The Secret Life of Anna Blanc (28 page)

He made this pronouncement just as Anna approached the door. The audacious lie roused her from her stupor. She spun around and called in a loud voice, “Are you suggesting that she decomposed on one side only? While hanging in a tree? That's ridiculous! Not to mention she was in the very peak of rigor! You saw her. She had no time to decompose!”

The coroner scanned the room, looking through Anna as if she were invisible. “Now, does anyone have a question?”

It was a cock shame being a woman. Being right and having the facts meant nothing if one wore frocks, even if they were very nice frocks, which her matron's uniform was not. Joe Singer wouldn't be fired for immoral behavior in the hay. He'd probably be given a medal. She marched down the hall, her petticoats flapping, her hands balled into white-knuckled fists. She wanted to smack the coroner in the head with her giant purse. She wanted to conk Joe Singer, too, because he wasn't by her side, fighting this battle. He wouldn't help her.

She had humiliated herself and would certainly lose her job, all for nothing. Then who would avenge the brothel girls and stop the killings? Not a man at the lecture believed that the coroner had covered up a murder.

She traced her way home through the dark streets, sticking to the shadows. No one spoke to her or even whistled. A terrible, angry cloud surrounded her like a shield, frightening any would-be bandits away. She walked north, jogged left, and journeyed north again, arriving at home with sore feet just shy of eleven.

The next morning, Anna went straight to Wolf's desk. “Is the coroner going to tell Captain Wells that Officer Singer rolled me in the hay?” She searched his face with desperate eyes.

Wolf sat back in his chair and smiled. “Good morning, honeybun. No, I don't think the coroner's going to tell Captain Wells that Officer Singer rolled you in the hay.”

“Why not? He knows. He hates me. He'd like to see me fired. He said as much.”

“Because he thinks the captain's rolling you, too.” Wolf cleared his throat. “It was the patrolmen's idea. They're just trying to help.”

Anna heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank them for me.”

“They're uh…hoping you'll thank them personally.”

At that moment, Joe breezed through the door. When he saw Anna, he stomped over, scowling, and flung his hands in the air. “I waited for you at Angel's Flight for two hours. You and I had an appointment!”

Anna bit her knuckle and winced. “I never imagined you'd keep it. You were so angry.”

Joe folded his arms. “I do what I say I'm gonna do. I don't know if you've heard of that.”

“I'm sorry!” Anna threw down her hands. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! What can I do to show you that I'm sorry?”

“Matron Holmes,” Wolf said. “I think Officer Singer understands that you're sorry. And I'm sure that he's sorry, too. But…”

Joe swore under his breath and stomped off. Wolf grinned. “But Matron Clemens is out with the grippe. And so right now you need to attend to Matron Clemens's prisoner. So why don't you go over to the
jail and check on her. Make sure she's being treated well. And give her my best.”

He pressed a file into Anna's hands.

The clouds hanging over Anna parted just a bit, admitting a tiny ray of sunlight. It felt like the only light she had seen in days. “I have a prisoner?”

“That's right, honeybun.”

“Slick!”

The city jail was two blocks from the station, a monstrosity in hard, cold stone. In one section of the building, the city housed her convicted criminals. In another section, it kept prisoners waiting to be tried, drunks, rabble-rousers, and the like. As Anna walked from the sunshine into the prison lobby, she had a sobering thought. She would have ended up there had she smoked that fateful cigarette within the city limits of Los Angeles. Or maybe it would have been Officer Singer who had asked them to put out their lights. Eve would still be a matron instead of a prostitute. Anna would never have been a matron at all. She would never have kissed Officer Singer. She would already be married to Edgar and sleeping in his bed. She was glad that she hadn't been arrested in Los Angeles, and it made her feel guilty.

The jailer received Anna, peering out from under droopy eyelids. She consulted her file and cleared her throat. “Good morning. I'm LAPD matron Anna Holmes. I'm here to attend to prisoner Eunice Partridge and to check on her well-being.”

“All right.” The jailer dragged himself from his stool to an interior door. When he looked down at the jingling keys on his belt, his droopy lids all but closed. He turned a key in the lock and stood aside to let Anna through. “You'll know her. She's the only prisoner in a skirt.” With that, he closed and locked the door behind her.

Anna stood alone at the end of a dim, airless corridor. It smelled foul, like the hot breath of men who had never owned a toothbrush.
The chamber pots needed to be emptied. Somewhere, someone was smoking, which made the air even thicker. There was little ventilation and no breeze through the barred windows.

A thrill shot through Anna. She let herself pause to savor the moment. She was doing the work of officers, albeit for a female criminal. She could hear motion in the cells, shifting, an occasional cough. Someone was moaning or praying. She ventured forward to where the cells began, lining the corridor on the right and on the left.

The first few were empty. Behind each set of bars languished a dingy wooden bunk and a commode. She crept forward, each footstep echoing. The rest of the cells were full of criminals. When the first man noticed her, he let out a long, low whistle that set off a chain reaction. Prisoners came to the bars, unbathed and unmannered. She greeted them with a nervous, “Good morning. I am a police matron. Ah. Hello.”

Some simply stared. Others rattled the bars or reached for her. A boy too young to shave but with a very adult, very fresh look on his face patted his lap. “Over here kitten, I need some company.” She veered away from him and continued down between the rows of whistling men like the queen of the Fiesta De Los Angeles parade. As she approached the end of the corridor, she smelled roses.

In the very last cell, she found her prisoner. The woman reclined on a cot, smoking a Hoffman House cigar—the source of the offending smoke. Anna should have known by the rose perfume. It wasn't just any prisoner. It was Madam Lulu. Anna stared. “Eunice Partridge?”

She sported a crimson dress with enough fabric on her flounces to clothe all the children in the Orphans' Asylum. None of it covered her cleavage. Her cheeks were painted red, her eyebrows chalked black. She wore her fox stole and the big black hat with the little pastel birds.

She raised her arms above her head and yawned. “That's me. Lulu's just my trade name. Sounds better, don't it?” She stretched it out. “Luuuuu Luuuuu.”

Anna went to the bars. “What are you doing here?”

“Aw. The mayor's mad at me. The welcher wants me to loan him ten
grand. He already owes me fifteen, so I said no. He can't shut me down 'cause he still wants his cut, so he has Snow arrest me on suspicion.”

“Suspicion of what?”

Madam Lulu raised herself onto one elbow. “Suspicion of knowing a goldbrick when I see one.”

Anna frowned. “Why do you pay the mayor?”

“So the fuckster doesn't have me raided, vag my girls, and hook me with a blind pig violation.”

“And the chief of police cooperates with this?”

“You betcha.”

Anna thought of Chief Singer's easy charm and Officer Singer's conflict with his father. Could that be why? Could the son be the better man?

Madam Lulu raised her eyebrows. “Speaking of Chief Singer, how's young Joe? I heard you took my advice.”

Anna looked at her feet and kicked the bars with her shoe. “It didn't work. He barely speaks to me.”

“Don't make me feel sorry for Edgar Wright.”

Anna pursed her lips indignantly. “I only kissed him because of the case. And I'd do it again.”

Madam Lulu's cherry cheek plumped up in a smirk. “And again and again.”

Anna lifted her chin a full two inches and tossed her head. “Yes. I'd do a lot to solve these murders. But not you. You should have loaned the mayor the money. Now who's watching out at the brothels?”

“The girls are watching out. But you have a point. They spend a lot of time looking at the ceiling.”

Madam Lulu lay back on her cot and put her black boots up against the wall, which was scratched deep with graffiti. Anna let one hand rest on the cold bars. “You told me the girls never leave the brothel, except for the races in the fall. How does the killer get them, then?”

Madam Lulu puffed away on her cigar. “I don't say they never leave. They might slip out to meet a customer on the side, avoid the rake-off.”

“So the murderer is a customer.”

“Maybe.”

“Why don't you tell them not to meet customers on the side?”

“I do. Always have. If they see men on the side, I lose my cut.”

“So, you've told them about the danger and they don't believe you? They think you made it up to protect your business interests?”

“Some do. Some don't.”

Anna put her fist to her lips. “I have a theory. Ruby wore blue garters. The shoe was used, but ill fitting. You could say that they were borrowed. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue…”

“And a sixpence in her shoe.” Madam Lulu said. “So what? They're brides?”

“He's Protestant.”

Madam Lulu put both hands on top of her hideous hat and crinkled one side of her face. “What?”

Anna began to speak quickly. “In the Bible, there's a prophet—Hosea, Prophet of Doom. He married a harlot, Gomer, as a symbol of God's redemption. He did it to make her clean. Think of our killer as the Prophet Hosea…”

Madam Lulu looked dubious. “He slit Peaches' throat.”

Anna pointed at Madam Lulu. “Yes! Because dead prostitutes never betray their husbands.” Anna prattled on with increasing speed. “Gomer went back to prostitution after Hosea married her. He'd take her back but then she'd do it again. Over and over. Our Hosea, the killer, dispatches his brides. That way they stay redeemed.”

Madam Lulu cocked her head. “And how does that make him Protestant?”

Anna paced back and forth, speaking in one long string. “The killer would have to be familiar with the minor prophets of the Old Testament—scriptures for both the Jewish and the Christian religions. But minor prophets are just that—minor; only read in the Catholic mass every three years, and then they're read in Latin. Only Protestants are allowed to read the Bible. I've only read it because I wasn't supposed to. Protestants and Jews know about Hosea. Catholics don't.” Anna took a deep long breath. “Do you have many Jewish patrons?”

“None.”

“He's Protestant.”

“If you say so.”

“So, let's apply it.” Anna paced along the cell with long slow steps, swinging her legs, swishing her petticoats. “The coroner is an expert in legal medicine and Snow is a detective. They've both seen all the evidence and must know that girls are being murdered, yet they do nothing. Why?” She tripped on an uneven brick and spun to face Madam Lulu. “Is one of them the killer? I have reason to believe that Snow didn't do it. That leaves the coroner.” Anna grabbed the bars. “He's a Protestant.” She stared hard at Madam Lulu. “Is he a customer?”

Madam Lulu held her eyes for a long moment, as if deliberating. “No.”

Anna heaved a heavy sigh. “Okay. If Snow and the coroner didn't do it, our only other suspects are your customers. This gives us another clue. Either Snow and the coroner are derelict in their duty, or the killer has influence that he's using to silence them. If you would give me a list of patrons, I could look for wealthy Protestant blackmailers or…”

Madam Lulu interrupted, swinging her feet around and planting them on the floor. “No way. That's against the code.”

Anna blinked. “Okay. Nothing in writing. Just say their names, and I'll remember them. I have a good memory. I won't tell anyone. Please.” Anna stared fiercely into Madam Lulu's eyes.

Madam Lulu shook her head so hard, the fox on her stole shook its head with her. “No! No! No! It'd be like a priest telling everybody what you said in the confessional. We don't kiss and tell. It's the way it's always been.”

Anna's voice rose. “One of them is a killer!”

“Maybe. But the only way a girl finds out who goes to my brothel is if she works there.”