Jailbird Detective

by Helen Jacey

  She had a plan and it wasn’t turning me in. I felt weak, overcome. I was putting my life in her hands. If I could let go, it would be like finally ascending the peak of the mountain. The dreadful slow climb I’d been making my whole life, always getting nowhere. Prometheus on the rock, that had been the myth that spoke to me the most as a child. Same old shit.

  Trusting Beatty, I’d be unbound. Maybe I’d reach somewhere I had never got to. Finally see new vistas.

  I had nothing left to lose.

  ‘I trust you.’ My voice was hoarse, a lump in my throat. Beatty took the revolver from my hand. ‘Good. I’m going to need this. Now get the hell out of here.’

  I let her take it, my hand limp. I moved towards the stairs, hearing her open Spark’s door. Then her voice, surprisingly gentle.

  ‘Tatiana, it’s Beatty Falaise here. Do you remember me?’

  71

  I slept for what seemed an eternity. Maybe Malvin knocked and asked if I was okay. Maybe that was a dream. Sleep was the comforter and the healer. I surrendered myself completely to her grip.

  I checked the clock. I’d been asleep for fifteen hours. I looked down. I was half undressed. Exhaustion still consumed me, and I surrendered back to sleep.

  Day turned into night, and night into day.

  And at some point, sun filled the room again. I roused, to a soft knocking at the door.

  Groggy, I slipped on a dressing gown and opened the door. Beatty, surely?

  No. Clarence, suave and immaculate. He looked me up and down. ‘Bad time?’

  I stared at him, trying to process the reason for this visit. ‘Want to come in?’ He declined. ‘I got something to tell you. I’ll make it real quick.’

  My legs felt weak. I braced myself for the words I dreaded. ‘Lauder?’

  ‘He pulled through. Be right as rain in a few weeks. Bullet went in and out, punctured a lung. He’s a fighter.’

  I met his eyes, biting back what I wanted to say: ‘You know he got shot because of me.’ But I didn’t speak. Until Beatty told me anything, I had to stay put and keep my mouth shut. I had to trust in her.

  ‘I wanted you to know that Arnold Moss is going to be released.’

  Now I met his eyes. ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘New evidence, he’s off the hook.’ I had no idea what Clarence knew or guessed. Lauder would know. He could have told Clarence I’d been meddling with Fraser.

  ‘That’s swell.’ I leant against the frame and gave a half-smile. Clarence had given me the chance to redeem myself, by telling me about Arnold Moss in the first place. To do that, he’d gone behind Lauder’s back. He had forced me to take real responsibility. Your mess, clean it up. Maybe he had seen the good in me. If so, I had honored the call.

  ‘Lauder wants to see you. Today. He’s here.’ He handed me a scrap of paper. I barely glanced at it.

  I stiffened. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just the messenger, Goldilocks.’

  ‘Scratched a rib, could’ve been worse.’ Lauder’s voice was croaky. Stiff white bandages swathed his chest. He was propped up, his skin sallow, even more tightly drawn over his bones.

  He lay in his own private room, in a swish clinic. Huge bouquets of roses were stuffed in crystal vases. A whole gallery of ornate greetings cards decorated every conceivable ledge. So he was loved. Either that, or his high society circle was wide and this was the done thing. The fiancée was probably bankrolling the recovery process. It was odd, witnessing this other side of his life. And uncomfortable. If he hadn’t made it, his death would have had huge reverberations in the lives of many other people.

  ‘So I had a little talk with your colleague Mrs. Falaise.’ He pointed to a chair, instructing me to sit down. I pulled one near to the bed.

  Beatty had said she was going to fix it. Seeing Lauder had to be number one on her to-do list. So she’d already been here, but she’d so far avoided me. Why? Forcing me to trust the process, I bet.

  ‘Nobody knows you were at Spark’s. The official line is that Darlene, Frank and Shimmer were murdered by Elmore Caziel, as part of a wider blackmail scam involving the lawyer on Tatiana Spark, something about her past that she didn’t want to get out. Story goes Lyntner got on the wrong side of the Mob, who mowed him down at Spark’s. The innocent nurse was fallout. Tatiana heard the whole thing, and managed to make a statement to the police verifying she only heard a shootout.’

  Beatty’s master plan. A good one. I met his eye. ‘What about you? How did you get shot? What’s the line there?’

  ‘Drive-by shooting. Got away. A few leads, nothing promising. I won’t be able to identify anybody.’

  He looked at me. I gulped.

  ‘She is a spy. I was in prison with her.’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Was that a wink? No. Lauder wasn’t the winking type. The message was clear. Lena was not to be mentioned. She did not exist.

  ‘Has Caziel’s body been discovered? Reba T. put pressure on me and Beatty to find him.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’ He didn’t want to say more about that, either. I wouldn’t push, his eyes were heavy. I wouldn’t ask about Arnold Moss’ release, either.

  Lauder motioned me nearer with his finger. I could tell it hurt to speak. ‘This stays between us. Shimmer was my informant on Reba T. Her leaving Reba’s surprised me, and I was concerned for her. That’s why I sent you over there. I knew she would never go back but it was a warning to be careful. She’d have known that. Then she died.’

  This came as a shock. Shimmer had pulled the wool over my eyes completely about her connection with Lauder. She’d pretended the whole time, protecting their relationship. And she’d never got another chance to laugh about me with him. Was the fiancée made up? It didn’t look like it, considering the luxury clinic now treating his wounds. As for his penchant for a certain stripper, I couldn’t exactly ask him about that now.

  Or ever, probably.

  ‘Shimmer was some actress. Had me fooled.’

  ‘That’s why she came out here, originally. To make it in the movies. Ended up a bookkeeper.’

  One question I couldn’t hold back. ‘So if she was loyal to you, why weren’t you interested in the murder? Or Rhonda?’

  ‘I was. But Murder Squad was solid; no evidence. Otto Heymann was broken up, he didn’t want the world all over the case. Pressure from every which way to keep it closed. Turns out you beat us all to it.’

  I looked down. ‘I never found Rhonda. I tried.’ The not knowing didn’t rest easy with me.

  ‘My guess is she’s safe and sound.’

  I looked at him. Did he know?

  ‘And no, I don’t know where she is.’

  We sat in silence for a while. I suddenly remembered something. ‘Oh, your homework. The code. I found out how the Nightshade Club communicates. You just missed one. They run every month.’

  ‘Nice work.’ He didn’t sound very surprised. ‘I know all about it. I just wanted to keep you out of trouble. Guess I failed at that. It’s Reba T.’s new gig. Before she ran, Shimmer had found out Reba was using The Chronicle to spread the word. Who the members are and what they are doing in there is the information I’m after.’

  Lauder pointed to a brown envelope on the side table. ‘For you.’

  Me? Maybe a note from Beatty, at last. I opened it. Inside, a folded document. It looked official. I carefully slid it out and opened it up.

  A private investigator’s license. Granted to Elvira Slate by the City of Los Angeles. Was he releasing me? ‘What does this mean?’

  ‘Means I don’t need you.’ Lauder looked exhausted, his eyelids dropping. ‘You aren’t exactly employable. Profession you dig, right?’

  I nodded. He was freeing me, literally. The reward for saving his life, but he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.

  Profession. The license gripped me. As close to legitimate as I could get. I could operate.

  I had an identity.

  There was one quest
ion I really wanted to ask. ‘Why did you help me, really? In the beginning?’

  Lauder thought about it for some time. ‘Burning Caziel’s place down was a blow but I guess I liked your style, helping a pal. Then you came out with the truth about your past, in the desert. Knew you wouldn’t have got justice back home. Odds were stacked against you as soon as you jumped parole.’ His voice was heavy, the words coming out with great difficulty.

  He managed one more sentence. ‘Guess I wanted you to prove me wrong.’

  ‘How?’

  He was already asleep.

  72

  Beatty summoned me into the office. A pile of squirming Dachshund puppies and their mother lay in a basket in the corner. The pups were blissfully sucking from their mother’s teats. When I had got back from the plush clinic, Malvin let me know I should pay Beatty a visit.

  Over a cognac, Beatty didn’t beat about the bush. Now I was licensed, I could set up on my own if I wanted, or I could remain under her agency. In any event, she would be on hand to share tricks of the trade and advise me. I told her I remained a liability to her, I had to be a lone operator.

  Beatty gave raises a brow and shrugged. ‘Your call.’ I think she appreciated it because she said I could continue to borrow the car.

  It was clear her conversation with Lauder was not on the agenda.

  ‘I’d take you to dinner but I got the babies here. Anyhow, Luigi’s is shut for renovations.’ She explained how a few gangsters had bumped each other off and shot the place up. ‘Luigi didn’t get hit but Jeez, poor fella. In broad daylight. The place I go to for my lunch!’ I could imagine the bullet holes puncturing the idyllic murals.

  But something else was still irking me. ‘What about Martell Grainger?’ Martell was the one loose end. She knew all about the daughter’s return and Beatty would have had to deal with it. At a push, she might buy the party line as Lauder had explained it, but Tatiana’s life story was Martell’s tour de force.

  ‘Relax. Martell thinks the daughter’s return was pure delusion. Tatiana being high as a kite on all the morphine she was taking. Imagining things.’

  Beatty had sewn it all up tight. She slid a letter across the desk. ‘You better read this.’

  The envelope was crisp. I opened it, my eyes widening as I read.

  Dear Miss Slate,

  By the time you get this letter, I will be dead. I understand the bravery you showed in finding out the truth and trying to save my life.

  I will never know if Sophia is alive or dead. As her mother, I feel she is alive. Maybe I am a fool for believing this. Events have already proven I trust when I shouldn’t. For this reason, I want you and you alone to find my daughter and bring her to America. My true Sophia. She will forgive me if she understands how much I tried. All the information about my past, and all my personal files are now with your associate, Mrs. Beatrice Falaise. She will entrust them to you.

  I know you will succeed and this will let me rest in peace. I have instructed the Trustees of my estate to pay you a monthly stipend for your time and all your expenses. I hope you will find this acceptable.

  With eternal gratitude

  Tatiana Spark.

  I gulped, lowering the letter. ‘She’s dead?’

  ‘Last night. In her sleep.’

  We exchanged a glance. She can’t have died happy. No daughter, no beloved nurse to tend her.

  ‘You can’t say no.’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll find Sophia. One day. Step by step.’ Europe? I was in no hurry.

  Beatty added that Spark had left it that Martell could still pen the film, but certain conditions would apply. Number one, the real Sophia first had to be located by me.

  Tatiana Spark finally got her comeback. She had the biggest funeral Hollywood had seen that year. Beatty attended and described it in lavish detail over lunch. Otto Heymann apparently spoke fondly of a great star.

  Someone else was on my mind. Thelma, Rhonda’s neighbor, let down by a rookie private detective who had failed to crack her missing person case. I decided to visit her.

  I got out the car, barely recognizing the blighted street. Most of the houses were empty and boarded up, awaiting demolition. Hollow, soulless prisoners waiting for the executioner’s axe.

  As I walked around to Thelma’s front door my foot stumbled on something. A dark, hard object. I bent down and grabbed it. The black queen, from the chess set. She was a little scuffed but I slid her into my purse and rapped on the door.

  The lace curtains were still hanging down. Two pints of milk had been delivered by the side gate.

  The door opened a crack. Thelma’s watery eyes blinked back at me.

  ‘Thelma, it’s me, Gina? Remember?’

  ‘Sure took your time.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  She nodded. I picked up the milk bottles.

  Cautiously, Thelma opened the door and I stepped in. She was in a black crepe dress with a lacy bib and a small black tilt hat, at least a decade old, was perched on the front of her head. Her hair, out of curlers, fell around her shoulders in wispy waves. ‘You on your way out?’

  ‘No. Just got in.’

  She led me through the passage to the kitchen. The doors were closed on either side, except one. I glanced through and saw the portrait of Rhonda as a child. Thelma must have moved it for safekeeping until her beloved Rhonda came back. I put the milk down on the table.

  I wasn’t looking forward to this one bit.

  There was a pleasant smell. ‘You been baking again?’

  ‘Just my peanut cookies, for the few kids left on the block.’

  ‘Planning to relocate?’

  ‘Nobody’s kicking me out, I told you so already. So, it’s bad news, ain’t it? I read about that Shimmer’s death. Sure sounds like she with some rotten eggs.’ She leant against the worktop, hands behind her back.

  ‘The private investigator did her best. No sight, no sound of Rhonda. But she isn’t back with those bad people. And the P.I. has links with the cops, and asked them to look out for her. They came up empty too.’

  Thelma looked as if she was about to cry. ‘Dear Lord.’

  ‘She may show up yet. Remember she went without a fight, with her suitcase, you said?’

  ‘I did.’

  Thelma sniffed. She came over and squeezed my arm. ‘You’re a good girl for coming here. For letting me know. I appreciate it.’

  Her forgiving tone made the licensed detective feel even worse.

  73

  Standing outside the Miracle Mile Hotel, it felt as if I was coming home.

  I’d called Mrs. Loeb to see if she’d be open to renting a suite as an office and a place for me to flop. She passed me onto Dede who, it turned out, owned the entire joint. Dede summoned me over for tea. I entered the cool lobby. A new wave of career girls had taken over the hotel; some to make their mark in the big city, to scale the heights of their career, some to find husbands, and a few, like me, to have fresh starts.

  Dede poured the tea. She was interested in the idea of having an in-house detective. ‘I want a discount, though. Should the need arise for a P.I.’

  I told her I could do that. And my new name was Elvira Slate.

  ‘Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.’ Dede seemed relaxed enough about the change of name.

  We sipped away. The door opened. Alberta breezed in, wearing a white dress and red shoes. She stopped as soon as she saw me. ‘Oh. You’re back.’

  ‘She wants to rent a suite. Run her business here. Sleuthing. What do you think?’

  ‘You asked her what she was doing at Joyce’s?’ So Alberta had seen me. And reported back to Dede. Maybe they thought I still snooping on them, even after I’d quit the hotel and proved myself helping June.

  ‘Well? Both women looked at me.

  ‘I was on a case. A missing person. I swear it was nothing to do with you.’

  Dede put down her cup. She turned to Alberta. ‘I believe her. Do you?’

 
‘All things considered, sure.’ All things considered. I wondered what that meant, but I wouldn’t ask.

  I turned to Alberta. ‘I had no idea you were in a band.’

  ‘And now you do.’ Alberta still wasn’t entirely sure about me. She left us, heading for the kitchen.

  I asked about June.

  ‘Moving back in January. Opening her own dress shop.’ Dede smiled. ‘She’s doing fine.’

  I took a suite with a couple rooms on the third floor, on the corner of the building with windows on two walls. It had recently been repainted and the furniture thrown away. Mrs. Loeb handed me the key and the contract. She didn’t bat an eyelid as she said, ‘These are for you, Miss Slate.’ It was as if she’d never even met Connie Sharpe. Dede’s instructions must have been iron-clad.

  Mrs. Loeb hovered by the door. ‘Want a brass plate on the door?’

  A brass plate? It hadn’t occurred to me.

  ‘Sure. Slate Investigations. By appointment only.’

  ‘A female shamus. Now I’ve seen it all.’

  ‘There’s a few of us around town.’

  ‘I don’t want any double-crossed wives blubbing their eyes out in the foyer,’ she grumbled.

  ‘I don’t do divorce,’ I said, rather quickly.