by Helen Jacey
Lauder interrupted my thoughts. ‘How did you get into the country?’
‘I volunteered, became a nurse. I travelled with injured soldiers coming back home.’
He guffawed. ‘You? A nurse? Then what, got bored of playing Florence Nightingale?’
‘I was actually good at it. They liked me. When we disembarked, I spent a few weeks in New York. Then I moved down to L.A. I booked into a hotel, the Miracle Mile. I roomed with a girl who Elmore Caziel drugged. He took pictures of her. Ones she didn’t want him to take.’ I met his eyes. ‘She’d been sweet to me. So I burned the joint down.’
And all your evidence, I could have said. But he hadn’t killed me and was feeding me, so I left that part out.
Lauder processed this, looking out into the night. After a while he said, ‘The girl’s name?’
‘Can’t you leave her out of it?’
‘No.’
‘June. June Conway.’
He grunted. ‘How did you get the weapon?’
I hoped for Dede’s sake it wasn’t registered. ‘I stole it in a New York nightclub. I forget the name of the place.’
He took another bite of burger. He was letting this lie go. I watched as he chewed fast, and then swallowed. The skin on his neck was marble white in the dark, and his Adam’s apple jumped about, sharp and bony. ‘What about your father? Montague Day? Been in contact since you arrived?’
‘I got no plans to find him.’
‘Good. You’ll be pleased to hear he doesn’t exist. Well, a Montague Day does, but I doubt he’s your relative.’
I glanced at him.
‘Deceased movie star. GIs in the First World War would sleep with foreign ladies and borrow actors’ names. So you’re probably not the only wretch in town with a fake name on your birth certificate.’
Exhaustion prevented me from laughing. Talk about a tragi-comedy. Violet never had a hope in hell, chasing after a ghost. When did she finally cotton on to the fact she’d been hoodwinked? Was that why she finally decided to up sticks and go back to England? Now, thanks to Lauder, I knew even his name wasn’t real and I was definitely illegitimate.
Dumping me with the nun on the boat could have been Violet’s fresh start.
‘What are you going to do with me?’ I ventured. ‘Hand me over?’
‘Depends. We could come to an arrangement.’
I stared at him.
‘I want the whole truth. You passed out before you got to the punch line. What were you doing before your arrest? And why did you jump probation?’
‘All right. I had a quiet life in the years before prison. Then the war came, everyone was broke and hungry. Somebody approached me and asked me to pick up something, a quick job, nicely paid. Easy money on the side. Everything I told the Secret Service was true. I didn’t talk because there was nothing else to say!’
Lauder watched me, then he burst out laughing. It was a hearty chuckle. ‘Got to hand it to you. You don’t know when to stop, do you? So the triple mobster killing in a London pub on the same day you ran is nothing to do with you?’
His words hung in the air. He’d known the whole time about the killings.
Betty! It had to be Betty.
It was dark and his eyes were now as jet black as his hair. I looked away and out of the window. Grasses were swaying in a gentle breeze.
The truth could burn or save me. But it was the only card left to play. I looked down.
‘I didn’t do it.’
He turned to me. ‘Out with it, Jemima. The whole enchilada.’
Sitting in the dark, staring out into the windy night, I told a strange vice cop everything. About my missing years as Ida Boyd, Billy’s girl. About our doomed relationship. About Billy’s incarceration, about his secretive Italian friends. About the night he sent me out. The fact I never heard from him again while I rotted in jail, keeping my mouth shut. About Betty, who only knew me as Ida, who had seen me just before I saw Billy. I described the shootout above the pub with the Italian henchmen, and Billy dying in my arms. How I found a fake passport Billy had got ready for me, I had no idea why. I finished by saying Betty must have named me to the police. And Betty would have been able to point out the woman she knew, Ida Boyd, was one and the same as prison absconder Jemima Day.
By the time I finished, Detective Randall Lauder knew more about me than anyone else in the world.
The whole time, he had listened impassively, without eating. Now, he munched on his burger until he finished it, and screwed up the box. ‘These hamburgers used to be the best in town. Personally, I think they make them too salty.’
He turned to me. ‘One of the guys you killed was a certain Paolo Salvatore. Son of Don Giuseppe Salvatore. Mean anything to you?’
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t know any of them. I told you that already.’
‘Big shot. A boss. The Mob has tentacles that stretch across the Atlantic. Scotland Yard likes you for the mobster killing. So you’re right. Your seamstress must have squealed.’
Lauder lit up. ‘We’re talking about the heir to the Salvatore empire, right. You saw, the Mob don’t mess around.’
‘It was self-defense!’
‘That’s your story. Facts remain unproven.’
He was right but I could only shrug.
‘Here’s the deal. You’ve got no connections, no obligations, no friends, no family. But you do have debts.’
‘Debts? What debts?’
‘To society. Born criminal. Gangster’s girl. You lived the life. Don’t kid yourself you want a fresh start. People like you don’t ever change, so we’re talking more of a change of direction.’
I looked down. ‘I never wanted anybody to die.’
‘Scotland Yard has been informed that a corpse matching Jemima Day’s description was found in the desert. I guess the word will get out to the Secret Service or anybody else who you’ve aggravated. Hopefully to the Mob too, if they now know Jemima Day and Ida Boyd are the same person.’
He had lied to Scotland Yard? ‘What? You told them I’m dead?’
‘Doesn’t matter what I said, or to who. You can relax, for now.’
‘Won’t they ask for evidence? Pictures of the body?’
‘Is that your problem? No. You’re only problem is to do what I want, when I want, how I want.’
I didn’t get it. ‘What? Doing what exactly?’
‘Odd jobs, on the Q.T. Things a girl can do. You can ease in and out, blend in. Like you did in Mikey’s that day. Don’t pretend it wasn’t you. Funny thing is, I thought you were a reporter. I just thought I’d give you a break. Turns out you’re a lot more trouble.’
We met each other’s eyes. I looked away first, into the night sky.
‘What do I have to do?’
‘For instance, our mutual friend Caziel. Word gets out Minnie Groader’s around, maybe he wants some payback. You could lure him out.’
‘To kill me.’
‘Could be. We’ll handle that.’
He leant over and growled at me. I could smell burger on his breath, mixed with his aftershave. ‘Try any escape artist larks, you’ll be sorry. Sure you could probably trick some dope in the sticks into marrying you, hole up in Kentucky or some place, but you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. That body in the desert? Turns out we got it wrong. Not Jemima Day. The Mob then gets an anonymous tip-off that precious little Salvatore’s killer is alive and kicking this side of the pond. They get their hands on you, you’ll regret I didn’t send you back to face justice.’
Was he bent, out on his own? I had no idea why he was doing any of this. He could soon be climbing up the greasy pole with my high-risk work pushing him up it. This was permanent servitude and dangerous as hell. But if he had any hunch at all I was telling the truth, this was a form of protection. I was dead meat in England. Wanted for triple murder, my identities now rumbled. Lauder was my only chance. He was saving my life, at least extending it.
He looked at me. ‘What’s the name
on your fake passport?’
‘Constance Sharpe, from New York.’
He whistled. ‘Sophisticated. That’s what the people at the hotel know you as?’
‘A few. Yes.’
He told me that the next time I met him I had to hand over the passport and think up a new name. And to clear out of the hotel that night.
‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.’
Lauder had that covered. He got out his notebook and scrawled something, before passing it to me. Astral Motel,
S. Figueroa. He said,‘Your new flophouse. Take a cab. Don’t stray far, because I’ll be visiting when I need you.’
I was now officially his slave. ‘I’m flat broke. Down to my last couple of hundred bucks.’
Lauder stared, incredulous. ‘I throw you a lifeline and you’re hustling?’
‘I got to eat! And how long does this arrangement go on for?’
‘As long as I think you’re useful. Till then, this is how it’ll work. I’ll leave word when I need you, when and where to meet. You do not ever try to contact me. Ever. Remember that. I’ll brief you in person. And you might need to dress the part on occasions. Won’t be a problem for a killer-diller like you.’
Lauder plucked my burger carton from my lap. He got out of the car and threw the cartons in the trashcan, then meticulously wiped his hands on a napkin he’d tucked under his arm. He tossed that, too, and got back in the car.
He started the engine, putting it into reverse. ‘This June Conway…’
‘Yes?’
‘She in a bad way?’
I had no idea. I hoped she was better. I had ended up here for her sake. Something good had better come out of my disaster.
‘She know you put your neck on the line for her?’ He said, unwittingly rubbing it in.
‘Nobody knows what I did.’ June would find out in time, because Dede Dedeaux would tell her. But Lauder didn’t need to know about Dede. There was no point dragging her into my mess.
Lauder grunted, moving forward over potholes. ‘If we bust Caziel, Conway can’t take the stand.’
‘She’ll want to forget the whole thing anyhow.’
He turned to me. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’
‘What?’
‘She told her friend Connie Sharpe about her ordeal, right? Not Minnie Groader. On the stand, Conway would have to recall her dealings with Caziel without saying she told you. Good girls make bad liars, even if we prepped her. If she blurts out you found her, any half-assed defense attorney would prick up their ears if we avoided calling a key witness. Who’s this Connie Sharpe? Now you get it? She can no longer exist.’
Suddenly I saw how it could all backfire on him. Harboring a fugitive. He’d go down for that, lose everything. Worse, he could become a target for the Mob if things really unraveled. But I wasn’t going to thank him anytime soon.
Lauder grunted, turning out onto the deserted road. Suddenly I saw how high up we were. The L.A. basin spread out below. A thousand twinkling lights appeared like scattered sequins. Lauder said, ‘Do what I want, when I want and you won’t have a problem. Do anything else, you will.’
With that pleasantry, we started the long drive back to the city.
26
It was Herman, one of the soldiers I nursed. He was holding my hand, terrified. We stood on a listing boat, rapidly taking on water. A ragged hole split the deck. Bombs rained down all around us, missing the boat. Suddenly the soldier became Kettle, my cat, lying in my arms. He was thin, ragged-looking. He didn’t know me anymore and he was dying. I had to keep him alive. Desperation and guilt consumed me. It was all my fault! I’d be punished for it, hung if he died. I felt sick with anxiety. I tried to escape, holding the dying cat and rushing around the deck begging for help. Soldiers with wasted bodies and haunted eyes stared through me. The liner was now burning, and sirens pierced the air. There was nowhere to run and Kettle struggled, flying out of my arms. The soldiers wouldn’t move. I screamed at them to jump overboard. I had to find the cat, and searched through the ship’s bowels. He would die, all alone. I hadn’t held on to him! I screamed out his name. I ran to the edge of the deck. Ahead, a tidal wave of the darkest slate gray began growing, tall as a skyscraper. I was frozen, terrified, waiting for the dark curtain of water to roll over and crash…
Somebody was rapping at the door.
I gasped for air, splashing water everywhere. I was in the bath, back in June’s room. It was dark and the water had gone cold. The twist of events, Lauder, it all flooded back. I sat up, dripping, collecting my foggy thoughts.
When I had got back to the hotel, it was late. Lauder had dropped me off a few blocks away and I’d walked the rest of the way, in the crumpled dress, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the slick residents. A group of them were buzzing around, dressed to the nines for a night on the town. A happy scene. They gathered around some newly arrived blonde bombshell who was handing out gifts for her friends. They didn’t notice me but I couldn’t take my eyes off them. A life closed to me, forever.
June’s room had been tidied up. Dede had left a note to say June had gone, and I should come upstairs when I got back. Her handwriting was a spidery, elegant sprawl in blue-gray ink. The expensive paper, a paler gray, was adorned with an elaborately monogrammed DD in gold.
I had decided against it and tore up her note. Then I had downed the last of Billy’s morphine tablets, and drifted off to sleep in a hot bath.
I hadn’t drowned, if that had been my unconscious intention. Judging by the cold water and my goose pimples, I’d soaked in it for hours.
I prayed the person would go away. But there was another rap. I knew exactly who it was.
Dede’s yellow eyes peered at me through the barely opened door. ‘Thank God. Didn’t you see my message?’
Nodding, I opened the door an inch wider. ‘Had to crash. Busy day.’ She ignored my sarcasm, pushing the door open and breezing past me. I closed the door behind her.
She was immaculate in a coral silk shirt with long sleeves and elegant cuffs, and pants of deep lavender. Her belt was a woven affair, cream with a purple and orange geometric design, and a brass clasp. She wore a chunky gold and coral bangle, and gold dangly earrings with coral baubles set in each. Her eyelids and lips were a darker shade of red, her dark hair pushed up with a mass of immaculate shiny pin curls on top.
I envied her. That look took time and money.
Dede stood with her hands on her hips. ‘You okay?’
‘Sure.’ I lied. Shivering, and wrapped in a towel, I wasn’t convincing.
She nodded, focusing on my eyes.
‘Get something on before you tell me all about it. You look half frozen.’
I obeyed, grabbing one of June’s dressing gowns. It drowned me. ‘Coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’
I walked barefoot to the kitchenette, wanting to avoid a serious conversation. ‘How’s June?’
Dede called out. ‘In good hands. Tougher than she looks.’
I searched through the cupboards. Not much, just a strawberry milkshake powder. Yuck. I returned to the living area, my head still muzzy. Dede perched on June’s bed, lighting up a menthol cigarette in lilac paper that matched her outfit. I said, ‘Everything went to plan. He bought my desperate act, fondled the merchandise but got no further. I managed to find his dark room in the back, and lit a match. Whole place went up but I think he got away. I got out through a rear window. I meant to pop up straightaway but I just crashed.’
She studied me. ‘Simple as that?’
‘Uh-huh. Place must be charcoal by now.’
‘Yeah. It is.’
‘You saw it?’ She had checked on me?
Dede exhaled. ‘When you didn’t show up, I got a little worried. So I cruised past. The house was burnt to a cinder. Firemen, cops, press, you name it – crawling all over it like woodlice.’
‘You stopped?’ I was aghast. Had she talked to anybody? I didn’t ask. Even more perplexing is what she�
��d have actually done to help me. Brandished her African dagger? Or maybe she had a more extensive personal armory.
Dede raised her brows. ‘Is that a serious question? You did good and here you are, safe and sound. No more to say about it.’
I hid my relief. ‘Make sure you tell June she’s got nothing to worry about.’
‘Tell her yourself. She’ll be up to visitors in a few days.’
I leant against the wall, doing my best to look relaxed. ‘Sure. I’ll go see her.’ It was a lie. I wouldn’t see either of them again.
‘I lost Alberta’s hat.’ Another lie. I’d forgotten to pick it up from the floor of the car when Lauder dropped me off. ‘I can leave her something for it.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Dede was decisive.
‘About your gun…’ I explained it had fallen as I escaped and that it was probably stuck in a bush, hidden. She seemed to be taking it calmly. ‘I’d wiped it down. No prints. So no trace to anyone…if…’