“Got a message someone wanted to see me.”
“This young lady, Miss…?” The receptionist looked at her.
“Lily Kessler. I’m looking for Pearl Heglund. Could she be your daughter or granddaughter?” Lily smiled.
The man did not smile back. His eyes narrowed and he tugged at his hat. “I haven’t seen her.”
“A taxi driver told me he dropped her off yesterday.”
“I was out mending a fence in the back forty. Maybe she left when she couldn’t find me.”
“Is she your daughter?”
He hesitated. “I do have a daughter named Pearl.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
He scratched his head. “Couple weeks ago. She’s a working girl. Not likely to give me grandkids anytime soon.”
“Has she mentioned a case at work involving a Doreen Croggan?”
“I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before.”
“Has she seemed afraid recently?”
“Why would she? She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Of course not. So you haven’t seen her?”
“Already told you that.”
“When you do, could you please ask her to call me?” Lily scribbled her number.
“I’ll give it to her.” The man stuffed it in his pockets. “You with the police too?”
“The police have been here?” Lily asked quickly.
“No. You just sound so official, that’s all. Why you looking for my Pearl?”
His gruffness seemed put on now, his questions a beat too late. Wouldn’t he have asked immediately? Or did he already know?
“We have a friend in common.”
The man nodded. “I’ll tell her,” he said. “Next time I see her. I’d do anything for her. You understand, miss? She’s my blood. I’ve got a shotgun and I know how to use it. No one’s going to hurt my daughter.”
Lily could almost hear the shotgun loading as he spoke. Something told her that despite her father’s denial, Pearl Heglund was right here. There were plenty of places to hide on this rolling property, and who’d know better than the groundskeeper? She resolved to wait until he left, then have a look around.
Lily strolled the property, looking for places where a girl might hide. She began hiking up a hill and was startled to see a man in a suit step out from a copse of trees at the ridge. She flinched. Was he looking for Pearl Heglund too?
He said, “Those people down there don’t have proper sanitation or paved roads, but they’re happy. They live close to nature. Sometimes I wonder, who are we to take it away in the name of progress?”
Curious, Lily hiked to the top and joined him. A dusty shanty-town clung to the hillside, peaceful and remote as Shangri-la. Lily saw fruit trees and grape arbors, discarded tires, woodpiles, and old trucks on cinder blocks. Chickens scratching on the ground, goats hoofing it up a rocky hillside pasture. A woman with a brown braid down her back, filling a kettle at an outdoor tap. A man in a black cassock carrying a white cross, his robes whipping in the breeze, trailed by smaller black-clad figures, the entire swaying line disappearing into a whitewashed chapel.
Beyond lay the flats of Atwater and Glendale, then the swell of Glassell and Cypress Park. And to the north, the San Gabriel Mountains rising majestic and bare in the autumn sun.
“It’s like some pueblo in Mexico,” Lily said, as the wind carried up a snatch of guitar music.
“Chavez Ravine,” the man said. “We’re going to tear down those shanties and build them new homes that will be a model for public housing across America. Richard Neutra’s already done the designs.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Frank Wilkinson,” the man said, extending his hand. “With the city Housing Authority.”
“Lily Kessler,” she said, shaking his hand. “Good luck to you, sir. I’ll remember your name.”
Lily hiked down to a windbreak of eucalyptus trees. Her shoes sank into the mulch and she smelled the invigorating, medicinal tang of eucalyptus. The wind soughed through the slender leaves and she heard singing. She drew closer. Beyond the trees, a girl was hanging overalls and chenille shirts on a clothesline.
“Are you Miss Heglund?” Lily asked.
The singing stopped. The girl whirled around, poised to flee. “How do you know my name?”
Lily smiled. “Your dad told me.”
“Are you a patient here?”
“I’m nobody to be afraid of.”
Pearl Heglund took out another shirt. With smooth easy motions, she flapped the wet fabric and fastened it to the line with a wooden clothespin. Lily picked up a shirt and reached for a pin.
“Leave it.”
Lily shrugged. “If I can’t help you, maybe you can help me. A family friend—”
“I don’t think so. I’d better go.” The girl took a step down a gravel path to the cottage.
“You can’t hide here indefinitely, Pearl.”
The girl turned. She looked queasy, her skin the silvery green of the fallen eucalyptus leaves. “Who are you?” she said hoarsely.
“I’m Lily Kessler. A friend of Kitty Hayden’s family. Or should I say Doreen Croggan?”
A look of instant recognition came into the girl’s eyes. “You knew her?”
“I knew her brother. We were engaged, over in Europe, but he got killed.”
“In the war?” The girl’s voice wavered.
Lily heard something she recognized. “Did you lose a loved one too?”
“My brother Edward.”
Lily smiled. “You and Kitty had something in common.”
Pearl’s voice hardened. “Except I’m not going to get killed.”
“Then you should talk to me. I want to bring her killer to justice.”
“Are you with the police?”
Lily smiled. “Have they started letting women on the force?”
Pearl Heglund shook her head. “I guess not.”
“Tell me about the complaint Kitty filed with the DA’s office.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I saw the letter Bernard Keck wrote to Kitty.”
Pearl was silent.
“Keck’s secretary was out that day. You typed it for him.”
“I never did.”
“It had your initials on it.”
“That’s a load of bunk.” Her voice rose.
“I saw the letter, Pearl. And I need to know why Kitty went to the DA.”
“If you read it, you know it didn’t say,” Pearl whispered.
“But Keck told you, didn’t he?”
The girl hesitated. “No.”
“Then why are you in hiding? You found out somehow, and it scared you.”
Slowly, Pearl nodded.
“If Keck didn’t tell you, who did?”
“I have a key to the file cabinet. I looked it up after he went home.”
“What made you do that?”
“I heard him talking to the district attorney about a hot potato. I guess I got curious.”
“What was in the file?”
Pearl covered her face. “I can’t say.”
“Yes, you can. It’s okay.”
Pearl exhaled. She kept her face covered, peeking out from between her fingers like a child. “Keck took notes when he met with her.”
She stopped. Lily waited, encouraging the girl with her eyes.
“The notes alleged, they indicated…that she’d been raped.”
Lily’s head reeled. She’d been expecting some revelation about Kirk Armstrong. Was it possible that the actor had…?
“By whom?”
The girl gave a wail. “Kitty told Mr. Keck she was afraid of her attacker.”
“What was his name?”
“Keck’s notes only referred to him as Mr. X.”
“Was there any mention of Kirk Armstrong? The actor?”
Pearl’s mouth hung agape. She swallowed. “Not a one. Kirk Armstrong? Is that what this…? I don’t believe it. Why would he, when he could get any girl he—”
“What about an initial, then? Like ‘the Big K’?”
“No.” The girl sounded bewildered. “Just Mr. X. Do you really think…?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Is that why she and Mr. Keck were killed? Oh, I wish I’d called in sick that day.”
“Let’s backtrack a little. Did Kitty go to the police about the rape?”
“Mr. Keck’s notes indicated that she did.”
“Did they investigate?”
“They took a report, but she felt the officer didn’t believe her. She called back twice, but the policeman claimed he was still investigating.”
“Did Keck get the name of the man she talked to?”
Pearl Heglund thought for a moment. “The guy who took the complaint was LAPD. His name was Pico.”
For a moment there was silence. When she finally spoke, Lily thought her voice sounded strange and distant. “What was his first name?”
“Let me think. I believe it was Samuel.”
“Are you sure?”
Relief coursed through her, followed by disbelief. She remembered Pico’s words.
It would be like turning in my own father,
he had said.
“When did this happen?”
“Last month.”
“What else did the notes say? Take yourself back to where you were standing, what went through your mind as you read it.”
Pearl shivered. “Mostly I was terrified I’d get caught.”
“Think hard.”
“There was a news clipping in the file with a bunch of things underlined. She must have given it to Keck. It was stuff politicians say when they’re running for office, like, ‘The public must know that all men and women are created equal when they come before our courts and that no one can violate the law and escape punishment just because they’re wealthy or powerful.’”
Pearl broke off. “I guess she believed we’d help her.”
“I think Keck wanted to. And he got killed for his troubles. Does your name appear anywhere on those notes?”
“No. He took them himself, in longhand, but—”
“And the file was locked in the cabinet?”
“Yes, but there’s a master key. That’s what I used.”
“Then no one will suspect you’ve read it. The letter he sent out was very vague. I think you should go back home. The police may want to talk to you, but just play dumb. It’s safest. If they ask where you’ve been, tell them you’ve been out with that flu.”
“You think I trust the police, after the way I see them fiddle with cases?”
“They’re not all on the take,” Lily said, flashing to Stephen and hoping she was right.
Behind her, Lily heard a shotgun load. “Put your hands up,” a voice said.
Lily obeyed. Next to her, Pearl Heglund exhaled loudly.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” she said. “She’s not going to hurt me.”
“Goddamn it, Pearly, I told you to stay inside. How do you expect me to protect you if you don’t do as I say?” he asked in a querulous voice.
“Maybe I overreacted,” Pearl said. “I think I’m going to go back home.”
“What about those criminals that are after you?”
“They would have come looking for me by now, I think.”
“Can I put my hands down?” Lily asked.
“You keep quiet, young lady, until we sort this out.”
Lily’s back was getting itchy, imagining the old groundskeeper’s loaded gun.
“You can put down the gun, Daddy. Really.”
“All right.” He seemed disappointed. “If you say so.”
Lily waited a moment, then lowered her arms and turned around. The old gardener stood there, ready to avenge his daughter. Behind him, in the distance, a turkey buzzard flew across the sky, its black shape ancient and foreboding.
“You,” said Mr. Heglund, recognizing her.
“It’s okay, Daddy. This is Lily Kessler, and she’s been explaining a few things to me.”
“Pearly, this job of yours is working my nerves. Even if you are meeting eligible men.”
Pearl cast a sheepish glance at Lily. “I keep telling you, Daddy, that’s
not
why I’m working. I like being a career girl. It allows me to be independent.”
“Yeah,” the old man said. “But you come running back here at the first sign of trouble, ain’t you?”
“That’s because you’re my daddy.”
W
ho is Samuel Pico?” Lily demanded, reaching Pico from a phone booth on Sunset Boulevard.
There was a strained silence on the other end.
“Detective Pico?” Lily said. “Are you there?”
“He’s my father. Why?”
“Is he still a policeman?”
“He retired last month.”
“From what station?”
“Hollywood. Why?”
Lily explained that she’d tracked down a woman in Keck’s office—she left the identity vague—who’d recounted an astounding story.
“Rape, good lord. But how does she know this?”
Lily didn’t say anything.
“What? Now you don’t trust me?”
Lily bit her lip. She didn’t want her feelings for him to cloud her instincts. Everything was shrouded in shadow, vague and unclear. She didn’t want to put Pearl Heglund in danger.
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell Magruder,” Lily said.
“I told you this morning, I don’t fully trust him myself. And my father and Magruder go way back together.”
Lily recounted how Pearl had snooped in Keck’s files and read his notes.
“And Kitty claimed a policeman named Samuel Pico sat on her story,” she concluded.
“No wonder she’s scared,” said Pico. “I’ve got to talk to her and get her statement.”
“Why on earth should she trust you when your own father—”
“Lily, I swear on my life this is the first I’ve heard of this,” he said. “But I am going to find out.”
“Please be careful.”
“He’s my father, I’m not afraid of him.”
“Maybe you should be.”
His stomach churning, Pico left headquarters and drove to the Hollywood Station, where he spent an hour talking to people and looking through files. He left empty-handed.
Soon, he was pulling up to a bungalow on Citrus Avenue near Melrose.
He found his father in the garage, oiling a revolver and listening to a horse race on the radio. Pico saw a notepad jotted with names and dollar amounts and realized his dad was betting again.
Samuel Pico smiled and put down his gun.
“Lemonade?” he asked. “Your mother just made a pitcher. That tree’s a workhorse, never stops producing.”
“No, thanks, Pops,” Pico said. “I wanted to talk to you for a minute, if I could.”
“Pull up a chair, son,” his father said in a hearty voice.
“How’re the ponies?” Pico asked, wondering how to begin.
His father’s eyes grew evasive. “Not so well today. But I got a good tip for tomorrow. A sure thing.”
He’d had sure things as long as Pico could remember. Just one more and he’d quit. But somehow it never happened. Then last month Sam Pico had been suddenly awash with money. A windfall at the track, he’d said.
Pico stirred uneasily, not sure how to begin. “Pop, you were with the force so long. You hear things. Tell me about Magruder.”
A canny look came into the old man’s eyes. “Your new partner?” Sam Pico’s chin went up. “We go way back. He’s stand-up.”
Pico knew that in any family, there were things you didn’t talk about. Questions you didn’t ask. You pushed them to the back of your head and forgot about them, but sometimes, instead of lying there quietly, they grew into monsters and when they finally burst free, it was with the compressed force of a hurricane.
“He’s dirty, Pops,” Pico said, his voice quavering at the taboo subject. “He doesn’t even try to hide it when we’re out together.”
Sam Pico picked up his gun again.
“People do what they have to do, son,” he said. “What they feel they’re
entitled
to. It doesn’t make him a bad cop.”
Pico wouldn’t meet his father’s eyes.
“He’s not hurting anybody,” the elder Pico said. “That’s where you draw the line.”
Is that where you drew it?
“I don’t know about that, Pops,” he said.
Once, his dad had been his hero. Pico had dreamed of following him into the force. When his dad made detective, he’d made that his goal. He’d been a rookie when the war took him. Since his return he’d risen steadily, making his dad proud.
Pico stared at the concrete floor.
“What?” Sam Pico said harshly. “The way I put bread on the table wasn’t good enough for you? How do you think I paid your fancy tuition at Black Fox Academy? Your sisters’ music and dance and elocution lessons? New bikes at Christmas each year during the Depression, trips to San Francisco, summers in Coronado at the Hotel Del? You think I did it on a policeman’s salary?”
“I didn’t ask for any of that.”
“Kids are always asking for things. Wait till you have your own, you’ll see.”
“I don’t want to bring kids into this world just to see them die in some atomic war.”
His father laughed. “You just haven’t found the right piece of ass to do it with.”
When had they become so different?
Pico wondered.
“…instead of thanking me,” Sam Pico continued. “We all need a leg up and I’m glad I was able to catch the chief’s ear and his pocket last month, when I was flush. I put your name in for Central Homicide.”
Pico sensed the malice that glittered at the edge of his father’s words, payback for his impertinent questions. Then the world caved in and he realized it was the truth, a truth neither of them wanted to acknowledge, which Sam Pico would never have revealed if his son had played by the rules.
He lowered his head into his hands. “They must all be laughing behind my back.”
He felt his father’s gnarled fingers, prying at his hands. “No, son. They’re not laughing. They respect and fear the power that put you there.”
Pico groaned. “That’s even worse.”
“Fear is a useful emotion,” Sam Pico said. “Cultivate it. But the time may come when something is asked of you in return.”
There it came again, that odd phrase of Magruder’s.
“Who’ll ask? What will they want?”
“When it comes, you will know it.”
For a long moment, Stephen Pico sat, head bowed. Then a flicker of resolve caught fire inside him.
“They got me working a big case first time out, Pops,” he said. “That starlet who was found strangled in the hills. The Scarlet Sandal.”
“Oh yeah?” A guarded caution in his father’s voice.
“There’s all sorts of rumors swirling around.”
“I thought you had a good lead,” Sam Pico said sharply. “The special effects guy.”
“How do you know about that, Pops?”
“Pshaw. Still got my contacts, don’t I? Like to keep my hand in.”
“We’ve got lots of leads.”
“You be sure Magruder looks at everything too. Don’t go off half-cocked. The man’s got twenty years of experience on you.”
Twenty years of graft is more like it.
“Any other rumors?” his dad asked, fiddling with the gun.
Pico got up, walked to the worktable, picked up a card the squaddies had sent for his dad’s sixtieth birthday.
“There’s a rumor she went to the cops last month and made a serious allegation,” Pico said.
“What kind of allegation?”
“Claimed she’d been raped.”
His father sucked his teeth. “All those starlets gotta put out, they want to get roles.”
“This wasn’t putting out.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know.”
His father ran a finger along his gun. “That’s too bad. And you say she filed a complaint?”
“That’s what she claimed. She lived in Hollywood, so my guess is she went there. You hear anything about that, Pops?”
“Hell, no. Never talked to her. Pretty little thing.” His father paused. “From the pictures.”
“Eventually she took it to the DA. They opened an investigation. But that file’s disappeared and the investigator committed suicide or was pushed out a seventh-story window.”
“That’s a crying shame.” His dad thrust out his head like a turtle. “Do they have a date when that gal supposedly came to the Hollywood station? They could trace back the records, see who she talked to.”
“There’s no paper trail. I was just there.”
Sam Pico considered. “Makes it pretty difficult.” There was another long pause. “Son?” he said at last.
“Yes?”
“Who told you about this DA investigation, if there’s no files anywhere?”
Pico hesitated. He felt like he was tiptoeing through a minefield wearing a blindfold. “One of my sources.”
“Who’s your source?” His father coaxed out a smile.
“I’d rather not say.”
“’Course you wouldn’t.” His dad’s eyes were hard again. “Because the whole story’s a crock. Can’t you see that?”
“I don’t think so,” Pico said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You want to tell me, Pops?” Pico said softly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, son.”
Pico stood up. He stared at his father for a long moment. Then he walked to his car without looking back.
Samuel Pico watched his son drive off. Then he walked over to the phone and made a call.
“It’s starting to leak,” he said.
Samuel listened as the voice on the other end exploded.
“Relax,” Samuel said. “Nobody knows about the ten thousand dollars. And I can’t give it back, it’s gone.”
There was a bigger explosion.
“I
did
destroy the police complaint,” Samuel said. “Who knew she’d go to the DA?”
The voice on the other end of the line rumbled.
“Why didn’t Simpson put the kibosh on the investigation?” Samuel asked.
The man on the other phone spoke softly.
“Okay,” Samuel responded, “so things were moving too fast. You did what you had to do. And I’m going to need your boys to do it again as soon as I find where it’s coming from.”
The man said something, but Samuel interrupted. “I don’t know why you didn’t deal with this last month. She didn’t want to get rid of it; you could have offered her a nice vacation and some dough, she goes away for a few months, comes back tanned and rested, the baby’s adopted by a nice barren family, and no one’s the wiser. But no, you have to get carried away. Teach her a lesson. Looks like you found the one dame who could fight back. From beyond the grave.”