1 The Hollywood Detective (17 page)

I slowly left the cover of the woods. I got as far as the lawn and stopped. And listened. I heard no dogs, or the crunching footsteps of an armed patrol, just the faint warble of a radio set from one of the rooms. I opted for speed over stealth and hurried to the back wall. With my back pressed up against the brickwork, the only way anyone could see me was if they leaned out of a window. I took a few deep breaths and relaxed a little.

The outlet pipe was perfectly vertical. I tugged on it and it seemed secure but there was only one way to find out if it would take 170 pounds. I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my socks and shimmied up the pipe like I was Tarzan’s chimp. If anyone heard me on the other side of the wall, they didn’t bother to open their window to take a look.
 

I reached the bathroom window and strained hard not to breathe too deeply: I considered myself to be fitter than most, but hauling yourself vertical will take it out of anyone. I reached out and grabbed the window ledge while my knees clamped tight against the pipe. I felt along the window frame, hoping to find a latch I could pop open.

The light flashed on inside. I snatched my hand away and grabbed the pipe, hoping whoever was in there wasn’t planning on taking a bath. There was a limit to how long I could hold on, and I already felt my grip weakening. A few seconds later I heard the sound of running water, then a flush, and then more running water. Come on, pal, I said to myself, hurry up. The muscles in my legs were burning with the strain of clinging on.
 

After an eternity, the light went off and I reached out again for the ledge. I shimmied up a little higher, trying to get a better feel of the window. I couldn’t even get a fingernail into the gap between window and frame. It seemed there was no way of opening it from the outside. Disappointed, I scrambled down, collected my footwear and scurried back into the woods. And waited.

Into every investigation, a little luck must fall, that’s what I always tell myself, and I knew if I hung around long enough I might just get a break. It came around midnight. One of the workers with a room at ground level opened a window. No lights came on, it seemed they had gone straight back to bed. After ten or fifteen minutes, I tiptoed over the lawn to the open window and listened. I heard snoring, almost as loud as Red’s.
 

I pulled at the just enough to peek inside and saw two dormitory beds, both occupied. I let the curtain fall shut. I pulled air down into my lungs and tried to calculate the odds of one of the occupants waking up and discovering me climbing through their window, or creeping across their room. The chances were fairly high. But I had run out of options. This was my last shot. I had to go for it.

I discarded my shoes again, opened the window as far as it would go and hauled myself up. I got one knee onto the window frame and waited. The snoring continued. There weren’t any other noises coming from inside. I pulled up my other knee and then tucked my feet under my haunches so I was crouching. Again, I waited and listened. Nothing. I gently pulled back the curtain. Both men were still fast asleep in their beds.

Grabbing the top of the window frame, I swung my legs in so that I was sitting on the ledge, then, ever so slowly, I lowered myself in. I ducked down low so my silhouette couldn’t be seen against the curtain from outside.
 

My lungs ached for breath and it took all my strength not to give it to them in fast, needy gulps. Instead I remained crouched with my lips pursed, taking small breaths through my nose. I stood up and walked quickly past the beds toward the door.

“Not again, you need to drink less beer,” one of them said wearily as I turned the handle and stepped out into the corridor. I could only hope he didn’t open his eyes and discover his roommate was still slumbering in his bed.

I turned toward the main building and soon found myself just a few feet from the lobby area. I stood in the dark corridor and stared through a glass door at the armed nightwatchman sitting behind the reception desk. I needed to get him away from his post so I could sneak a look at the patient lists and find out which room was Clara’s. I had to think fast: I could be discovered at any moment.

So long as the corridor remained dark and the light in the lobby stayed on, I knew I would be almost invisible to the guy behind the desk. I just had to hope he didn’t plan on taking a leak any time soon. The nearest bathroom was probably the one I had failed to climb into, which meant I was between him and it.

I didn’t have the luxury of waiting to see what his routine was, how often he would get up and do the rounds, because I couldn’t risk being found in the corridor. I needed to create a distraction, but it had to be one that didn’t attract attention to myself.

I made my way to the bathroom on the second floor and locked myself in. I shoved the plug in the sink and turned both faucets on. Water gushed and spluttered into the sink. Then I walked back out into the dark corridor and crept to the far end. All I had to do now was wait.
 

It took over fifteen minutes for someone to discover the flood and raise merry hell. Within seconds people were out of their rooms and the watchman was dragged away from his post. As far as the other residents were concerned I was just one of a number of shoeless people who’d pulled on their pants to find out what was causing the commotion. No one paid me any attention and I walked straight into the lobby, leapt over the reception counter and searched frantically through the rosters, lists and registers. It took longer than I would have liked, but I eventually discovered Clara Lockhart was in room 29.
 

The door from the staff block burst open. I ducked down behind the counter. The watchman strutted over toward me, making the floorboards shake with each footfall. He started searching for something on the desk, just a couple feet from the top of my head. I held my breath.

The door opened again.

“You got the key, Don?”

“Still looking.”

I heard scrabbling noises above and prayed he’d find the damn keys soon.

“Come on, it’s still coming through the ceiling like Niagara. We gotta mop it up with something.”

“I know! The key’s got to be here some place.” More scrabbling. “Got it!”

The two men, as best as I could tell from my position under the counter, had gone through a set of double doors into the residents’ wing. If I wanted to find Clara, I figured I better follow them.

I ran quickly to the far end. The hallway lights had been turned on by the guard and I could see that none of the doors had numbers on them: I presumed they had to be the consulting rooms. I found a staircase—also lit—and rushed up one flight. The corridor on the second floor was dark: this had to mean the nightwatchman and his pal were some place else. The residents’ wing was quiet. The uproar in the staff quarters hadn’t penetrated the main building.

I checked the first door on the corridor. In the dark, I could just about make out a number: 20. I stepped as lightly as I could looking for room 29. Suddenly a bright rectangle of light appeared up ahead. A moment later the patrolman and his sidekick emerged from a room only twenty feet away with big piles of towels in their arms. My breath stalled. Any minute they would turn and see me. I had to act first. I ran fast toward them. If I was quick they wouldn’t get a chance to realize I didn’t actually belong there. “Need a hand?” I asked.

“Shhh,” came the reply. “You mustn’t wake the patients.”

I stood before them, panting heavily.

“Who the hell are you?” The watchman looked down at my naked feet.

I pointed up over their heads, into the room they’d just come out of. “Look! The water’s coming through the ceiling here too.”

They both turned, stepped into the doorway and looked up.

“Right up in the corner there,” I said.

“I don’t see nothing,” the guard said.

“Get closer,” I said.

They stepped inside and I slammed the door, locked it and put the key in my pocket. They instantly started banging on the door and hollering for help. So much for not waking the residents.

I didn’t have long.
 

I ran along the corridor, checking off door numbers as I went and pulled up at number 29. I tried the handle. It turned and I pushed open the door, then raised my hands, palms out, expecting to be greeted by screams. But none came.

I gently closed the door behind me.

“Clara?”

In the dim light I could make out the shape of a woman lying in a narrow bed, she seemed to be sleeping.
 

“Clara, it’s okay. I’m here to help you.”

I crept toward her and she started to stir.

“Miss Lockhart. Please don’t scream. Mary sent me.”

She started to wake up. Her eyes opened but it took a while for her to focus, but as she soon realized a strange man was in her room I could tell she was about to scream. I no choice but to put my hand over her mouth. She tried to struggle but was too weak.

“It’s okay, Clara,” I said again. “Mary sent me. I’m going to take my hand away now, but don’t scream. I’m here to help. Do you understand?”

I felt her nod under my grip. I slowly pulled my hand away, fully prepared to move it right back if she so much as raised her voice.

“Is it time?” she whispered. Her words were slurred as if she were still half asleep.

“Time for what?”

“My operation.”

“The only thing it’s time for is to get you out of here.”

“What?” She reached over and turned on a bedside light. When she turned back to me I saw her face was a mess of deep purple and yellow bruises. The bridge of her nose was bandaged. It would be a long time before anyone put her in front of a camera again.

“You’re not the doctor,” she said, still slurring a little.
 

“But you are Clara Lockhart, right?”

She gave me the tiniest of nods. “Who are you?”

“My name is Spencer McCoy and I’ve been sent to get you.”

“By who?”

“Mary.”

Her eyebrows puckered as she absorbed what I was saying. She looked a little sad at the mention of her roommate’s name. Maybe even a little guilty.

“How does Mary know where I am?”

“She doesn’t. It’s a long story and I’ll tell you everything in the car,” I said. “Come on, let’s get you up. We need to make our escape nice and quick.”

“Escape?” Her sky-blue eyes clouded in confusion. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

“We are leaving right now,” I insisted. “Come on. We don’t have long.”

Clara struggled to sit up. I tried to help her.
 

“Get your hands off me!” Her sleeping pill was starting to wear off.
 

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Do you think you can stand?”
 

“I told you, I ain’t going nowhere.”
 

“But it’s not safe here, Clara. You’re in danger.”

“No I ain’t!”

I thought I heard a noise out in the corridor.

“Yes, yes you are.” I wanted to shout at the girl to make her understand, but I managed to keep my voice low. “You’re going to have a procedure in the morning and it’s not going to be nice. You need to come with me. Now.”

The poor girl looked as confused as she was battered.
 

“It’s called E.C.T. and it means they’re going to hook your brain up to an electric current. It can do a lot of damage, Clara. People get real hurt when they have it done.”
 

“Listen, pal. I don’t know who you are or why I’m not screaming this place down right now, but I do know that you’re wrong.” She lifted a lock of ice-blonde hair from her right ear, exposing a thick bandage. “This is what I’m having done tomorrow. I want it to match the other one again.”

“What happened?”

“Guess it got messed up pretty good.”

“How?”

“I ain’t supposed to say.”

I heard more noises in the corridor. It sounded to me like a door opening.

“Was it Tomasky? Did he do that to you?”

She looked more shocked than she had since she’d woken up. “What’s that creep got to do with anything?”

“You were seen having a fight with him, at William Powell’s place.”

Her eyebrows wrinkled as she tried to remember. “He might have gotten mad but he never laid a finger on me.”

“Then who hurt you?”

“I told you, I’m not supposed to say.”
 

I heard footsteps out in the hallway. Not the heavy thuds of a liberated watchman, but the stuttering movements of a resident, no doubt wondering who was locked in a laundry closet trying to punch their way out. I didn’t have long.

“You can tell me later.” I reached out for her arm but she snatched it away.

“And I already told ya—I ain’t leaving!” Her voice was loud enough to attract attention.

“Listen, Clara. Mary’s been worried sick about you, worried enough to hire a guy like me to find you. Turns out she was right to worry: when you didn’t turn up at Paramount for that audition, she knew you were in trouble. And believe me, you’re in more trouble than you know. We’ve got to go.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll be in a lot more trouble if I leave. Tell Mary I’m sorry, tell her I tried to get a message to her, I asked one of the nurses to send her a postcard. Mary knows how things work in this town.”

Now I could hear voices on the other side of the door. No shouts, no screams, just a low mumble.
 

“You can explain it to her yourself.” I opened her closet, looking for a bag I could throw a few of her things in.
 

“What are you doing?”

“Packing. Put some shoes on.”

Clara climbed out of the bed and came toward me. She grabbed hold of my shirt and turned me to face her. Up close, her face was even more badly bruised than I had realized.

“Listen, buster, I didn’t ask you to come, but I am asking you to leave,” she said, her eyes pleading with me.

“Not without you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not leaving.”

“Then at least tell me why. If I can’t persuade you to come, I’ve got to be able to tell Mary why.”