The curtains were shut to keep out prying eyes, but the sun forced its way in, illuminating the interior with a spectral light. They stood taking in the dead man’s parlor. The only indication that anything amiss had occurred was an upturned chair beside the antique writing desk, and a small dense stain on the carpet in front of it.
‘So, mister private inquiries man,’ Sullivan said. ‘What do you make of this?’
Tom ignored the jibe, determined to play along, certain Sullivan would already have forgotten the diagram on the front of the Times.
‘Well, in the absence of a body, you’ve got the advantage over me, Thad. But at a guess, that stain on the carpet is where Taylor leaked his life away when he was shot. And unless you and your boys have been messier than usual, he was sitting in that chair when the bullet hit him, or he knocked it over as he fell to the floor.’
‘A regular little Pinkerton, aren’t you?’ Sullivan scoffed. He strode over to the window and pulled one of the curtains back, flooding the room with a disconcerting air of normality.
‘That’s where he was lying, all right. Laid out like the mortician had already been in. Suit coat buttoned up, arms by his sides, legs together. The cops on the call didn’t even figure he’d been shot until the morgue van arrived to take away the body. Some fool decided early on this was natural causes, and because the body was so neat and tidy, everyone believed it. They only spotted the bloodstain and the hole in his back when the coroner’s man arrived and lifted him. Add to that, there was a two-carat diamond ring on his finger, a platinum watch in his vest, a silver cigarette case and a wallet with seventy-eight dollars in his pocket. More cash and a checkbook in the bureau, and a pile of gold jewelry in a drawer upstairs. So robbery wasn’t the motive, and it’s not like the killer was disturbed and had to make a quick getaway. Any ideas?’ Sullivan stared at him, an eyebrow cocked quizzically.
Tom shook his head. ‘Ne’er a one. What do you reckon yourself?’
‘To be honest, I’ve no clue either. For the shooter to walk out in front of a witness like that – I never heard the like. Unless he was an out-of-towner brought in for the job and didn’t fear being recognized. But even so.’
‘What about this Sands guy – the one the papers are talking about?’
‘DA would love us to think it was him,’ Sullivan said. ‘That would make it nice and easy. Sands was Taylor’s valet until August last, when he took off for no obvious reason with his master’s auto, clothes, cash, and went on the lam – forged checks, the lot. Heavy damage to Taylor’s bank account. One curious detail was Taylor took four months to swear out a complaint. Why wait so long? We’ll have to review that too now, I guess. But sure, Sands is nice for this, except for one big problem.’
‘The witness?’
‘You got it. Sands worked here every day for a year. Got real cozy with Mrs MacLean next door. She says categorically it wasn’t him.’
‘She’s not covering?’
‘For murder? Why would she? Anyhow, the service station guy knew Sands, too. He agrees it wasn’t him. And it figures: why would Sands ask directions to a house he worked in for a year?’
Tom thought about it. He knew the guys at the gas station. It was where he always filled up his Dodge. Real friendly every time, and they always called him by name. Those guys made a big point of knowing their customers.
‘What’s the DA say to that?’
Sullivan’s smile was skeptical. ‘Woolwine? Not a lot. All he wants is to give something to the papers and get them off his back. Look, I’ve got to check the stove in the kitchen, so you have your look around. And in case you’ve forgotten, that means look only – don’t disturb anything while you’re about it.’
Tom curled his lip at Sullivan’s back, then poked his head into the neat little dining room next door. Nothing much to note, except along one wall a line of framed photographs of movie stars: Mary Pickford, Constance Talmadge, Betty Compson. There were men there, too – among them Wally Reid and Jack Pickford. All the pictures were inscribed. The one nearest the door was from a pretty, virginal blonde: For William Desmond Taylor, Artist, Gentleman, Man! Sincere good wishes, Mary Miles Minter. Lasky’s biggest up-and-comer, they said. The next Mary Pickford, they said. Except they’d been saying it a couple of years now and she showed no sign yet of knocking the queen of Hollywood off her throne.
Back into the parlor, more photographs. In pride of place on the bureau, one of Taylor posing beside a fine McFarlan auto, big as a charabanc, a liveried chauffeur behind the wheel – the defining symbol of movieland success. Beside it was a smaller portrait in a delicate silver frame. This was of Mabel Normand. There was another of her on the bookshelves by the wall, and a third, largest of all, mounted in a polished walnut frame on top of the piano. Tom examined it. She was an odd-looking creature, with those huge, half-hooded eyes. Beautiful, no doubt about it, with that little-girl ringlety innocence so favored by the movie-going public. Once, at a party, he saw her light up a room with her laughter. A comical kind of beauty, he supposed.
In the kitchen, he found Sullivan bent over the potbelly stove, poking around in the ash. Time to broach the crucial question.
‘You see all the photographs of Mabel Normand out there? Not exactly the face of a killer, you think?’
‘Can’t be ruled out.’ Sullivan rolled a shoulder stiffly as he straightened up and replaced the lid on the stove. ‘Even if she didn’t do it by her own hand, the killer most likely slipped in when Taylor walked Normand out to her car. Her driver was waiting where I parked just now. Question is: what was she doing paying Taylor a visit anyway?’
‘Didn’t he invite her over?’
‘Only she knows that. Says she phoned him from her bank downtown and came over to pick up some book he’d bought for her. But Taylor’s driver says he was sent over to her place with a book earlier. Why didn’t he take both at the same time?’
‘Maybe Taylor sent the wrong book?’
‘Yeah, maybe. It was Ziegler and Wallace interviewed Normand last night. Said they didn’t get much of a sense of her. She was so darned upset. But I say guilt never stopped anyone sobbing. And she is an actress.’
‘Which, as you’re always telling me, is as far from real life as anyone can get,’ Tom insisted. ‘Besides, I can’t see why she’d do it. I mean, everybody says she was practically engaged to Taylor.’
‘Everybody but her, you mean. You saw what she said in the Times: “Just good pals.” But, you know what? He had a photo of her in a locket in his breast pocket. I wouldn’t mind having a good pal like that.’
Sullivan harrumphed and made an obscene gesture. ‘Something funny was going on. Why else would she deny it?’
‘They’re all running scared since Arbuckle, I know that,’ Tom said. He also knew he wouldn’t get as good a chance again to find out whether Sennett’s name was in the frame.
‘Do you think she’s maybe protecting somebody? Yesterday’s Herald said the squad was following up a jealous ex-lover angle.’
‘The Herald, is it?’ Sullivan gave him a withering look. ‘Well, there’s a steaming pile of gospel truth in that rag every evening, isn’t there? But you know these guys. You can be sure he had more than one iron in the fire. And him old enough to be—’ Sullivan stopped himself, gave a loud tut and another disbelieving shake of the head before continuing. ‘Look, if Normand claims she wasn’t engaged to Taylor, what’s to be jealous about? It doesn’t add up. Especially when no one even noticed he’d been shot. It’s like they were all so busy trying to clean the place out, Taylor was the last thing on their minds.’
‘Cleaning it out? How?’
The big man threw his hands in the air, exasperated. ‘Look, you know it was this Peavey, Taylor’s negro man, who found the body when he arrived for work at seven thirty, right?’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Well, this Peavey calls himself a valet.’ Sullivan raised his eyebrows meaningfully. ‘But from what I’ve seen he’s more the chambermaid type. He woke half the neighborhood with his shrieking when he found Taylor. That’s when Purviance and the MacLeans got involved. Came over to see what was the matter, saw the body and – good citizens of movieland that they are – got on the telephone immediately to report it to … guess who, Tom?’
Sullivan’s sarcasm was enough to give him an idea of what was coming next, but he shook his head just the same and invited Sullivan to enlighten him.
‘It wasn’t us – that’s for sure. No, they called their pals over on Vine.’ There was bitterness to Sullivan’s tone now, as if he’d never cease to be astonished by the depths to which movie folk would sink. ‘I mean, who calls the police any more just because they’ve got a corpse on their hands?’
‘You mean the guys from Lasky’s got here before the cops?’ Tom said, not a little impressed. ‘They must’ve moved pretty damn fast.’
‘All I know is your old boss, Charles Eyton, was standing in the doorway like he owned the place when I arrived.’
‘I read something about Charlie putting in an appearance, but not like that.’
‘Damn right. Directing operations like it was one of his bloody productions. You’d think he was the Chief of Police himself. There were more of his fellas here than ours. Swarming all over the place, they were.’
For the first time in months, Tom was relieved he no longer worked for Lasky. He could only imagine how many cops’ toes Eyton had stepped on, and just the thought of it made him uncomfortable.
‘They were probably looking for love letters or something compromising like that, Thad. Stuff that could embarrass the studio.’
‘Or the evidence, as some of us still call it,’ Sullivan said. ‘We found almost no personal correspondence belonging to Taylor, and that sure as hell can’t be right. For one thing, Miss Normand told Ziegler and Wallace last night that Taylor had a whole stack of letters from her wrapped in ribbon. There was nothing burned. I just checked the stove and it’s clean. But some smart boy was spotted running off with Taylor’s stash of liquor, so Christ knows what else was in the crate. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’
The hair prickled on the back of Tom’s neck. ‘Me? Why would I know anything about it?’
‘I’m just surprised. You tell me you don’t know any of this already, and then you come up with that stuff about the letters.’
‘It was an educated guess, Thad. I know how these people think, remember? They would remove his booze and anything else that could reflect badly on him or the studio. You said yourself, even the cops on call didn’t know Taylor was shot until the coroner arrived. How would the studio benefit from trying to cover up a murder?’
‘I have no idea,’ Sullivan admitted. But it wasn’t enough for him. ‘Sure as hell, something’s not right here. I asked you earlier if you were working for Lasky’s and you sidestepped it, so I took that to be a yes. Because we’re old pals, Tom, I thought I wouldn’t push it. But I didn’t think I’d have to stand here and listen to you talk bull to me into the bargain. That’s not on. We go too far back for that.’
Tom felt the color rising in his cheeks, and tried to keep his voice level. ‘Hey, old pal, I told you on the phone, I’m just making a few inquiries on behalf of a client.’
‘Yeah? Well, maybe you’d better go back to this client of yours and tell him your cop friend doesn’t appreciate being treated like an eejit. Do you hear me?’
How could he not? The man was bellowing like an ox. But Tom didn’t get a chance to argue it. Sullivan put a hand on his shoulder, turned him like a top and pushed him towards the door. He was outside in the sunlight again before he knew it, Sullivan on his heels, pulling the door shut behind him with a thud.
‘I’m sorry you think that’s as far as you and me go, Tom. I really am.’
He turned to see Sullivan ham-fistedly struggling to turn the key in the lock, and couldn’t help but laugh – as much from shock as anything else. ‘You gotta be kidding me, Thad. Come on, seriously? This is me you’re talking to.’
‘I’m glad you find it funny,’ Sullivan growled, turning the key at last. ‘Because I sure as hell don’t. Look, I know you’re hard up, and I don’t blame you for wanting to make a quick buck while you can. But I can’t help being sore at you using me to help out those rotten pups at Lasky. They’ve done so much damage already, interfering with the proper course of this investigation. It’s not right.’
‘You think I’d try and dupe you for a few lousy dollars? How can you even think that?’ Tom glanced away a moment, as much to keep his anger in check as to decide how much more he could afford to reveal. ‘Look, Thad, you know damn well I would never stiff a pal. Not you, and not the guy who’s asked me to look into this for him, either. But especially not you, for Chrissakes. How far back do we go? If you must know, the reason I never said I was working for Lasky’s is because I’m damn well not. And if I was, I would’ve been straight with you and told you so.’
Sullivan flushed to the edge of his hairline and put his huge hands up. ‘Quit your hollering, will you? You’re not supposed to be here, so calm yourself down.’ He ran a quick eye around the courtyard to check for twitching curtains and saw none. ‘Look, maybe I shouldn’t have gone jumping to conclusions like that. But what can I say? You’re not confiding in me, are you?’
‘I can’t yet,’ Tom said, as they began walking back towards the street. ‘But it won’t affect your case, I promise you. OK?
‘All right, whatever,’ Sullivan muttered, embarrassed now. They reached the sidewalk and he put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. Easy this time, a confidential look in his eye. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I was out of line. But there’s a load of shite going on with this investigation that I don’t understand. All sorts of muck coming down from the top, and I don’t like the smell of it. It makes me jumpy.’
‘Coming down? From where? From the Chief?’
Sullivan shook his head non-committally.
‘From the DA?’
Again, Sullivan said nothing, a confirmation in itself. District Attorney Thomas Woolwine’s links to the movie industry were, some said, entirely responsible for his rapid climb to the top branches of Los Angeles’ law enforcement tree.
‘Well, Taylor was a big cheese, wasn’t he?’ Tom offered. ‘Those guys are sure to feel the heat with so many headlines in it. It’ll settle down in a day or two.’
‘Maybe. But if you ask me, the whole affair stinks. Whoever your pal is, take my advice, Tom, get shot of this right now. Don’t get dragged in.’
‘Ah now, Thad.’ He tapped Sullivan’s shoulder and smiled broadly. ‘You know if you say that to me, I won’t be able to keep my nose out.’
‘I’m serious, Tom. It isn’t worth it.’ Sullivan nodded towards his machine. ‘I got to get going. Look, we should organize that evening out. Maybe do the fights one Friday. I’ve haven’t been out in Venice since that last time with you. Stonefist Miller, d’you remember? What a smacker!’
A smacker it certainly was. The knockout punch set Tom’s ears ringing ten rows back. He laughed and watched as Sullivan bent and cranked the ancient Ford. Engine spluttering to life, he removed his hat and clambered in, accompanied by a squeal of protesting springs.
‘Let me know if you hear anything,’ Sullivan shouted over the clatter, then eased away from the curb, turning in a wide arc and chugging down the hill.
Tom watched him go, and breathed free for the first time in an hour.