CHAPTER 19
Anna began to despair of ever solving the case of the Griffith Park Executioner. During the following week, she barely saw Joe, who had been recruited back to Chinatown for another case. The only development was an angry letter from the postmaster returning Anna’s grizzly crime scene photo and admonishing that “Officer Singer use better judgment in the future.” Luckily, Anna saw it on Joe’s desk and intercepted it before he could read it.
Anna did have plenty of matron’s work to do and was doing it when Joe knocked on the frame of her open storeroom door. He looked serious, but she thought he might be hiding a smile. He stepped through accompanied by a woman. “Good morning, Assistant Matron Blanc. Another witness has come forward. May I introduce Miss Allie Sutton, formerly of the Jonquil Apartments.” He raised his eyebrows.
The young lady was nearly as fair as Matilda, with intelligent blue eyes, dark lashes, and glorious red hair. She was about Anna’s age. Anna stood and beamed. “Hello, Miss Sutton.” She turned to Joe. “Can she enlighten us about the man from Mars?”
Joe weighed the question, tilting his head. “Maybe.”
Miss Sutton whirled on Joe. “Are you two making fun of me?”
“No, Miss Sutton, we’re deadly serious.” Now seeing the lady in profile, Anna wondered if she might have a bun in the oven. Though she went in at the sides, she popped out in the front. Another reason not to have children.
“She heard about the raid on the grapevine and she’s come to bring charges against Mrs. Rosenberg and one Mr. King, a.k.a. The Black Pearl.”
Anna indicated her own chair. “Do have a seat, Miss Sutton.”
Miss Sutton perched nervously on the edge. “I’m not sure I should be here. In fact, I think I’ll go.” She rose from her seat, her gloved hands clasping each other. “I could use something to steady my nerves.”
“Please stay.” Anna gently pushed down on her shoulder, guiding her back into the chair. “I’d offer you a medicinal whiskey, but matrons don’t ever drink whiskey.”
“That’s a shame,” said Miss Sutton.
“But cops can drink whiskey. Officer Singer, why don’t you offer her a drink?”
Joe shook his head. “I’m sorry Miss Sutton, I regret I don’t have any—”
Anna opened her drawer and retrieved a bottle of Georges’s fine Canadian whiskey. There was no reason not to share it. Georges was a bottomless jar. She handed it to Joe. “Here’s your whiskey. Right here in this desk.”
He cleared his throat. “Miss Sutton, would you like some of, uh, my whiskey?”
“If you please.”
Anna handed Joe a glass and he filled it. Miss Sutton tossed it back like water.
“Better?” Anna moved Joe’s hand to the bottle. He got the hint and refilled Miss Sutton’s glass.
Miss Sutton sipped this time, savoring it. “Mm. My lover drank good whiskey. I got used to it.”
“Oh, it’s terrible to have the good stuff, and then to only have the bad stuff. So, I would guess,” said Anna.
Miss Sutton nodded. “It isn’t his whiskey I miss most. It’s him. But I hate him too, you understand?”
Anna looked at Joe and nodded her head. “No. Matrons can’t have lovers.”
“Miss Sutton. The Jonquil Apartments . . .” Joe said gently.
“Oh yes. I lived there, and nefarious things were afoot. I was seventeen and acting in movies. I still do. That is, I did.”
“How interesting,” said Anna. “I love the movies.”
“Mrs. Rosenberg owns the resort, the café, and the apartments. She introduced me to Mr. King. She introduced all the girls to someone. They took us to the resort. There are baths and a massage parlor. I don’t need to tell you what happened.”
“You don’t need to, but I would appreciate it,” said Anna. “You can’t be too detailed.”
Joe suppressed a smile. “Did Mrs. Rosenberg or Mr. King ever drug you?”
“Heavens no. You don’t understand. If a girl didn’t like the arrangement, she left. And Lori Tice even married her man.”
“The Black Pearl’s new lover had a bruise on her hand. I wonder if he ever hurt you.”
Miss Sutton flinched at the mention of another lover. “He never hit me. It wasn’t sordid. And, I’m not a prostitute. Mr. King gave me gifts, of course, but I was in love with him and he was in love with me. I’m sure of it. He was handsome and amusing. I only ever left him because he said he could never marry me.”
Joe and Anna exchanged a look. Anna said, “Why?”
“Why can’t a man marry the woman he loves? Because he’s already married, clearly. I don’t know where she is or who she is. I just know she is.” She pressed her eyes with her fingertips, then looked up and cleared her throat. “So, I quit him. That was five months ago.”
“When did you last see Mr. King?”
“Once more after that. He came to the Jonquil and begged to have me back. When I refused, he got angry and broke a lamp.” She laughed joylessly. “He came another time when I was out. So, I left the Jonquil. I had to leave anyway or take another lover.”
“Does Mr. King know you’re carrying his child?” said Joe.
It was a rude question, but it had to be asked. Anna was glad Joe had done it so that she didn’t have to.
“He’ll find out when I testify. But I want nothing to do with a married man.”
“How will you support yourself.”
“I write scenarios for the movies now. I’m quite good.”
“And you knew other girls at the Jonquil who were seduced by rich men?”
“Yes.”
“And Mr. King brought men to the Jonquil?”
“Yes. He procures things for wealthy men. Whatever they need. Nothing too awful. Just makes introductions. Connects people. Sometimes he loans them money.”
“So where do we find your Mr. King?”
“That’s not his real name,” said Miss Sutton. “He wouldn’t give me his real name.”
Joe and Anna exchanged another look.
“I’m not stupid. Deep down I knew. I suppose I didn’t want to know.” She wiped a tear.
“What did you call him?” asked Anna.
“Bear. I called him my Bear.”
Anna turned to Joe. “How are we going to find Miss Sutton’s bear? Lie in wait at the Jonquil for someone burly and covered in hair?”
“Nope, we spooked him. I doubt he’ll be dining at the Jonquil Café for a while.”
Later that afternoon, Clementine and Sue played Parcheesi on the floor in the storeroom while Anna puzzled over what to do with them. Finding the twins employment should be easier than placing Matilda as they were sane. She herself would furnish their references, attesting to their dull character and love of Parcheesi, which should keep them out of trouble, leaving the Jonquil out altogether. She wrote to every wealthy lady of her acquaintance, signing the letters “Clara Breedlove” as Anna herself was disgraced. Her best friend, Clara, was not, and probably wouldn’t mind. Either way, she wouldn’t find out for months, as Clara was in Europe. Anna jotted off a note to the mayor’s mother, Mrs. Smucker, who she knew was ill-tempered and thus could not keep servants. She was always looking for help. Anna even wrote to the tight-lacer who ran the Friday Morning Club to see if the girls could sell musicale tickets door-to-door.
Anna heard a knock and looked up to see Joe standing in the doorway, his mouth a straight, hard line. Allie Sutton loomed beside him, slightly out of breath.
Anna said, “Hello again, Miss Sutton. Hello Detective.”
Miss Sutton hurried to Anna’s desk and spread the Los Angeles Herald out across her stack of letters. She pointed triumphantly at a photo on the front page. “There. I found this on a trolley seat, so I turned around and came back.”
The newspaper was over a week old and contained the article about Anna.
Anna leaned over. “There where?”
“It’s him, don’t you see. The Black Pearl.”
Anna leaned closer and peered at the newspaper and the picture of a man with gray eyes and thick, ebony, wavy hair. “That’s not the Black Pearl or Mr. King or whatever you call him. That’s Georges Devereaux.”
“I’m telling you. It’s my Bear,” said Miss Sutton.
Joe’s worried eyes met Anna’s. “Miss Sutton are you absolutely sure?”
Miss Sutton’s face darkened. “Oh, I’m sure.”
Anna laughed. “You’re mistaken. He might have some resemblance to Mr. King.”
Joe said, “Miss Sue, Miss Clementine, is that Mr. King?”
Sue blinked vacuously at Joe. “We never saw Mr. King. We were only there a week.”
Clementine shook her head.
Anna paced. “Of course Georges isn’t Mr. King. Miss Sutton, thank you for your time. Goodbye.”
Joe said, “Thank you Miss Sutton.”
Miss Sutton strode to the door. She turned back before exiting. “It’s him. I swear it.” Then she was gone.
“Twins, you may go help Matilda with the sewing.”
Sue obeyed immediately. Clementine dragged her feet.
When they’d gone, Joe said, “Anna, if he wasn’t your brother, we would check this out. Mrs. Rosenberg won’t talk. It’s our only lead.”
“If he wasn’t my brother, we wouldn’t already know that he’s a good man.”
“Being related to you doesn’t make him a good man. We don’t know anything about Georges.”
“We know he’s of good stock. And how dare you? I won’t have it. I won’t have you insulting Georges. You’re accusing him of prostituting minor girls, and he invited you to dinner.”
“I tell you what. Let’s just see if Matilda recognizes him from this picture. If she doesn’t, well, maybe I’ll reconsider. But if she does, will you agree to let me just talk to him?”
“It’s a moot point. She won’t recognize him because he wasn’t there!”
“Okay, Anna. He wasn’t there.”
Matilda wandered in from the hallway. “Matron Clemens said you might need help filing?” She looked uncertainly at the heap of paper on Anna’s messy desk.
Joe handed Matilda the newspaper article. “Is this the man from Mars?”
Matilda was silent for a long moment. Her eyes grew shiny. “No.”
“You see?” said Anna.
“Have you seen him before?” Joe asked.
“She doesn’t know him, Detective Singer,” Anna said pointedly.
Matilda frowned in recollection. “Yes. He was at the café?” Her voice lilted in a question.
The roses in Anna’s cheeks lost their petals. She walked to the window and stuck her head out, breathing short, quick breaths. She heard Joe say, “Thank you, Matilda. Maybe you can file later. I need Assistant Matron Blanc’s help with something important right now. Do you need me to let you back into the cow ring?”
Matilda said. “No, I’m fine. I’ll go help Mr. Melvin.”
The room fell quiet. Joe strode to the door and closed it. He crossed back to Anna’s side and took her in his arms. She was as stiff as a corpse.
She lowered her head onto his shoulder. “He has epilepsy, you know. You could send him into a fit.”
“It’s probably not him,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s probably just someone who looks like him. But I have to check. It’s my job to check.”
“Let’s show his picture to Samara Mowrey at the Jonquil Apartments. She’s the Black Pearl’s lover. You’ll see how wrong you are.”
Anna and Joe arrived at the Jonquil Café at the dinner hour. There were fewer ladies dining than before, and no men. Mrs. Rosenberg did not make an appearance, though her lawyer had arranged her bail. The maître d’ glared at Joe.
Samara Mowrey was present, and once more sat at her table alone. She was eating enchiladas. Joe approached flashing his big brass star. Anna, too, flashed her little brass star.
Samara groaned. “I know by now you’re with the police.”
Joe sat down in the chair next to Samara and spread out the newspaper with the photo of Georges. “Good morning Miss Mowrey. See this man? A witness claims he’s the Black Pearl, a.k.a. your Mr. King.”
Samara glanced at the newspaper photo. “No. My lover has golden hair. And this man isn’t even handsome.”
“I really couldn’t judge. He looks like my father,” said Anna. “And, of course he’s not your lover.”
“Are you sure?” asked Joe.
Samara rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m sure.”
Joe scooted back his chair and stood, unsmiling. “Thank you for your time Miss Mowrey.”
“Yes, thank you Miss Mowrey.” Anna inclined and nodded her head.
They debriefed near a palm tree in the corner of the café. Joe whispered, “Of course she’d say ‘no.’ I’d expected her to say ‘no.’ He’s her lover and we’re the police.”
“That doesn’t make Georges the Black Pearl. Now, can we go back to the station?”
“Let’s ask the waitstaff.” Joe swaggered over to the burly maître d’. “Do you know this man?”
The maître d’ glanced at the picture. “Never saw him before in my life.”
“And wouldn’t tell me if you did?”
The maître d’ smirked. “Of course, I am always happy to cooperate with the police.”
Joe chuckled cynically. He approached the waiter. “Do you know this man?”
“No.”
“Here, look again. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You see,” said Anna. “Just let it go.”
“First thing tomorrow morning, we’re going to talk to Georges.”