The Last Embrace (7 page)

“Will you work with the police?”

“I’ll try,” Lily said diplomatically, but she knew they’d laugh her out the door if she suggested it.

“Please don’t do anything rash…or illegal,” Mrs. Croggan said. “If Joseph were alive, he’d be out there, asking questions. It’s no job for a young girl.”

Lily realized she was shaking. “But Joseph’s not here,” she told the woman who would have been her mother-in-law. “There’s only me.”

Y
oo-hoo,” Mrs. Potter called as she knocked. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but we’ve had terrible news.”

“I know,” Lily said through the closed bedroom door, drying her hair. Even though it was four in the afternoon, she’d taken a bath. It was the only way to get rid of the morgue smell.

“Well, hon, my heart goes out to you, but there’s some detectives here to see you and search the room. I took the liberty of bringing them upstairs.”

Lily dashed on makeup, molded her damp hair into waves, donned a skirt and blouse. Put on earrings, her watch. Finally, she flung open the door. Pico and Magruder walked in, their eyes already scanning the room.

“I’d ask you to sit down,” Lily said, “but as you can see…” She spread her hands.

Magruder merely grunted and asked if she’d tidied up or thrown anything away.

Lily said she hadn’t, but added pointedly that five days had already elapsed since Kitty’s roommates first reported her missing. “I don’t think the police took it seriously. They poked around and left.”

Pico’s lip curled, his eyes pensive in the moment before he looked away. Magruder’s small, humorless eyes drilled into her and he said, “Do you have any idea how many young women come here from all over the world and disappear into the wilds of Hollywood?”

Without waiting for an answer, he launched into a speech so canned he couldn’t even feign earnestness anymore. “The vast majority turn up alive, and each one’s got her own reasons for not being found. They’re running from parents. Husbands. Boyfriends. Brats and bad reputations. They come to reinvent themselves, start new lives. And contrary to what the public may think, the LAPD is not a human fetch-and-retrieve service. Unless there’s evidence of foul play or reason to suspect a crime’s occurred, we don’t get involved. Which is why Mrs. Croggan’s calls to the Hollywood station got the response they did. But we’re Homicide. This is a whole different ball game.”

“Now that it’s too late,” Lily pointed out.

“Why don’t you go downstairs and have some coffee, calm your nerves,” Pico said. “The Crime Lab boys’ll be here any minute and they’ll turn the place upside down, dusting for prints, looking for blood residue.”

Lily felt her heart flip over. “You think it happened here?”

Pico crossed his arms and made a disparaging noise.

“It’s all part of our investigation,” Magruder said. “Maybe the killer knew her. Maybe he left a pack of matches we can trace back to a bar he frequents. Maybe his dog shed on his sports jacket and we’ll match those to hairs found on the deceased. You’d be surprised at what we can do these days.”

“Mrs. Croggan would like the body shipped home to Champaign for burial,” Lily said. “Do you know when the autopsy might be complete?”

Magruder checked his notes. “She gave us permission to release the body to you,” he said. “But the coroner’ll need to run tests. With an open investigation, we’ll want to keep the body on hand.”

Lily cleared her throat. “What tests?”

“That’s police business.”

“Did the medical examiner confirm how she died?”

“Death by ligature,” Pico said. “She was strangled.”

“Dear God.” Lily closed her eyes and prayed they’d catch Kitty’s killer soon so Mrs. Croggan could bury her daughter. “I’ll let the mother know.”

“She knows,” Magruder said.

Lily noticed Pico bending over the ashtray on the vanity table.

“Did Miss Hayden smoke?” He held it up.

“I keep telling you we never met,” Lily said. “Her roommates will know.”

“You can bet we’re going to talk to them,” Magruder boomed. “Boarders, neighbors, boyfriends, studio people. Everyone she ever batted an eyelash at. We’ll research her life, her troubles, her finances. We’ll reconstruct what she did and who she saw the day she disappeared. Maybe she was careless about the company she kept.”

Pico was behind her, just out of range of the vanity mirror. The skin along Lily’s back rippled. He was watching her. She moved to catch his reflection, but he glided back out of sight.

“…and if you think of anything after we’re gone,” Magruder was saying, “pick up the phone.” He scribbled the number. “Day or night, someone’s there. Now. Do you know if she kept an appointment book? A diary? An address book?”

Lily waved her hand. “You’re welcome to check. Did Mrs. Potter tell you that a man from RKO came by a few days ago, asking questions and looking through her room?”

“Clarence Fletcher,” Pico said. “We intend to talk to him.”

Magruder gave a sudden belch. “Excuse me.” He swabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. “Big lunch today with the Culver City chief of police.”

“Culver City,” Lily said. “Isn’t that where RKO is?”

Where Kitty had worked?

A foxy expression lit up Pico’s eyes.

“Yes,” Magruder said with a hearty laugh. “And also Metro and Monogram and Vanguard. It’s quite a movie town and they’ve got their hands full with those unruly stars.”

He shifted, and she felt suddenly how big and out of scale he looked in Kitty’s turret room.

“Especially the ones who date gangsters,” Lily said offhandedly.

Magruder was at her side in an instant.

“What have you heard?” he asked in a menacing tone.

She gave him an innocent look. “Weren’t all the actresses crazy for Bugsy Siegel?”

“Bugsy Siegel was shot to death in his Beverly Hills living room two years ago. His killer was never caught. What’s that got to do with Kitty Hayden?”

“Maybe she liked the fast life too, and it caught up with her. I’m sure Kitty’s roommates can tell you whether she knew any gangsters.”

“Thanks for the job tip,” Magruder said sourly.

He scowled and flipped open Kitty’s portfolio, scrutinizing each photo—modeling jobs and studio stills—the sultry poses in evening gowns, then shorts and a straw hat, bathing-suit cheesecake.

“I hope you interview Mrs. Potter too,” Lily said, flashing to the landlady’s odd demeanor when they’d met, her suggestion that a room might come available.
As if she knew.

Magruder guffawed. “Mrs. Potter and the department go way back, Miss Kessler,” he said. “As for the girls, I’m gonna sic Pico on ’em. He’s got a way with the ladies. They call us Beauty and the Beast, don’t they, Pico?”

Detective Pico leaned against the windowsill and crossed his lanky legs in a slow and deliberate fashion. A red flush stained his throat, crept up his jawbone. Something told her it was anger, not embarrassment. She felt a strange desire to goad him, to see the two cops come to blows. She smelled spilled beer, peanuts, rubber mats, bloodlust, the roar of the crowd. She blinked and was back in the room.

“Miss Kessler is too smart to be seduced by the surface of things,” Pico said.

Car tires squealed out front. Magruder walked to the window.

“Here come the boys now.” He turned to Pico. “Let’s meet up at the Boulevard substation. And now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ve got a murderer to catch.”

He tipped his hat and slipped out.

With Magruder’s departure, the room seemed to expand. Lily hadn’t liked the bull-necked detective, found him condescending and full of false heartiness. She disliked Pico for different reasons. His arrogance, cynicism. But mostly, the unnerving sense she’d gotten, back at the station, that he’d instantly disliked her. Still, she was used to law enforcement types and their games. The jaded older one who didn’t take anything seriously and his intense young partner who never lightened up.

“What did your partner mean by that crack about Mrs. Potter?” Lily asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

Again that tone that suggested he was throwing down a gauntlet. She walked to the window, watched the LAPD men unload metal boxes out of a van. Pico followed her, shadowing her, mimicking her movements. She wished he wouldn’t stand so close.

“I’m sure Kitty’s roommates will have some names for you to pursue,” Lily said. She wondered how to bring up what she’d overheard in the alley. “Did they mention any boyfriends? Any trouble Kitty might have been in?”

“We already spoke to the redhead.” Pico checked his notepad. “Roseanne ‘Red’ Viertel. She gave us a coupla leads.”

“Like what?” Lily was surprised; Red hadn’t told her much of anything.

With a tight smile, Pico tucked his notepad away. “What’s this, Miss Kessler? Are we playing Twenty Questions?”

Lily’s cheeks grew hot. She’d slipped unconsciously into the rhythm. You asking questions, them parrying, you rephrasing, the pressure building until finally they broke and something useful emerged.

But he unsettled her, this long, tall drink of water. And now he was following her around the room, trying to spook her. They learned it in detective school. Well, she knew a few tactics too.

“Just one question, then.”

She gave him a tomboy smile that hid more subtle wiles and leaned her ass against the sill. Examined him from downcast lashes.

Use what you’ve got.

“Have you talked to Max Vranizan?”

Behind Pico’s eyes, something clicking into focus. “I thought you only got here yesterday, Miss Kessler. Yet you seem to know an awful lot. What can you tell us about Mr. Vranizan?” he asked, his voice cool and businesslike.

Lily shrugged. “Just that he was a special effects guy who also worked at RKO. He was sweet on Kitty, but she had her sights set higher than a toy maker.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t. The roomies did last night.”

Pico’s eyes grew razor sharp even as his voice grew more measured. “Red said this Max fellow was obsessed with Kitty.”

“That doesn’t mean he killed her. He’s probably a harmless freak,” Lily said, fishing for information. “A grown-up guy who lives in a fantasy world of dinosaurs and apes and monsters. A little kid.”

“Little kids can be cunning. I’d stay away from him. And stay away from RKO too. You’re unlikely to get discovered.”

So that’s what he thought she was after!

She regarded him coolly. “I have no desire to be an actress.”

“Then again, if you play your cards right, you might even be able to take over Miss Hayden’s contract.”

“I would never—”

His eyes crinkled. “Of course not. That’s why you showed up here as soon as you heard, then moved right into Kitty Hayden’s room and into her life.”

Lily uncoiled herself, stretched to her full height, but still barely saw over his shoulder.

“You know nothing about me. I’m hardly some starstruck ingénue. I grew up in L.A. And I’m staying here because Kitty’s mother asked me to find her daughter.”

Pico rolled his eyes. “Then you’re free to go. The professionals will take over.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

She was irked that he’d riled her so easily. “I hope you display a better bedside manner when you talk to Kitty’s roommates or you won’t get very far.”

A wicked light danced in his eyes. “I’ve never had any complaints about my bedside manner. In fact…”

“Then let me be the first,” she said, ignoring the innuendo.

He shook his head. “You don’t give up, do you? Anybody ever tell you that you have a masculine brain?”

“Now you’re insulting me?”

“Far from it.” The idea seemed to entertain him.

“Maybe I just have a criminal brain,” Lily said.

“Oh?”

“You want to catch a murderer, you have to think like one. That’s all.”

The amusement faded from his eyes. “That’s exactly why they’ll never let women on the force,” he said.

“What’s why?” she asked.

“Because if you want to catch rats, you’ve got to swim in the sewer, and that’s no job for a girl. You’d lose your sense of wonder and goodness about the world, and we can’t have that.”

Lily’s mouth twitched. “Save it, Detective. We’re not helpless simpering creatures that have to be protected. We’ve held down jobs, traveled the world. Seen people die. Nobody’s innocent anymore.”

“The war’s been over four years. Things are going back to how they were.”

Lily thought of the CIA, reassigning its women agents to desk jobs. Her bosses had claimed their Soviet contacts felt more comfortable handing over secrets to men. That the female temperament was unsuited to surveillance, interrogation, high-stakes dissembling. That women were ruled by their emotions, while espionage required cool, hard reason. No matter what successful female spy Lily brought up, they had an answer: Virginia Hill was an exception; Christine Granville had gotten lucky; Amy Thorpe traded intelligence for sex. Lily’s gorge rose at being lectured by yet another man in authority.

“Not everyone wants to go back to how things were.”

“Sure they do. People are settling down, having families. It’s the American way.”

The taunting tone was back.
You want it too,
his voice seemed to say.
Just admit it.