by Helen Jacey
‘Not at all. I’m from New York, new girl in town. So far so good, but I guess I’ll go back one day,’ I said.
Lyntner came back in with the tray bearing a steaming cup, a sugar bowl and a small jug. He went on. ‘I’m fond of L.A., but at my age, it’s imperative to do what gives you most pleasure. In my case, that’s time with the nags.’ He smiled, putting the tray on the desk. The tray wobbled as he lowered it. His hand had a slight tremor.
‘You don’t look so old,’ I smiled. The charm offensive was increasingly feeling like the right approach, not because he seemed particularly vain, but there was something I liked about him.
His look was reproachful. ‘Very flattering, but not true.’
I relieved him of the coffee cup he shakily offered me. He said, ‘It’s instant. I’m mortified but it’s all I have.’
I reached over the table to load my cup with sugar from the silver bowl. He raised a brow. ‘Some sweet tooth you got there.’
‘Turns out I’m not sweet enough,’ I joked. He laughed out loud.
‘And some sense of humor,’ he added. I felt myself starting to relax.
Don’t push it. Be the professional, not the flirt!
My sweet tooth was another legacy from Holloway. After years of gray liquid that passed for tea, even instant coffee with a couple of cubes was manna from heaven.
I leant back and sipped what was now brownish syrup. ‘Perfect.’
Frederick Lyntner sat back, crossing his long legs. Blonde men had never been my type, but he had an earthy appeal. I could run away to his farm and hide with the horses. Lauder wouldn’t have a clue. In my experience, attraction tended to be a mutual thing.
I kicked myself inwardly. Sizing up every guy I met was idiotic. Was I that lonely? I had a job to do, and that was to find Rhonda.
He said, ‘Well, I’m all ears.’
‘I’m here on behalf of my client. He’s a film producer. He heard about the Tatiana Spark project and wants to know its status.’
This little invention had occurred to me as I had parked the car. Olive had said Otto Heymann wasn’t willing to help Darlene, so I could just pretend I was working with an independent producer. Lyle had provided enough information about that ambition, unwittingly. If somebody had intercepted Darlene to prevent her from making the film, maybe Lyntner would have information that I could persuade him to share. And that would take getting on his right side. But if Lyntner had been bought, he would quickly shut me down. It would boil down to instinct.
Lyntner laughed a little, as if nothing surprised him anymore. He pulled a packet of thin cigars out of his jacket pocket, offering me one.
I shook my head. ‘I’m not at liberty to name my client at this stage, but he’s very serious. He also respects the fact that this project is a private matter.’
‘And you’re his what…attorney?’
‘I’m an intermediary.’
‘Oh, some kind of fixer? I just don’t recognize your name, not that it has any bearing. Oh, of course I don’t. You’re a new girl, right?’
I nipped his questioning in the bud. ‘My client wants to know where things now stand, considering the recent tragedy.’
Lyntner’s bronze brow furrowed like chamois leather. ‘How did your client find out about the project?’
I met his eyes. ‘Darlene Heymann herself.’ Blaming the dead had to be a safe enough bet.
The cynical laugh again. ‘Darlene shouldn’t have done that. Still, that was the whole point of the agreement she was on her way to sign. Nondisclosure.’
‘Don’t worry. She swore him to secrecy.’ Now I felt bad for tarnishing Darlene’s reputation by implying she had a big mouth.
Lyntner brandished his unlit cigar, his eyes on me. ‘With all due respect, you’re asking me to break confidentiality. I don’t even know who hired you. You could be a reporter, anybody.’
So he had standards. Admirable. I said, ‘I understand. Maybe I should tell you what I know from my client, and that might convince you he is totally genuine.’
‘Go ahead.’ He lit his cigar. The aroma filled the room. It was comforting in a way.
I was really diving in the deep end now but I had no choice if I was going to get anything useful from the visit. I made a final quick prayer that Olive had been straight on the facts. ‘Darlene Heymann called my client on the same day she said she was signing an agreement with Tatiana Spark. Said she was coming Downtown to do the deal. She wanted my client’s permission to suggest him as a potential producer for the project, and he agreed. Next thing, he finds out she’s dead. He is a huge fan of Miss Spark’s work. He’s just set up his company and has big ambitions. Working with Spark would mean the world to him and he’d do everything he can to make the film a masterpiece. But confidentiality has to work both ways. He doesn’t want anybody to beat him to the rights.’
‘Why not come to me himself? It’s very nice to meet you, but a go-between’s hardly necessary, surely?’
It was a good question. I thought on my feet. I told him my client’s company was new but his money was old, and there was a lot of it. ‘He wasn’t sure of your setup, doesn’t know who to trust yet. He doesn’t want the news getting out he is looking for projects and has money to burn.’
Lyntner laughed. ‘Wise. Fending off vultures can eat up most of your time. How did your client get to know Darlene?’
‘No idea. I’m just the girl he calls when he wants a job like this done.’ I hoped I sounded appropriately ignorant.
Lyntner sighed. ‘Poor Darlene. A blend of class, fragility and impulsiveness. Now it turns out she still had her demons. God bless her soul.’
He stood up, finding an ashtray on a filing cabinet and looking straight at me. ‘Still, I’ve got to say I find this odd. Darlene should not have been shopping around for producers. Miss Spark was handling that side. And she was calling the shots, her life story. First they had to get a script, then find a star. The producer would follow.’ Lyntner sat back down. ‘It was my idea to have an agreement between Darlene and my client.’
‘Why? You had your doubts about Darlene?’
‘I wanted it to work, and who doesn’t have ghosts from the past? Yes, I suppose there remained a question mark. I thought a nondisclosure agreement wouldn’t hurt.’
It was good he was finally opening up, so I flashed a smile of encouragement and reminded him of my client’s preference for confidentiality. ‘He just wants to know if there’s any chance of moving it along.’
Lyntner waved a dismissive hand in the air. ‘The project’s as dead as a dodo. Tragedies compound. The movie was supposed to be Tatiana’s comeback. Obviously she was only going to play herself as an older woman, and find the big name to act her younger self. She can’t face it now. I won’t pretend the project stalling won’t hurt me. God forbid, it might never happen.’
I nodded. ‘So Spark won’t work with anybody else?’
He shuffled in his seat, a little uncomfortable. ‘It’s not that. She might, given time. But Darlene’s death, the circumstances, it mortified my client. She was extremely fond of Darlene. She kind of lost faith in her own judgment.’
‘So on the actual day she died, Darlene was coming here to sign?’ Now I could tease out his earlier contradiction about only going to clients’ places.
‘What a strange question. You aren’t a newshawk, are you?’
Damn. I’d pushed it too far. ‘Of course not! Just strange everything was going well and she blows it at crunch time.’
‘I’m no shrink but some people just sabotage themselves when it’s finally going good. Maybe Darlene had a relapse? Who knows? It’s an overdose and the cops aren’t interested, anyway.’
‘Very sad.’ I shook my head and took another sip.
‘The fact of the matter is that Darlene was supposed to collect me, then we would go to Miss Spark’s for the signing. I don’t drive, I have this condition. She must have had the Acker kid acting as chauffeur. They never showed up.’
This was all very plausible. Lyntner had stood to make a buck or two to fund his retirement hobby. Maybe his illness had put a ticking clock on his own life. He probably had more to lose than Tatiana Spark, who wanted some kind of comeback. The fact that the Heymann Studio weren’t interested could be purely economic. A forgotten star’s life story? It all reeked of desperation, Darlene’s to prove her father wrong and Tatiana’s to regain some former glory.
Olive’s paranoia was either deflection or craziness. It looked increasingly likely Darlene had wanted narcotics, possibly influenced by Frank Acker.
I tested the water. ‘What about this Frank Acker? Was he going to be in the picture?’
‘Doubt it. They hadn’t even got a script so casting would have been premature, especially bit parts. I never met him. I heard he was the bad boy type.’ He puffed on his cigar but it had gone out. ‘Shame. There aren’t really any female movie directors. You may have noticed, I’m all for equality.’
I hadn’t, in fact, but it was good to know. ‘Oh, what about the writer? Darlene mentioned a Martell somebody?’
‘Martell Grainger. My client knows her, but there was nothing formal with her.’
I put my cup down and stood up. ‘I’ve kept you too long. But I have to ask. Can my client make an approach to Miss Spark? He’s genuine. He really would like to make her life story.’
Lyntner let out a big sigh. ‘By all means get your client to write a letter of interest. Send it to me, here. Give it a little time. A month or two? The fact Darlene talked to a third party won’t go down so well right now, but I’ll do my best to smooth any ruffled feathers. Better tell him to factor that in. And be prepared for a no.’
‘How long before you close up shop?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘To go back to Philly?’
He rolled his eyes, standing up. ‘Oh, these things always take longer, don’t they? I need to be around for a few other negotiations. Ask me this time next year.’
We laughed and shook hands.
As I reached the door, I turned. ‘One more thing. Darlene mentioned something about the story giving the truth at last. Can you give us just a little tidbit?’
Lyntner laughed. ‘I’m just the attorney. I wasn’t privy to any story conversations. Even if I had been, theywould be strictly confidential.’
I went back down the blue stairs, frustrated. If there was a rat, I couldn’t smell it. At least meeting the lawyer had confirmed the basic facts Olive had supplied, that there was a film project and Darlene had an ambition. Darlene Heymann and Frank Acker, for whatever reason, had gone first to The Flamayon Hotel.
By the time I reached ground level, the front desk was still abandoned. I noticed a pile of envelopes lying on the desk. I looked around before quickly flicking through them. Most were addressed to unfamiliar names, with different offices. The majority was for the actors’ agency, no doubt resumes and photographic portraits from the hordes of desperate wannabes.
Amongst them, a small envelope was addressed to Mr. Frederick Lyntner.
It seemed like a good idea to slip it into my pocket.
54
I drove away from Downtown, heading west. I pulled up outside of a café and jumped out. It was cool inside, with the shutters down and a fan spinning creating a pleasant breeze. A Greek-looking woman was slicing cheese behind the counter and I suddenly felt ravenous. I ordered a glass of milk and a cheese sandwich as an early lunch and occupied a corner booth. The leather of the padded seat was battered and kidney-colored, a cozy enclave in which I could safely poke my nose into somebody else’s mail.
I ripped open the envelope. A cheap rose scent hit my nose, as I pulled out a floral card covered in red roses. Inside, a message was written in large, childlike handwriting.
‘My darling Freddie, forgive me. I promise I won’t embarrass you again. I’m just so crazy about you, I can’t help it. You’ve turned my world upside down. I’ll be more careful next time, my sweet. I just can’t wait until I take care of you and nobody else! Here’s my address. 7, The Laurels, halfway up Cuesta Avenue. I can’t wait until Wednesday night when we’re in each other’s arms. Passionately yours, Janice.’
An affair? I felt a momentary pang of dejection but quickly shrugged it off. Beefcake like that would be taken. But unless I snuck the letter back into Trenton Towers, there’d be no rendezvous for Janice and Frederick. Bill the lousy doorman could get the blame. Lyntner hadn’t indicated he was married but the fact she’d sent the note to his office, and the wording itself, gave the strong impression Janice had put her foot in it somehow.
I wondered about the other ball I had in the air. Jim Fraser could have put the wheels into motion that could lead to Arnold Moss being freed. I still had Clarence’s card in my pocket. It would be good to call him, to vindicate myself, to find out what he knew, but I wouldn’t.
My next obvious lead was Martell Grainger. I went to the payphone and called Troy’s office. It was a long shot but he answered.
‘Camberwell Beauty!’ He sounded very merry and I was pleased he wasn’t holding a grudge about my disappearance. I thanked him for the night at the Seven Palms before I got to the point.
Troy roared with laughter. ‘Martell Grainger? Darling girl, she’s a monster. What on earth do you want with Dragon Lady?’ He hiccupped loudly. ‘Pardon me.’
‘Oh, something about a job,’ I bluffed. ‘For a friend of a friend.’ A drunk Troy wouldn’t remember the whys and wherefores.
‘Peddles romantic garbage from her Beverly Hills mausoleum. Me and the guys have a running bet on her age. Your friend can find out.’
This irritated me. Nobody had running bets on men’s ages. I bit my tongue. ‘Okay. Can you get me her address?’
‘Sure, Patsy, my secretary – my favorite secretary, I’ll have you know… Dammit! She’s gone for the day. Hey, is the job for you, sweetheart? If you’re that hard up, you can always work for me. Got to be something you can do.’ I realized by the sound of his voice he was already drunk, and it was only midday. I asked again if he could get Martell’s details.
‘Your wish is my command,’ he hiccupped and then went off the line. There was a crash in the background. I heard him curse. Eventually he came back on the line. ‘Got it.’
‘You okay?’
‘What? Never better. Did I tell you my beloved kicked me out?’
‘Your wife did? That’s too bad.’
‘She’ll calm down in a few days. Say, why don’t you come over? Now? C’mon! Come see me. I’ll take you out.’
I tensed up inside. Troy was rejected, boozed up, and wanting to lick his wounds.
I gave my excuses and hung up. I felt bad for Troy but I hardly knew him. I needed to cut ties now, not tighten them.
I called Beatty but she was busy with a client. I told Therese I’d check in later.
Then I rang the number Troy had given me for Martell Grainger. A bubbly young woman picked up. She said her aunt couldn’t talk right now, but I should come immediately.
55
This was as far from Holloway Prison as you could get.
No roaring engines, no horns. No electric lines crackling. No doors slamming, no bums yelling, no sirens wailing, no haunting saxophone, no spilled garbage rattling along the gutter. No desperation. This was the silence of nobody having anything to prove – or to lose.
The hot, lazy sun had burnt off the mist in record time. I parked the car under the shade of a large magnolia tree and walk the distance to Martell’s house – Perpetua, the bubbly girl had called it.
Walking gave me the chance to admire the view; velvet emerald lawns with edges clipped as straight as a ruler, twinkling with dew diamonds; ornate fountains spewing froth like champagne in front of beautiful houses; hummingbirds and bees, spoilt for choice, buzzing on the exotic blooms and lustrous French roses. Even the air smelt expensive here. I heard the occasional distant whack of a tennis ball. Maybe it was the sound of a slapped buttock on
a satin sheet. Maybe the devil had slipped into Beverly Hills and was having some fun.
Nothing like life in prison. Going back was my worst fear. If hunting for Rhonda got me in too deep, then I’d run. Dede’s pistol would stay right by my side, in my one family heirloom, Violet’s purse. By giving me the gun, Lauder had enabled me to be mistress of my own destiny.
Perpetua appeared behind a tall manicured hedge, a large white villa that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the French Riviera. A majestic blue cedar tree dominated the front garden. White hydrangeas bloomed beneath statues of dancing Greek goddess nymphs. I took my time, enjoying the stroll up the terracotta tiled path to the marble steps nestling between high white fluted columns that led to the covered porch.
An enormous red convertible was parked underneath.
Whatever corny guff Martell Grainger was churning out, it was working for her. That, or she had married – or divorced – well. I rang the bell, wiping my brow. There were sticky patches under my arms. I hoped I didn’t smell. Perpetua wouldn’t do dirty.
Inside, a dog started yapping. Behind the polished wood door, a young woman’s voice yelled, ‘I’ll get it!’
The door was flung open wide, without caution. She was around twenty, and bouncing up and down. ‘You the lady who called? Finally! My life depends on you, you have no idea! Come in! I’m Pammie!’ She spoke in the over-dramatic tone of someone who has never had to worry about a thing in her life.