As it turned out, Judy was afraid of flying. She was also afraid of guns, a fear she said materialized when she was making Girl Crazy with Mickey Rooney for Busby Berkeley. The constant gunfire all around so unnerved her that she had to take to her bed for five days.
So, because of her fear of airplanes, we agreed to drive to Las Vegas. Actually, by the time we could have contacted Frank, got a plane, driven to the airport, boarded and flown to Vegas, we would have been there by car. It was only 270 miles, after all.
Judy called Harrington in the morning and had him drive over in her car, which turned out to be a silver Rolls-Royce Phantom V MPW limo.
‘Is this OK?’ she asked hopefully as we stood in the parking lot.
Jerry was speechless.
‘CBS insisted on this car,’ she said. ‘And they gave me a driver during the run of my show. Lately it hasn’t been used much, though.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘Jerry’s the driver. Is this OK, Big Guy?’
He was too busy running his hands over the finish to answer.
‘It’s OK,’ I told Judy.
Harrington left to take a cab home. She told him he could close up the house and take a few days off.
We went inside to get our bags, and Jerry stowed them in the trunk without ripping his stitches. Then Judy and I got in the back, while Jerry slid behind the wheel. The leather interior still smelled brand new. I hoped neither of us would bleed all over it.
Jerry didn’t start the car right away, just sat there and ran his hands over the steering wheel.
‘Jerry?’
‘Yeah, Mr G.,’ he said, ‘I’m goin’. Just gimme a minute.’
I looked at Judy and said, ‘He’s just got to get his heartbeat down.’
She nodded, still unhappy that I hadn’t let her call Mark Herron. I told her I thought it would be better to wait until we were in Vegas.
I hadn’t even called Danny or Jack Entratter to tell them we were returning. I didn’t want to give anyone a heads-up. We hadn’t checked out of the hotel that morning; I’d let Entratter take care of the bill from Vegas.
However, before Harrington even arrived with the limo there was a knock on the door … and a bellhop handed me an envelope.
‘Somebody left this at the front desk for you last night, sir.’
‘Thanks.’ I tipped him and sent him on his way. When I opened the envelope, I called out to Jerry, ‘Well, now we know what Boyd was doin’ back here last night.’
‘What’s that?’ he called from the kitchen.
I joined him and waved the envelope.
‘It’s Boyd’s report on the house where we found Jacks and Peggy.’
‘Damn,’ he said. ‘He came back to drop that off and got killed for it? Wait till I get my hands on whoever pulled that trigger.’
We’d been in the middle of a simple breakfast of toast and coffee, so I sat back down across from him. Judy was in the bedroom, packing.
‘What’s it say?’ Jerry asked.
‘His note says there’s a paper trail of companies that own the house, rent it out … a real estate rental office is involved … damn, he followed all this on the phone?’ There were a few sheets of a typewritten report. I assumed he’d had a typewriter in his hotel room.
‘Where does it lead?’
‘Wait …’ I went through the report, then put the pages down. ‘He doesn’t come to the end of it. He was still workin’ on it. Damn.’
‘Then why’d he bother bringin’ it around?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I wish I did. Maybe he just meant to give it to us, forgot and hurried back.’
‘To die,’ Jerry said. ‘He was a good guy.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘he was.’
In the back seat, Judy was kind of quiet, pensive – or maybe just nervous about Jerry’s driving. So far we’d only driven from her house to the hotel, but now we’d be on the highway.
‘I hope he won’t drive too fast,’ she said. ‘We’re not in a hurry to get there, are we, Eddie?’
I took her hand and said, ‘We’re not in a hurry, at all, Judy. Don’t worry.’
I leaned forward and banged on the open partition.
‘Home, Jerry!’