“Better call the police, Stoney.”
I hesitated, then an idea occurred to me. I walked out the front door and closed it behind me, then kicked at the panel until the cheap snap lock splintered out of the wood and the door swung wide. Reentering, I wagged the fat man’s gun at the shattered door.
“I know we all want to keep things simple, gents, so when the police get here, you can take your choice: ordinary breaking and entering or attempted murder. What’s your feeling?”
The tall man glanced over at the fat man, who was rocking back and forth, eyes squeezed shut in pain. “What’s he mean?”
The fat man nodded. “Shut up, Earl. okay, just call will ya? I gotta get a doctor.”
“A simple burglary attempt, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“All right, on your faces. Fast!” The tall man obediently lay prone. The fat man whimpered, “I can’t hold it that way.”
“Tough. Put your hands between your legs and grab the belt. Move!”
Groaning, the fat man heaved over until he was lying with his arms underneath him and his face in his blood.
“And I’ll tell the Reverend Hammond you’ve left his employ.”
The fat man’s whine was muffled. “Whaterya talkin’ about?”
“I think you know.”
I phoned the police to explain that we had cornered two burglars and one of them was slightly wounded. No, we were all right; my lady friend shot him with a pistol. The police asked what pistol.
“That’s right, Sally; where’d you get the gun?”
“I keep it in my night table. Didn’t you know that? I bought it when the house next door was robbed. Even took a course at a firing range.”
I explained this to the law and they promised to come right out.
“Sally, how did you know...?”
She waved at the prone figures and shook her head.
“All right, but do me a favor, please?”
“What?”
“Before the cops arrive, put a top on.”
* * * *
Standing at the sink in Sally’s kitchen, solving the nightly puzzle of the dishwasher. Plastic on the top rack, wine glasses kept upside down by adjacent coffee mugs, cooking spoons wedged to keep them from slipping through the bottom rack and stopping the sprayer arm. I pushed the button.
“Why do you run rinse-and-hold when it’s almost full?” Dish cloth in hand, Sally stared with honest puzzlement.
Piously: “Running a full load saves energy.”
“Oh Stoney, get serious. Rinse-and-hold burns energy too.” She free-associated from my keen domestic insights: “Why do you want to get married?”
A pause while I scrambled to shift gears. I watched a visiting cat (one of scores in the neighborhood) heft a piece of chicken carcass from the kitchen floor, before transferring it to the living room carpet.
“Just keep it off the couch this time, cat.”
“Earth to Stoney: why do you want to get married? How is it better when it’s official?”
“It’s not ‘better.” A long pause so silent I could hear the cat pounding across the vinyl tiles. “Why buy instead of leasing? Why plant seeds?” My bromides clanked like plastic chimes. “I sound like Readers Digest.”
Sally scrubbed a roasting pan. Faint munchings floated in from the living room. The pan approached surgical standards for asepsis.
She addressed the pan in a small, odd voice: “Trite but true,” then ostentatiously changed the subject: “Big day today.”
“I loved the way you stunned them with your chest.”
“I’d like to take the credit, but I never thought of that part.”
“What made you get your gun and come downstairs?”
“I was sunbathing on the deck and fell fast asleep. When I woke up, I looked over the rail and there was a van parked way down around the far corner of the house - as if it was hiding. Then I remembered what you said about those two men and a van. So I grabbed the pistol out of my night table and snuck down. When I heard them talk about tying you up, I knew who they were.”
“I wish you hadn’t taken the risk.”
“Look who’s talking.” Putting her hands on her hips, Sally stared blankly at the sink. “You know, it’s funny: I felt good; a rush, a tingle - like skydiving or sex. You want a beer?”
“The law was a bit nonplused at your prowess.”
“I told them about practicing at the firing range.”
I started my bottle of Dos Equis Dark. “You know, kicking my door in means I can never go to the police.”
“About the dead girl.”
“I’d have to admit I lied about those men.”
“I still don’t get the door part.”
“Well, you see, officers, these guys want to take me out because I found a dead girl in a TV evangelist’s boat. Oh, and by the way, the last time they tried it we started this sortova brush fire and...”
Sally waved me quiet. “Right: too complicated. B and E they can understand.”
“And with those characters put away, I can move around safely.”
“I’d still be careful.” Sally paused, as if to choose words carefully. Then a facial shrug and, “I’ll take the trash out.”
Chapter 14
Downhill all the way from laurel canyon to Denise’s studio, fortunately for my wheezing Rabbit, driven to near-collapse by the week’s exertions.
It couldn’t have been a whole week. But it had been Monday when I was summoned from my cozy prop house hideout to chase a dirty movie and now it was Monday once again.
I chugged past the glitzy stucco flats lining Hollywood Boulevard. Pedestrians in funny-looking clothes watered funnier-looking dogs.
Maybe it’s the lack of weather here: same kiln-baked sky, same sauna heat, same yellow blare day after day. Or maybe it’s because everything’s happened so quickly: Peeper killed, Lee lost and found, the movie puzzle solved.
But not solved completely, which is why I was bound for another chat with Senor Pepe.
* * * *
Pepe’s costume upheld his customary standard: white Dacron safari jacket over purple shirt, black pants, and white leather loafers that cunningly simulated plastic.
He finger-combed his mustache with twitchy hands. “Make this fast, my friend.”
“I’m not your friend, Pepe, but I’ll do you a favor anyway.”
Pepe did an eyebrow trick he must have practiced in a mirror. Leaning toward him suddenly, I plucked the purple kerchief from his breast pocket.
“Hey!”
I polished a corner of his desk, then sat on it and flipped the purple cloth into his wastebasket. “As you say, let’s make it fast. You’ll need time to tidy up before the police arrive.”
He froze, bent over with his hand half-way to the waste-basket, then straightened in his desk chair with studied calm.
“You’ve been making pornographic films here, Pepe, probably with underage actresses.”
“This is your story.”
“Without your employer’s knowledge and consent. Now she knows.”
He picked at his mustache. “Mrs. Tolman...”
“...Will doubtless fire you, but that’s the least of your troubles. One of your films was used to blackmail Mrs. Tolman. Would you care to discuss it? It featured Jokie Driscoll, Peeper Martin - and Lee Tolman.”
“I know nothing of it.”
“Of course not, despite the fact that you lit, shot, and edited the inserts to make it look as if Lee was in the original movie.”
“I...”
“Lee told me how you did it.”
“Lee?”
“I found her. Nice of you to let the boss’ daughter hang around. She knows a lot about your operation.”
“And she has told this to the police?”
“Just the dirty movies, not the blackmail.”
Pepe ventured a smirk, which I cut short: “Then there’s the matter of Peeper’s murder.”
“What?!
”
“Nice little reaction, Pepe; too bad I wasn’t shooting your closeup. You know perfectly well that Peeper’s murdered and her body dumped in the Catalina Channel.”
“No!”
“Yes! And I’m betting you know exactly how it happened.”
“I have not seen her since last week, but...”
“Sure. We’re making it fast, remember? So let’s get right to it. The police don’t know about your connection with Peeper and they don’t know about the blackmail - yet. So you and I are going to trade silences.”
“I do not see what this means.”
“I’ll take it slowly, Pepe; watch my lips. Mrs. Tolman is a prominent citizen in Pasadena and it would embarrass her to have her daughter’s naughty joke made public.”
“I see.”
“Of course you see; that’s why you blackmailed her to begin with.”
“It was Peeper’s idea.”
“Everyone accuses Peeper of ideas. Poor Peeper; whatever brains she had are fish meal now.”
Pepe looked grey. “I cannot believe it.”
“Nice try. To the police, Peeper’s just another missing person - if that. And she’ll stay that way as long as you keep quiet about Lee’s film.”
A pause while he did some heavy thinking. Pepe didn’t know who really killed Peeper, but he would want no truck with the law. From his point of view, this would be a useful trade. Finally, he nodded.
“Give me the whole story. What did Wilton Nahan have to do with the film?”
“That bastard; it was his idea. He said we could make some money off Hammond.”
“How?”
“He had some pictures of Hammond with Lee Tolman. They were innocent things - snapshots or something. But they showed Hammond was connected with this girl.”
“Go on.”
Pepe shrugged. “I do not know. Nahan said if people found out that Hammond’s woman was a whore, it would ruin him with the church.”
“So you made her a whore with a little movie magic.”
“Nahan said he would pretend to receive the film in the mail from some unknown persons. ‘They’ would ask for money. Nahan would tell Hammond to pay it. Peeper and I, we would get half.” Pepe reached absently for his handkerchief, remembered, retrieved it from his wastebasket. He blew his nose.
“What happened?”
“Nada! Nahan said Hammond refused to pay. But I know that Nahan. He got the money and kept it all.”
“But he gave you an idea: why not try the same thing on Denise Tolman?”
“She could afford it.”
I stood up. “All right.”
“What about the police?”
I pretended to consider, then: “All they know is that you made some dirty movies. They’ll try to nail you at it, so you better shut down. Strike that set; clean out the cutting room. Without evidence, they can’t do much.” Pepe brightened slightly. “Then conduct business as usual.”
“Hah! What business?”
“Just remember our bargain: you keep quiet about the film and I keep quiet about Peeper.”
“But I know nothing about her!”
“You were partners in two different blackmail schemes and a porno operation. How’s that going to look?”
“It is not fair.”
“Peeper would doubtless agree.”
I was swinging around to go when Pepe actually plucked me by the sleeve: “With no kidding, Winston, she is really dead?” I nodded.
Pepe’s face showed the only genuine feeling I’d ever seen on it. He turned his head away.
I dog-trotted down the stairs from Pepe’s office and out to stumpy Gladys in the studio lobby.
“Gladys, my dear, I have a confession.”
Gladys leered at the only man who still flirts with her. “I’ll be gentle with you, Stoney.”
“I’m coming out of the closet.”
A wail: “Not you!”
“Wrong closet. I’ve been hanging around here for a reason. I know how you feel about Pepe, so I think I can trust you.”
Gladys’ eyes lit up with healthy malice.
“Pepe’s up to something funny. Denise Tolman hired me to snoop around and find out what it is.”
“Creative accounting?”
“Maybe more, but I haven’t found enough. So just now, I went to Pepe and lit a fire under him.”
“That’s a happy thought.”
“Now I need to find out how he reacts. Does the whole studio share the same phone lines?”
“Sure: oh-six-five through six-nine.” She fingered the buttons on her desk phone.
“Including Pepe?”
Gladys looked positively radiant: “I’ve got the message.”
“All the messages, coming in or out. Can you pick up his line without getting caught?”
“I’ve been a studio secretary for twenty years. What do you think?”
“You have my home number? Good. At worst, you get to talk to my machine. Now I’ve got to do some running around.”
“Be careful, Stoney; take care of that bod.”
“Love you too, Gladys.”
* * * *
I nursed the Rabbit up into the Hollywood hills, en route to Candy Wishbourne’s to cross-check Pepe’s story with Lee Tolman, particularly one false note: cheap extortion was not Nahan’s style. Besides, milking the church was far too profitable to bother with blackmail.
Bouncing onto the remote, half-rural road to Candy’s house, I spotted a coyote padding toward me along the shoulder, driven out of the scrub in search of water. He looked as seedy as his cartoon counterpart.
Herbie’s yellow eye appeared behind the spy hole in Candy’s door.
“Stoney Winston, Herbie; can I see Lee Tolman?”
Sullen answer muffled by the door: “Not here.”
“Could you tell me where she is?”
“No.”
“Do you know?”
“Go away.”
“If Lee isn’t here, she may be in trouble. Please!”
The yellow eye consulted heaven in annoyance, but then the tiny door closed and a lengthy rigmarole of clanks and rattles followed. The door swung open.
“What?”
Herbie’s costume was surprising: slacks and sober jacket and a tie. He’d even removed the gold stud from his ear lobe. “I’m leaving for the hospital.”
“How is Candy?”
“They started at seven. It’s been five hours now. I phone every hour but I get the same runaround, so I’m going down there.”
“I won’t keep you, but I do have to find Lee.”
“She left.”
“When?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Could I just check her room?”
A sigh. “Make it fast.” He stood aside.
All traces of the party had vanished, leaving the living room and tiny hall immaculate. As I started down the corridor, the phone rang and Herbie scampered into the living room.
Lee’s bedroom had been cleaned out: no clothes in the closet, no toiletries in the connecting bath, no suitcase. I walked back into the living room.
I started to ask if the caller was Lee, but the sight of Herbie stopped me. He stood with the receiver dangling from one hand, tears leaking down his sparrow face. A dial tone floated out of the telephone, unnaturally loud. I took the receiver out of his hand and hung it up. He looked at me without expression, still weeping.
“Candy?”
He nodded, swallowing.
“What happened?”
Herbie shook his head several times, staring at the carpet.
“Come in the kitchen.” I led him there by the elbow. “Here, sit down.” Shaking his head again, he leaned against a counter. “Want a drink, Herbie?”
“I stopped drinking so he wouldn’t...” Herbie’s voice failed. He cleared his throat and looked around the cheery kitchen. “The surgeon said they opened Candy up and he was a terrible mess inside. They thought if they could cut most
of it out, he might have a little time.” Another head shake. “But he started hemorrhaging and they couldn’t stop it.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“They’re lying. They could have stopped the blood.”
“I’m sure they tried.”
“I think they meant to be kind. When they saw how bad he was, they let him go gracefully.”
“What do you have to do now?”
“Candy did everything. Before he... left, he put out the insurance, his will, deed to the house, taxes. He was so tidy; he even left a note about the car payment.” Herbie kept control of his face but his eyes were filling again.
I tried to head him off. “Well, he was luckier than many: he had someone who loved him.”
Herbie saw I’d meant that very simply. He nodded a hint of thanks.
“Herbie, I know this is the worst possible time to bother you, but Lee Tolman is in real danger. You and Candy sort of looked after her together, so I know you’d like to help.”
His shrug asked how.
“Try to think where she might have gone.”
He wiped his brimming eyes with the heel of a hand, thinking. “She didn’t get any phone calls.”
“Did she talk about anything with you?”
“We had supper last night. I fixed deviled eggs. We didn’t say much. Then she started talking about going back; returning to the source; finding the beginning; that kind of thing. I didn’t follow half of it.”
“Back where?”
“She didn’t actually say.”
“Thanks, Herbie. Again, I’m very sorry about Candy.”
Herbie nodded.
* * * *
Twisting back down to Hollywood, full of mortal thoughts. Fat friendly Candy dead; Herbie bereft and forlorn. Grotesque image of Peeper’s sad leavings. And now maybe Lee, after all. She was just strange enough to confront Hammond with her knowledge that he killed Peeper.
I had to find Hammond - at least to make sure Lee wasn’t with him.
* * * *
Back in my apartment, I rehearsed a suitably Old Testament voice before phoning Hammond’s office.
“Reverend Hammond hasn’t come in today.”
In my most resonant tones, “And when do you expect him, young lady?”
“He’ll be in before tonight’s telecast.”
“I see. This Reverend Randall Samples of the Gardena Assembly of God. It’s about a donation to our churches.”
A pause on the other end of the line. Better up the ante: “A very large donation.”
“Well... he’s usually home around supper time.”
“In Beverly Hills?”
“Mount Hyperion, actually. But I can’t give out his phone number.”