October 15, 1949
H
ow dare you withhold evidence from the LAPD!” Magruder screamed.
Mrs. Potter had roused Lily before dawn to tell her the police were on the phone.
“Pardon me?” she asked, still half asleep.
“Don’t play coy. It’s splashed all over today’s
Confidential.
The note. The purse. The missing shoe. You’re tampering with evidence in a murder case, you stupid girl, and your fingerprints are probably all over everything. It’ll be a miracle if we can lift anything useful—”
“Detective Magruder—” Lily began.
“And this base speculation about Kirk Armstrong? A fine actor and devoted family man. How could you have mouthed off to the press like that?”
“I didn’t,” Lily said, wondering how Violet McCree had found out.
“The hell you didn’t. I’d like to put you both in lockup until you come clean.”
The idea of being thrown in a cell with Violet McCree filled her with alarm.
“Please, Detective Magruder—”
He gave a blubbery sigh. “But that would just create an even bigger scandal than we’ve already got. I’m warning you, though. Stay put. Detective Pico is on his way to collect the evidence and take your statement. Meanwhile, give me the address of that freelance photographer and the orphan’s last name.”
When Lily said she didn’t know, Magruder exploded again, threatening her with bodily harm.
“I have his phone number,” Lily said.
“Then speak, woman. What is it?”
“I have to get it.”
“Run.”
Lily ran back upstairs and got the number Harry had jotted down the night before, realizing she’d have to warn him.
“We told you to call immediately if you learned something,” Magruder said in a whispery voice that frightened her even more than his tirades.
“I did. Last night.”
His early morning phone call had caught her off guard. Now her confidence began to return.
“Perhaps you should check with your operator,” Lily said testily.
“I suppose the message could be on my desk somewhere,” the detective backpedaled. She heard papers rustling. “But you’re still in hot water for talking to that reporter.”
“I keep telling you I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who knew about it?”
“Me. Harry Jack. The kid. Kitty’s roommates and the landlady.” As she ticked off their names, Lily recalled how Violet McCree had accosted her outside. Had she been listening at the window? Did she have an informant inside the boardinghouse? Lily flashed to Mrs. Potter on the phone, Fumiko dashing out for a date.
“Someone’s got loose lips,” Magruder said. “And I intend to find them and sink their ship. This is not information we would have chosen to release to the public, with the killer still at large.”
Then maybe it’s for the best that it leaked,
Lily thought.
At least now nobody can cover it up.
She wondered what other evidence had been suppressed.
“Well, now that it has,” Lily said, “I hope you plan to interview Kirk Armstrong.”
“That’s department business, and not some snot-nosed gal’s who’s already caused enough trouble for one lifetime,” Magruder roared. “Now sit tight on that bottom of yours until Pico gets there.”
He hung up.
Hands shaking, Lily replaced the receiver. It scared her, the way he bounced between glassy calm and unhinged mania. She wondered if he was dangerous. At least he wasn’t coming with Pico. She suppressed a sudden twinge of anticipation. Pico would just yell at her too.
Lily cleared the line then dialed Harry Jack.
“I just saw
Confidential,
” he said. “Who the hell leaked?”
“It must have been someone here,” Lily whispered, realizing whoever it was could be in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and cinnamon toast wafted out to the hallway. “And I had to give your phone number to a detective this morning. He’s furious.”
“Christ Almighty.”
“You better get those pictures to the paper before they confiscate everything.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Will you let me know how it goes?”
“You bet.”
“You’re in big trouble,” Detective Pico said, sitting down at the kitchen table.
Lily had managed to shower and throw on her blue serge suit before he arrived. She brought him a cup of coffee with cream and two packets of restaurant sugar the girls smuggled home in their pockets.
“I left a message for you last night,” Lily said, joining him.
His hair was still damp from the shower. There was a crimson pearl on one side of his throat, where he’d nicked himself shaving. She wanted to grab his jaw, rub it off with her thumb. She could almost feel the rasp of his skin.
“You also blabbed to that reporter,” Pico said.
“I never said a word to Vile Violet. But I’m afraid someone did.”
“We’re going to find out.”
Lily slid down in her chair. “At least you’ve got some new leads now.”
Magruder was right, Pico thought. She was a bossy, nosy, full-of-herself little bitch. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The blotches of color staining her cheeks. Those porcelain nostrils, flaring with annoyance. The way her auburn hair fell softly, framing her oval face.
“I haven’t threatened you,” he said. “Don’t be so high-strung.”
She averted her eyes. “Better than low-strung.”
“Okay Miss High-Strung.” He sounded amused. “Let’s take it from the beginning.”
He proceeded to question her in depth about the previous day’s events. When she explained she’d met Harry Jack at a lunch counter, Pico’s brow furrowed.
“You shouldn’t go off with strangers you meet on the Boulevard,” he said. “L.A.’s not the safe place you knew before the war. And not everyone is as honorable as this fellow apparently was.”
“I know,” she said wearily. “He told me the same thing. It was the kid who swayed me.”
The detective tried to poke holes in her story. He made her repeat exactly where Gadge had found the shoe, then consulted his notebook.
“Hmm, that’s four blocks from where our special effects fellow lives. Max Vranizan.”
Lily stopped in surprise. They looked at each other, both of them wondering the same thing
“Where’s the note?” Pico said at last.
“Upstairs. I’ll go get it.”
“I’ll accompany you.”
Just in case there’s something else you’re hiding,
he thought.
He followed her up, forcing himself to look at the flocked red velvet wallpaper instead of her swaying ripe peach of an ass.
At the door, she paused, hand on the glass knob.
“It’s a bit of a mess,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“There’s nothing in that room that could possibly surprise me.”
She shrugged and unlocked the door and he admired her foresight in having locked it.
In her room, Pico’s eyes fell on a silk robe crumpled in a heap. He imagined sliding it off her shoulders, pressing his lips to the warm hollow below her neck. He looked away, his glance falling on the closet that hid the Murphy bed. He scowled. Thinking of beds was no better.
Lily brought over a manila envelope. She slid out a piece of paper, handling the edges with her palms.
“Why are you holding it like that?” he asked.
“Force of habit.”
“What habit might that be?”
She swayed a little, but didn’t answer.
“You’ve handled a lot of evidence, have you?”
A shadow crossed her face, in the moment before she turned away. “A bit,” she said, her voice muted and distant.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. A small, demure smile.
“I was a file clerk during the war. And after. You pick up things.”
He sensed a universe opening in the spaces between her words. He found himself reassessing what he knew about her. This trim figure in the blue suit. Feminine. And yet so hard. Like a steel blade wrapped in crushed velvet.
“You worked for military intelligence too,” he said triumphantly. “Not just your fiancé.”
Lily flinched at the mention of her lost love but said nothing.
Of course!
he thought. She would have been sworn to secrecy. He felt a flare of jealousy.
“I suppose you saw a lot of action. What was it like?”
She picked her words carefully. “It was a long trip through hell. It was also the most alive I’ve ever felt.”
He felt embarrassed, remembering how he’d strutted and lectured her when they’d first met.
“So you know all about hunting people down and espionage?”
She threw her head back and gave a tinkling laugh. She had a long, swanlike throat, and it arched, lovely and white.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but it really was mainly stenography and filing. I’m hardly Mata Hari.”
But the color rose in her cheeks at the fib. He could see that she was made for the chase, a thoroughbred, every fiber in her body yearning for it. He felt the air charging, like ions before a storm. Almost unconsciously, he leaned toward her.
She ran a hand through her hair. “Besides,
Detective,
you’re the one who said we have to be protected from evil.”
He felt a hot flush of embarrassment. “That was back when you were just a girl.”
“And what am I now, Detective? A boy?”
She seemed to be enjoying his discomfort, that every word out of his mouth was coming out wrong this morning.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “I came back to America to get a new start. But it seems I’ve forgotten how normal life works. Have you ever noticed that people who shine in times of crisis don’t always adapt well once peace returns? That frightens me.
“Ah well.” She made a dismissive motion. “I want this killer caught as much as you do. So tell me, what did the manager of the Radcliffe Arms say about the photos?”
Pico snorted. “Denied all knowledge. Offered to let us search his place.”
“Did you?”
“Clean as a whistle.”
“He got rid of them already.”
“Then they’ll turn up. We’ve got eyes on the street, watching.”
“Unless they go directly into private hands. Photos like that, it’s a specialized taste.”
“I wouldn’t know.” He held out the note. “Please. I’d like you to read this again and tell me what you think. From a girl’s perspective.”
Lily came and stood behind him, reading over his shoulder, so close he could smell the lilac soap she’d used that morning, hear the rustle of her skirt, the soft rhythmic puffs of her breath.
“This her writing?” Pico asked gruffly.
Lily went and got another manila folder labeled
Kitty Hayden handwriting sample.
She handed it to Pico. “See for yourself.”
The girl was just full of surprises, Pico thought admiringly. Whip-smart. No nerves that he could see, totally bloodless. Plus she could charm the stripes off a skunk.
“If they didn’t use you in military intelligence, they certainly should have,” Pico said.
Lily looked up with surprise. “Women are natural spies,” she said. “We’re taught from childhood to be quiet and listen. We’re patient, and we’re good plotters. It’s bred into us. For centuries we’ve had to use subterfuge to get our way.”
She gave him an enigmatic smile that both annoyed and aroused him. He forced himself to concentrate on the notes, holding them side by side, comparing the handwriting. “We’ll run it by the experts. But it looks the same to me.”
After a moment, he went on. “The big question is, did she write this to Kirk Armstrong, or another Kirk?”
Lily grew pensive. “If it was the actor, she didn’t kiss and tell. Her roommates knew nothing about it.”
Pico rocked in the chair, debating with himself. He shouldn’t tell her. It broke all kinds of protocol. But there was something about her…
“Kirk Armstrong called us this morning after he read the paper,” he said.
Lily’s eyebrow went up. “And?”
Pico knew she was pumping him, her face oozing sympathy and encouragement. But suddenly, he wanted to tell her everything.
“He remembers her from
Young Man with a Horn.
She had a bit part and he’d seen her around the set. But that’s all.”
“Then why didn’t he contact you earlier?” Lily asked immediately.
“There was nothing to say.”
“They weren’t having an affair?”
“He’d barely spoken two words to her.”
“And you believe him?”
“I’ll let you know after we meet with him. We’re doing a formal sit-down at Warner’s at noon.”
“Take me with you.”