway open. “The reality of all this is starting to hit me. I would like to be alone, just for a couple of minutes, then I’ll be okay. I promise.”
I angled across the street, leaned against a retaining wall, and looked around. I’ve always liked the historic Castellammare district. The chief historical event was the 1935 death of twenty-nine-year-old actress Thelma Todd, popularly known as “Hot Toddy.” Gangsters were known to patronize a restaurant she owned, straight down the hill on Pacific Coast Highway. She died of carbon monoxide poisoning in a garage a quarter mile to the east of where I was standing. The DA concluded Miss Todd’s death was accidental, possibly suicide. History suggests otherwise. If Hot Toddy had come along eighty years later, she and Lillie Manning would have been on the same party circuit.
I ended my historical reflections and tried to focus my thoughts. What were the exact circumstances of Lillie’s death? Who was the last person to see her dead or alive? Rod Damian? Nikki Wolf? Viola Klein? Some other person? All questions, no answers.
Zara swung out of her car and approached me with a grim smile. “What happens now?”
“The police will be here any minute, and they will be asking questions. All you have to do is blurt out the truth. Don’t try to shade or embellish anything. Just give it to them straight.”
She took a deep breath. “I can deal with it.”
When the first patrol car arrived, we were standing in front of the Bentley. While Zara and I were showing the two uniforms our ID cards, Rocky Platt rolled in with his current partner, Detective Stevenson. I introduced Zara to the detectives and gave them a quick summary of events.
LAPD Detective Reginald Platt, universally known as “Rocky,” was two years from retirement but had lost little of his youthful zeal. Mark Stevenson was ten years younger than Rocky and twenty pounds heavier, with the extra bulk in his shoulders and arms. When Rocky and Stevenson worked together, Rocky did most of the talking, and Stevenson did the hard stare. Rocky frequently boasted that his partner could make a suspect fold just by looking at him from across the street. Stevenson was known at the West LA station as “General Patton.”
Rocky and Stevenson went into the house while another pair of detectives questioned Zara and me separately and found that our stories matched. The coroner’s van and more vehicles arrived. Neighbors stood beyond the yellow tape and stared. A uniformed female cop took Zara aside and conducted a friendly, girl-to-girl chat. I went back across the street and leaned against the same retaining wall.
Zara joined me as soon as the female cop was finished with her. She stood close at my side and said, “I can’t believe how nice that policewoman was. She was actually concerned how this is going to affect my family and me.”
“I’m glad you didn’t kick her.”
She elbowed me in the ribs. “Is there ever a circumstance when you are not cracking wise?”
“Considering the circumstances, I can’t think of anything better to do.”
“I know I’m being very self-centered, and this is probably not one of your career high points. Will this have consequences for you?”
“I’ll be okay with the police, but I’m not accustomed to failing a client in such a tragic way. I need to learn more about Lillie’s final hours.”
“What can you do?”
“When the police interview me, I’ll try to figure out what they know and what they don’t. Then I can lay out a plan.”
“Can’t you just let the police handle it?”
“If they see it as an accidental overdose, which it looks like, they won’t put much energy into it. They have bigger fish to fry.”
Rocky came out the front door and spoke privately with two of the uniforms. Then he approached Zara and handed her his business card. “Miss Manning, you are free to go. I’m sorry you have to endure all of this, and I’m very sorry for your loss. We will need to talk to you and your mother within a day or two, and also your sister. Can we call you tomorrow to make arrangements?”
Zara said, “Certainly. I need to go straight to my mother’s house now.” She extended her hand to Rocky. “Detective Platt, thank you for everything. You and the other officers have been most gracious. You can call me any time tomorrow.”
She turned to me. “Will you be okay, Jack?”
I nodded.
Rocky patted me on the back. “We’re going to take him to the station and get a statement from him. We’ll take care of him, and again, I’m really sorry for your loss.”
As Zara drove away, Rocky said, “Now that’s a first-rate piece of ass. You ought to jump on that.”
9
4
At the West LA station, I told Rocky and Detective Stevenson about my being hired by Greta Manning to find Lillie. I explained that the girl had gone missing before, but this event was different. She had been missing for a full week, which was a new record, and this dispute between mother and daughter had been especially bitter.
My stomach growled at me, so I had Rocky lead me to the food machines, where I got a bag of chips, a Snickers bar, and a bottle of water. Back at Rocky’s desk, I told about Zara’s helping me search Lillie’s condo, and how we made the rounds at Lillie’s hangouts and businesses she patronized. I recounted my interviews with Rod Damian, Viola Klein, and Nikki Wolf; meeting with Arden Manning at her condo; my nighttime sleuthing on the Strip; and Zara’s convincing Nikki Wolf to spill the beans regarding Lillie’s hideout.
During the interview, Stevenson asked me to repeat certain sequences of my investigative path out of order. Rocky told me to list everything I touched in Loretta Sommer’s house and what I used to touch everything with. They weren’t happy about my smearing the prints on the front door knobs, but they didn’t bust my chops over it.
I was hoping the detectives would ask me questions relating to Rod Damian that would give me some hint as to what they knew about his recent activities. But they kept those cards close to their vests, and I got nothing. They would certainly be talking to Rod. He was Lillie’s boyfriend and the person most likely to be with her during her final days and hours. The cops would suspect he was at least indirectly complicit in Lillie’s death, since it was unlikely she had been doing coke and Rod hadn’t. He would probably feed the detectives the same line he had given me, but they would see straight through him with their X-ray eyes. It would be fun to watch Rod sitting on a hard chair in an interrogation room, trying to outthink Detectives Platt and Stevenson.
When we were finished, Rocky offered to drive me to my office. I decided to hoof it, since it was only a mile. There was another reason to immerse myself in fresh air. There’s something about a stiff. It’s bad enough at a distance, but when you have to get up close, it makes you feel dirty inside.
South of the police station was a neighborhood of apartment buildings, with a few vintage houses mixed in. The area was quiet, neatly-trimmed, and devoid of pretense. In a word—normal, a declining species on the west side of LA.
I strolled down the sidewalk, soaking up the normalcy. Impressions of Lillie Manning’s spoiled remains slowly faded into the distant recesses of my brain. It was a little after four, the sun low in the January sky. I crossed over to the east side of the street to stay in the golden light as long as possible. I wanted to end the day in a clean breeze, thinking sunshiny thoughts. My reverie lasted about ten seconds.
A c
all came in, and the voice said, “This is Greta Manning. Is this Mr. Salvo?” Her words weren’t exactly slurred, but they could have been a little sharper around the edges.
“This is Jack Salvo. I’m sorry about Lillie. I wish I could have done something.”
“I appreciate that very much, and now that the obligatory courtesies are out of the way, I have a question.”
“I’ll do my best to answer.”
“What was I paying you for?”
“To find your runaway daughter.”
“You found her after it was too late, and I understand Zara was the one who discovered Lillie’s location. Zara said you wanted to charge me twenty thousand dollars.”
“I wasn’t planning on sending you a bill.”
“I should think not. Goodbye, Mr. Salvo.”
I wondered if Lillie was still alive when Mrs. Manning gave me the assignment. Based on what I heard the cops and medical examiners saying at the scene, probably not. When Mrs. Manning sobered up, she would probably figure that out for herself. She might even decide to toss me a bone.
A white Mercedes Roadster passed by, going my direction. The car made a careful U-turn and stopped next to me. During the low-speed maneuver, the car’s metal top lifted and stowed itself in the trunk, revealing Arden Manning behind the wheel. She wore black leggings and a celery-green hoodie zipped halfway over a black sports bra. Her dark-blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Except for the rigid set of her jaw, she looked like a health food commercial.
She said, “Hello, Jack Salvo. Zara called your policeman friend to find out how you’re doing. He said you were walking back to your office. I was driving home from the gym, and I bet myself I could track you down and give you a lift.”
I swung into the passenger seat. “You bet right.”
“I saw your address on your card, but I don’t remember the street number.”
I told her the best route, and she made another U-turn. There was no conversation until we turned west, directly into the setting sun.
Squinting, she turned her visor down. “This is the strangest day of my life. I never had any warm feelings for Lillie, and the way she died is no surprise when I think about it objectively, but it’s still a shock. And now that she’s gone . . . I don’t know what I feel. I’m in a very strange zone. How are you doing on this dark day?”
“I’m wondering what I could have done differently.”
“It was not your fault.”
“Your mother thinks otherwise. She just fired me retroactively.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Zara told me Mother is blaming you. We will have a little chat with her, and you will be fairly compensated.”
“I’m calling this one a freebie.”
“I can’t agree with that. Were the police very tough on you?”
“When they questioned me, they tried to poke holes in my story, but they have to make some attempt to trip me up. It’s part of their job. I would have been disappointed if they hadn’t.”
“Hang on for a second. I want to get into the left lane.” She checked her mirrors and merged. “Back to the subject of your fee, I will absolutely insist that you are paid in full, and I’m sure Zara will agree. You did everything you could, and you did nothing wrong. In fact, you could have found yourself in a risky situation.”
I tried to talk, but she cut me off. “And before you gallantly try to reject what I’m saying, I want to tell you I’m sorry you had to be drawn into such a ghastly ordeal. It must have been just awful for you and Zara to find Lillie in those circumstances. I can’t imagine.”
I pointed out my office, and she maneuvered into a parking space. While she was waiting for the convertible top to go back up, she said, “I’m looking forward to seeing your office. Zara said it was interesting.”
“She didn’t seem that impressed.”
“That was just Zara being Zara. She liked the way it was put together.”
We went through the front door, and I scooped my mail off the floor and tossed it into the in-basket. While I was punching the code into my alarm system, Arden stood in the middle of the room and did a slow three-sixty.
She said, “I might have a few decorating suggestions, but I’m not in a decorative mood right now. Is it okay if I just barge in and make a nuisance of myself?”
“Sure, make yourself at home. I can even make coffee.”
“Thanks anyway, but I don’t drink coffee.” She sat on the guest sofa and bounced lightly. “I like the way you can sit at your desk and your visitors have a nice leather sofa facing you.” She continued to bounce.
I sat on my desk chair and looked down at her. “In addition to all the niceness, there’s a calculation in it. I sit at a higher level, so I can look down at my clients, like a judge in a courtroom.”
She spoke with a theatrical cheerfulness. “How positively Machiavellian!”
She stretched out flat on the sofa, crossed her ankles, and stared at the ceiling. “I wish I didn’t have to go home now and shower and change clothes and go to Mother’s house and face her. She’s been drinking, and Zara and I will have to calm her down and put her to bed. Mother hasn’t drunk to excess for several years, but Zara said this calamity put her over the edge.”
“I wish I could help, but I’m not much of a grief counselor.”
“Grief isn’t the problem. My sister died, and I don’t feel any sadness or sense of loss. Isn’t that weird? It’s not like I’m glad she’s dead. It’s just that I never got along with her.”
I gave her my learned college professor voice. “Doctor Jack can straighten this out in no time. How did Lillie treat you when you were growing up?”
“She was five years older than me. When I was little, she would hit me whenever she thought she could get away with it. Zara protected me all the time. Even before I was full-grown, I could hit back effectively. I was more athletic than Lillie. Then she stopped hitting me and started telling me I was ugly, and I would die a lonely old virgin, or I would be scandalously promiscuous, only she said it more bluntly.”
“When you were three or four, did she teach you how to tie your shoes?”
“No, that was the maid and Zara.”
“Did she help you with your homework?”
“Never.”
“Did she help you with your wardrobe choices?”
Arden swung her legs off the sofa, sat up straight, and leaned forward. “She would actually advise me to use colors that didn’t go with my eyes, hair color, and skin tone. I figured out what she was doing to me when I was twelve. Can you believe that?”
I said, “Undermining a young girl’s appearance and personal style is a serious offense. Consequently, it’s my judgment that you are entitled to not feel any grief or sense of loss. Back to reality, what’s your college plan?”
“A bachelor’s in English Literature, then a PhD. I plan to stay at USC for everything. The degree is actually a combination of English literature and creative writing.”
“Do you plan to write, like Zara?”
“Definitely, but before I go at it seriously, I need to continue my education and get more life experience.”
“What is Zara’s novel about?”
“The relationship between a nanny and a very wealthy man. She got the idea from an event that actually happened near the family home. There was an interesting relationship between a man who owned a large estate and a young woman who came to work for him as a nanny.”
“Sort of like Jane Eyre.”
“Somewhat, but Zara’s story is entirely original.”
“You and Zara can be the new Brontë sisters.”
She laughed. “Zara and I have discussed that many times. I see myself as the new Emily Brontë, and Zara is more like Charlotte. And yes, we’re going to be exactly like those sisters, except we don’t live in a parsonage, we’re not going to be spinsters, and we write shorter sentences. Lillie would have been like Anne Brontë, except she was inarticulate and devoid of any i
nsight or perspective. She was very bright, but she used her brain the way a farmer uses a tractor.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oops, I’m speaking ill of the dead. Shouldn’t do that.”
She stood and zipped her hoodie all the way up. “I have a confession. The main reason I intercepted you this evening was because I needed to talk to someone. After I got the news about Lillie, when I was on the way to the gym this afternoon, I talked to a girlfriend from school and another girl I know at the gym. I told them what happened, and they were very nice, but they had nothing to say that wasn’t totally de rigueur. I called a male friend, but college boys are . . . such boys. And now, duty calls, and I have to go to Mother’s house. Thank you for listening.”
I walked her out to her car. As she drove off into the eastbound traffic, I wondered what all that was really about. Considering the events of the day, and the fact that she was only nineteen, it was understandable that she would come off as somewhat scatterbrained.
I went back to my desk and started going through my snail-mail and email. I was sailing the last envelope into the recycle bin when Rocky Platt called me. “Hey, Socrates, did your girlfriend get in touch with you?”
“Her sister contacted me. Have you solved the case yet?”
“There’s not much to solve. For starters, the cocaine we found was unusually pure, which supports our unofficial conclusion that death was due to an overdose. The fingerprint evidence is up in the air. We need to get Loretta Sommer’s prints to make comparisons, but she’s in New York. I don’t think we’re going to get anything off the prints anyway, because the Manning girl, in my opinion, died alone. Coroner estimates she was dead two days. Purse didn’t show anything, just the usual stuff. She had seven hundred cash. That would be lunch money. Plus an 8-ball of coke, no doubt the remains of her personal stash. The rest went up her nose. So far, nothing interesting on her phone, but we’re still working on the numbers she called.”
“What did the neighbors say?”
“Nobody saw anything. Also, there’s concrete stairways in that neighborhood connecting the streets. A couple of dicks went down the stairs next to the Sommer house and talked to neighbors. They got nothing. We’ll talk to the mother and both sisters, probably tomorrow. There’s not much of anywhere to go on this case.”