The cop who got it was a Harbor City homicide detective named Samuels. I didn’t know him, but he took my story at face value and I liked him for it. He was a redheaded Irishman with piercing blue eyes and a spate of freckles from his hairline all the way down into his collar. His coat hung limp, like there wasn’t much for it to hang on, but from watching him move it was clear that there was a lot of wiry strength there. He smoked cheap cigars that came in cellophane which he cut open with a pocketknife, putting the cellophane back in his pocket. I liked him for that too. We stood in the dining room while the medical examiner and the photography boys took care of the body. He spoke quietly but forcefully.
“These Hollywood investigations are a farce. The studio will shut it down when they get wind of it tomorrow. Today, I guess.”
“There are still a few hours before they have to hear of it,” I said. “And it is murder. There’s only so much that can be kept under wraps in a murder.”
“Yeah, just who was murdered, and who did the murdering.”
“The studio really has that much on you boys? I thought the law was untouchable in this town.”
“Go on and laugh. Of course the studios can’t order us to stop our investigation, but it seems that the bosses have a way of making it so that it should be a low priority with even a lower profile.”
“The bosses,” I said.
“The bosses.” He smoked his cigar as the medical examiner, a young man with an expression of sobriety twice his age, went towards the front door with his bag. “You got anything for me, Doc?” Samuels said.
“She’s dead,” the ME said with his hand on the screen door’s latch.
“That your professional opinion?”
The doc made a straight line of his mouth. “It was within the last six to eight hours. The cuts are all deep and inelegant.”
“So this guy didn’t know how to use a knife?” Samuels said.
“No, it looks more like he didn’t know his own strength. The cuts are deliberate, no hesitation.”
Samuels nodded and blew a plume of smoke.
“I’ll have the rest once I get her on the table.” And with that he went outside.
The sky might have been brighter out there or maybe I just hoped it was. “She have any family?” I said.
“An aunt and a grandma out in Wichita,” Samuels said, flat.
“Isn’t it always Wichita?”
“It always is.” He paused. “You got any ideas you might be thinking of looking into on your own?”
“I was thinking of looking into a shower and then into my bed, but maybe into a liquor store first if I can find one that’s open this early.”
“Cut that and tell it to me straight, like you’ve been doing up until now.”
I sighed and shook my head. “I’ve barely been on this thing longer than you have. This is just on the side of my job.”
“The job that is why you were following Rosenkrantz.”
“Yeah.”
“So it must have been a divorce job?”
I smiled but didn’t say anything.
“You sure you can’t tell me?”
“Not unless you can make me understand what it has to do with this murder.”
“How can I do that unless I know what the job was?”
“I guess you can’t.”
He squinted at me then and bit down on his cigar. “The tech get your prints?”
“You’ve got them on file.”
He nodded. “You can go then. Just don’t leave town, the usual story.”
“I’ll be right where you expect to find me.”
“Yeah, well. Good night.”
“Good morning, detective.” We shook hands. I went out the screen door into the chill of the morning. The sky was starting to show purple at the edges, like a bruise. I’d be able to see the sunrise if I could find a place to watch it from.
My car had the bottled-up smell of sweat and stale smoke. I rolled down the windows to let in the cool air while it lasted, and started the engine. I had been hired to babysit a paranoid prima donna, and I had ended up finding a dead woman cut almost to pieces. For some reason, I felt as though I hadn’t done a very good job.
I could at least try to make up for it. I pulled away from the curb and instead of heading back to Hollywood I took the turn at Montgomery.