“I’m fine,” Lily said, pushing her hair off her face. “But did you know that you’re living next to an abortionist?”
“There’s no call for that kind of language, young lady.” The woman shook her head and Lily heard the screen door slam as she went back inside.
Lily calmed down as she dusted herself off. She’d call Magruder and Pico, tell them her suspicions. Suggest that they investigate. As if on cue, a police car pulled up to the mouth of the alley. A uniformed policeman got out, baton in hand.
“We got a report of a disturbance in the alley, miss. What seems to be the problem?”
“I’m glad you’re here, Officer. I’d like to file a report. I was just manhandled in that doctor’s office,” she said, pointing to the red brick building. “The doctor in there performs abortions on young women in trouble and I think he may know something about—”
“Dr. Lafferty?” the policeman interrupted.
“Yes sir, that’s—”
“Dr. Lafferty is a dermatologist in good standing in this city, miss. Are you impugning his reputation?”
“He just told me I was ten weeks pregnant when I wasn’t and offered to take care of my ‘problem’ and—”
“Why are you telling a dermatologist that you’re pregnant?”
“Because he’s using dermatology as a cover to perform—”
“Why did you lie? Are you on some kind of medication, miss?”
“No,” she cried, “I’m trying to tell you that—”
“Because I’m inclined to take you down to the station and arrest you for disturbing the peace.”
“There’s no need to do that, Officer Tranow,” said a man behind her.
It was Dr. Lafferty, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase.
“Doctor,” the policeman said with a warm smile. “Maybe you could tell me what in heaven’s name—”
“This young woman is clearly disturbed,” the doctor said. “She came into my office several hours ago, demanding to be seen. She is suffering under the delusion that she’s pregnant. I called you because I was afraid she was a danger to herself.”
“
You
called the police?” Lily said in disbelief.
Lafferty smiled. “Officer Tranow’s our neighborhood beat cop. He makes sure everything’s running smoothly.”
“That’s right.” Tranow’s eyes flickered distastefully over Lily. “So how about it, Doctor? You want to swear out an affidavit for Camarillo?”
Lily blanched. Camarillo was the state mental hospital in Ventura County. Seeing the cozy way the doctor and the cop spoke, so casual and friendly, filled Lily with unease. It was simple enough for doctors to get people locked up. She saw herself screaming endlessly, the sound ricocheting silently in a fun house hall of mirrors.
She began to back away.
“Why don’t we step inside my office?” Lafferty suggested.
Officer Tranow’s hand tightened on his baton and he walked toward her. They flanked her.
At that moment, a car appeared at the end of the alley, speeding toward them. As they scattered to get out of the way, it stopped with a shriek of brakes. Detective Pico vaulted out. Then he was standing beside her.
“This little gal giving you trouble?” Pico said.
Tranow regarded him with annoyance. “This is a police matter, sir,” he said. “We’ll thank you to step aside and be on your way.”
Pico flipped open his LAPD detective badge and grinned.
But Tranow was not so easily dissuaded. “You’re out of bounds, Detective,” he said with a nasty smirk. “This is Culver City, which falls under the jurisdiction of the Culver City Police Department, not LAPD.”
Pico’s smile grew broader. “I know that, Officer. But this young lady and I are friends, if you take my meaning.”
He turned to Lily, talking low and fast. “How ya doing, sweetheart? I haven’t seen you in a blue moon. Why’dja run out on me like that?”
Lily was speechless.
“So if you two don’t mind,” Pico said, “I’m going to escort my little friend back across the city line.”
“Get her out of here,” Lafferty said. “Miss Corcoran, I recommend that you go home and lie down. You have suffered a hysterical episode. If this condition reoccurs, you’ll need to go for a full evaluation. I can recommend a specialist.”
But Officer Tranow wouldn’t give up without a fight.
“If I see you in Culver City again, I will arrest you for disturbing the peace.”
“Okay, Miss
Corcoran,
off we go now,” Pico said, maneuvering and pushing Lily to his car. Hands on her shoulders, he shoved her into the passenger seat, whispering “Shut up,” as his lips grazed her cheek. Then he slammed her door and went around to the driver’s side.
“Thank you kindly,” Pico called out in parting. “Be happy to return the favor someday.”
He yanked the car into reverse and quickly backed out of the alley. When they’d gone around the block and were back on Venice Boulevard, he spoke.
“You want to tell me what you were doing, using a fake name and riling up a studio abortionist? You almost got yourself in all kinds of trouble.”
But all Lily could think of was the burning sensation on her cheek where his lips had been, the shock that had run down her spine at his casual touch. No one had touched her like that in eight months, not since Joseph. Then an overwhelming, knee-quaking relief hit her. Underneath the civil conversation in the parking lot, she’d sensed menace, a powerful net drawing tight.
Still, it wouldn’t do to let her emotions show. Turning to Pico, she asked with numb calmness she didn’t feel, “Why are you following me, Detective?”
F
ollowing you?” Pico said, in a perfectly modulated voice. “I was just on my way to pick up some Danish at Helm’s Bakery down the road. Boys at headquarters love their crullers.”
Lily laughed. “Danish? At five in the afternoon? You expect me to believe that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
His even tone told her that not all good actors work for the studios. He was staring straight ahead, concentrating on driving. Under his breath, he hummed a song.
“Will you please tell me what that was all about?” she said.
He stopped humming and gave her an earnest look. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
Pico chuckled, shook his head. “And you actually listened to me back there. Amazing.”
“Did I have a choice?”
His eyes crinkled. “No.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I’ll bet that’s what Kitty Hayden thought too.”
Lily frowned. He’d dodged her question deftly, turned the conversation back to Kitty. Of course he was following her, nothing else would explain his sudden appearance. But maybe, just for once, it wasn’t a bad thing.
“Did Kitty go see Dr. Lafferty too?” Lily asked.
“I don’t know. But you sure seem to think she did.”
“Was she pregnant?”
Pico’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he said nothing.
“Is that why someone killed her? What did the autopsy show?”
“We’re not releasing those results.”
“Why not?”
“No comment.”
“Isn’t the family entitled to see the autopsy?” Lily probed, figuring that Mrs. Croggan would tell her what it said.
Pico pressed his lips together. “When we conclude the investigation. Until then, it’s evidence.”
Lily felt the truth wash over her, telling her what Pico wouldn’t. Kitty
had
been pregnant.
“Kitty went to Dr. Lafferty to get an abortion, I know it. He’s as phony as a three-dollar bill.”
Pico turned somber eyes on her. They were the gray-green of the sea before a storm, shadows moving in their depths. “Unfortunately, he’s all too real. One of these days, we’ll have enough evidence to put him away. But the studios protect him.”
Lily leaned back. She wasn’t going to get a direct answer on the autopsy results, but she could infer plenty. It was time to move on to other questions.
“Have you learned anything more about Florence Kwitney?”
Pico shot her a sideways glance. She felt him hesitate.
Then he said, “The head of detectives assigned it to another team, at least for now. Figures we’ve got our hands full.”
“Indeed. Speaking of which, what happened with Freddy Taunton?”
Pico rubbed his chin. Again, there was a moment’s lag. He shot her a look, then said, “Turns out he really did go fishing. Arrived at the San Pedro dock five minutes before the boat left, gave a false name, and tipped the captain fifty dollars to take him on. Boat just got back from Baja.”
“Is he in custody? What did he say?”
“He didn’t come back. Had an attack on board of what appeared to be appendicitis. They dropped him off in Ensenada yesterday, told a taxi to take him to the hospital. Medical staff say he never arrived.”
“Of course not,” Lily groaned.
Pico regarded her with amusement. “We’ve wired Scotland Yard to see if he’s got a record and alerted the Mexican police and our Border Patrol. Whether or not he’s our man, we’d like to talk to him.”
“I can’t believe those girls bought his ‘landed gentry’ story and let him tie them up and take photos. Like lambs to the slaughter.”
Pico gave her a sideways look. “Unlike you, who waltzed into his apartment after sweet-talking the manager. And after you found the dirty pictures, you called to tip us off. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve figured it out. Did you take them? Because Magruder already warned you—”
“I had one photo,” Lily admitted. “But I dropped it trying to escape. They’re horrible photos, Detective Pico. Posed images of Kitty being tortured. I can’t believe anyone would buy such filth. And then the manager…he nearly caught me. He was drunk. He wanted to rape me; I barely made it out of there. He must have found the photos.”
“Jesus,” said Pico. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll get a warrant, we’ll search his place.”
Lily shook her head. “He will have sold them, or moved them somewhere safe.”
“We’ll see about that,” Pico said grimly. “Meanwhile, if Taunton tries to slip back into the country, we’ll nab him.”
“The border’s long and mostly unguarded.”
Lily shivered. Pico glanced over.
“You cold?” His voice softened. “I’ll turn on the heater.”
“No, I’m…” She paused, touched by how responsive he was, how attuned to her. But that was only a cop thing. They were trained to be keenly observant. She knew because she was that way too. It was nothing personal.
A blast of warm air hit her, caressing her, enveloping her. On the car radio, Les Brown & His Orchestra were playing “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm.”
His eyes locked on hers. “Better?”
She nodded.
Slowly the tightness left her limbs. But suddenly she missed Joseph so much. Her body ached for him, the press of his flesh against hers.
“What’s the matter, Miss Kessler?” Pico’s voice was gentle. “Does it give you the heebie-jeebies? First Kitty, then this Florence Kwitney?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. But that’s not it.”
He stayed silent, letting her work it out.
“It’s just so weird…” She struggled to put it into words. They were at a red light, the ruby glow casting warm shadows inside of the car. She glanced up. The detective’s face was patient, his eyes steady.
“Take your time,” he said.
Lily sniffed. “I mean, it’s strange to be back in L.A. after so long.” She shook her head. “And under these circumstances. I thought everything would be safe here. And it isn’t.”
“I know how you feel. That’s why I became a cop. Does that make me hopelessly old-fashioned?”
A replay of their conversation the other day. But from a different angle, without the gamesmanship and swagger. Had she been wrong about him?
“Not at all,” she said.
They drove through the darkling city.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, sensing he was just marking time.
“Where do you want to go?” His voice was more soft and melodious than she could have imagined.
Lily felt something lurch inside of her. She braced herself against the seat.
“You can take me ho—” She gave a rueful laugh. “The boardinghouse, please. Funny, I almost called it home. But it’s not home. Not by a long shot. Problem is, I don’t know where home is anymore, or if I’d even recognize it.” She paused. “Sorry, I’m not making much sense.”
He was watching the road, a serious expression on his beautiful face.
“Maybe home’s not a physical place,” he said at last, “but something we make in our heart and carry around with us.”
His words conjured up two birds building a nest, weaving rushes, twigs, and fluff with great care. She caught her breath at the delicacy of its construction, felt its rough weave prick her cupped hands.
“And if we’re lucky,” he went on, “one day we meet the right person to share that home with.”
His eyes searched hers. The intensity she saw there made her glance away.
“Yes.” She felt raw and vulnerable, afraid of her own voice. “Maybe that’s the way it is.”
Twilight deepened as they drove, the buildings receding into shadow, the hills turning a luminous shade of purple. Pico pulled in front of the rooming house and they sat there, talking about Kitty, cocooned in their own world as one by one the lights went on in the houses around them, casting an amber glow. The heater blasted out warm air. She wanted to stay there forever, suspended in time and place.
“Detective Pico?” Lily said at last.
“Yes?”
His voice sent her blood racing. She felt the thud of her pulse against her temple.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome, Miss Kessler.”
She felt something gather in the air and thicken around them, grow clotted and expectant. The thought of it terrified her.
“G’night,” she said, and slipped from the car.
Behind her, she felt it rush out, a silent roar of disappointment.
He waited for her to run up the stairs, and then he drove away.
The spell broke as she walked into the rooming house. Then the nagging uncertainty descended again. What if Pico had swooped down, not to protect her from Lafferty, but to prevent her from learning something about Kitty?
Lily walked into the kitchen, got a glass of water. Standing at the sink, looking out onto the backyard, she heard a faint scuffling on the back porch, claws against wood. She went to the screen door, saw Mrs. Potter’s cat under the light, playing with a mouse. The little dun thing scurried away and the cat let it reach the top step before batting it back. Then it pounced once more, holding it down with one paw while the mouse quivered in fear and exhaustion.
Lily flung open the screen door and ran out. “Shoo!” she said, waving her arms and stamping her foot.
The cat shot her a baleful look and slunk away. The mouse huddled on the wooden boards, too stunned or injured to move.
“Go on.” Lily nudged it with her shoe. “Now’s your chance.”
Blood oozed from a slash on its back. Slowly, creakily, the mouse crept down the steps and disappeared.
“You’re dreadfully cruel,” she scolded the cat, which she knew waited nearby.
Something shifted on the porch behind her. She turned and saw Mrs. Potter’s bulk in a wicker chair, shrouded in shadow.
“It’s the natural order,” the landlady’s voice drifted out, calm and disembodied. “And now you’ve gone and spoiled his fun.”
“Hello, is anybody home?” came a voice from the front of the house.
Grateful to escape, Lily ran inside and saw the Carnation milkman, snappy in his brown uniform, standing on the porch.
“Is Mrs. Potter in?” he asked. “Got a bill here for twenty-two-fifty that’s three months old. Boss says we’ll have to stop service next week if she doesn’t settle up.”
“I’ll see if I can get her,” Lily said.
She found the landlady standing behind the kitchen door.
“Please tell him I’m not in,” she whispered.
“Howdy, Mrs. Potter,” the milkman called. “Are you there?”
The landlady retreated to the sink. She grabbed a towel and ran it along the tile counter. A high flush rose in her cheeks, a granite coldness filled her eyes.
“Why doesn’t he just go away?” she said.
“I know you’re in there, Mrs. Potter,” the milkman sang out.
“Tell him now,” Mrs. Potter said, whirling on Lily.
Lily went back and explained that the landlady was indisposed but she’d deliver the message. She shut the door, wondering how many other tradespeople Mrs. Potter owed.
Lily had dropped her purse when she came in and it gaped open, exposing her wallet. As if drawn by a magnet, Mrs. Potter glided over, eyes riveted by the bills.
“You carry quite a bit of money around,” she said.
“Not usually,” Lily answered. “But this trip…I wasn’t sure…”
“It’s dangerous to carry so much money,” Mrs. Potter said. “You shouldn’t let anyone know you have it.”
Lily agreed. Mrs. Potter paced the parlor, as if agitated. “Money causes a lot of trouble,” she said, apropos of nothing. “There are a lot of murders committed for money.”
“You think Kitty was murdered over money?” Lily asked.
Mrs. Potter nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”
“But I thought she didn’t have any.”
“Other things have value too.” Mrs. Potter regarded Lily with cold, clinical eyes. “Information, for example. There are people who pay well for that.”
“Or kill for it?” Lily asked.
“Killing isn’t what upsets people. It’s getting caught.” Seeing Lily’s face, the landlady tried to explain.
“I interviewed a lot of murderers when I was a matron at the county jail. It gave me insight into their minds.”
“You worked at the jail?” Lily said, surprised. “And you quit to run a boardinghouse?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Potter’s eyes flickered. She sat down beside Lily.
“You don’t think I could commit murder, do you?” Mrs. Potter placed a hand on Lily’s shoulder and it took all her willpower not to flinch. It came to her now that Mrs. Potter saw the world quite differently than she did. Than most people. For the briefest moment, Lily walked in the shadows of Mrs. Potter’s world, traversed a dead landscape of ash.
“Well, I’m going to find some food, I’m starving,” Lily said, standing up with a show of great casualness.
“Would you like me to scramble you some eggs, hon? I can go out to the garden and snip some herbs?”