Staring into the Darkness (Urban & Brazil Book 1)

by Tim Ellis

  Mrs Rackham appeared. ‘Are you all right, Detective?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘Found what you were looking for?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Good luck, then.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He carried on. Now, he was not only looking for events in municipal parks, but also any mention of the items found on the bodies of the victims.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Been shopping, dear?’ Martha said as she squeezed into the elevator beside her.

  It was obvious she’d been shopping, because she was loaded down with bags. She’d spent a fortune on dresses, skirts, tops, underwear, shoes and jewellery by designers she’d previously only ever heard Annie talking about such as Pierre Balmain, Jean Desses, Bonnie Cashin, Christian Dior and Anne Klein.

  She pulled a face. ‘What makes you think that, Martha?’

  Martha laughed. ‘A bit of a daft question really, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I’ll say. I needed some new clothes. All I had were sensible work clothes, which weren’t very flattering.’

  ‘I thought you looked lovely, dear.’

  ‘And I should take your word for it, should I?’

  Martha laughed again. ‘I guess not. What do I know about ladies’ fashion?’

  She didn’t tell Martha what she’d really bought the clothes for. The less people who knew what she was planning to do the better.

  ‘I needed cheering up.’

  ‘With what you’ve been doing on those pin boards with Detective Urban it’s hardly surprising, dear.’

  The elevator reached the fifth floor and the doors opened.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea, dear?’

  ‘Maybe another time, Martha. I have to put all these things away and then I need to do something important.’

  ‘Not to worry, dear. You know you only have to knock when you want some company.’

  ‘I know. Thank you.’

  She let herself into the apartment, took all the bags into the bedroom and put everything away. When the clothes were hung on the rails, the shoes lined up at the bottom of the wardrobe, and the underwear stuffed into drawers, it hardly seemed like she’d bought anything.

  After making herself a cup of tea, she called Eliza Linton at the Herald-Examiner.

  ‘News room,’ a male voice said.

  ‘Could I speak to Eliza, please?’

  ‘Not here.’

  ‘Could I leave a message for her to call me when she gets back?’

  ‘Sure. And your name is?’

  ‘Katie.’

  ‘Does she know who you are, Katie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. So, the time is quarter to four. Katie called and wants you to call her?’

  ‘Yes. Any idea when she’ll be back?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll wait for her call then.’

  ‘Probably best.’

  The line disconnected.

  She replaced the receiver, retrieved Sam Rich’s business card from her handbag and called the number printed on it.

  ‘Sam Rich – agent to the stars.’

  ‘You gave me one of your cards in the Pacific Dining Car restaurant yesterday.’

  ‘Black wavy hair, green dress, a face that could launch a thousand movie cameras.’

  ‘You have a good memory and a silver tongue, Mister Rich.’

  ‘Nobody calls me “Mister Rich” unless they owe me money. You don’t owe me money, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you can call me Sam. What do I call you, beautiful?’

  ‘Katie Brazil.’

  ‘A name that rolls off the tongue. Tell me you want me to represent you, Katie Brazil?’

  ‘I do, Sam.’

  ‘My dreams have come true.’

  ‘What do I have to do?’

  ‘You have to ignore all other offers, hurry over here and sign on the dotted line for me. I’m going to make you a star of the silver screen, Katie Brazil.’

  ‘That sounds good, but it’s late. I’ll come to your office first thing in the morning?’

  ‘I can’t change your mind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll just have to wait then.’

  ‘What will I have to do tomorrow, Sam?’

  ‘After you’ve signed the contract we’ll get you in for a screen test. That’s the most important thing. If you’re a wash-out in front of the camera, then the contract becomes null and void . . . There’s a clause on page seven that states that.’

  ‘What do I have to do for the screen test?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, well you can do a cold reading of Scarlet O’Hara from Gone With the Wind. How would that be?’

  ‘I don’t know the film or the person.’

  ‘What! Where’ve you been, Katie? It’s one of the greatest films ever made. It had Clarke Gable in the lead role as Rhett Butler, and an English actress called Vivien Leigh as Scarlet O’Hara.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Well, never mind. Come to my office tomorrow morning and we’ll take things from there.’

  ‘Do I have to wear anything special?’

  ‘Of course, you should come looking your best. Do you have a casting portfolio?’

  ‘What’s one of those?’

  ‘I can see I’m going to have my work cut out with you, Katie. A casting portfolio consists of a set of photographs that catches the attention; shows your versatility as an actress; highlights your personality and range of emotions; and comprises different images, which can be sent to casting directors for a specific role.’

  ‘I won’t have to take my clothes off, will I?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I run a respectable and reputable talent agency . . . You’re not interested in pornographic movies, are you?’

  ‘No, I am not.’

  ‘I only ask, because some actresses are, and I don’t want us to get our wires crossed from the outset. If you don’t mind me saying though Katie, you sound a bit naïve. You are aware that sometimes a film script requires you to do certain things such as kiss a man, wear a swimsuit, take some of your clothes off . . .’

  ‘Yes, but nothing really bad?’

  ‘Oh no! The Production Code Administration – PCA for short – requires that all films produced by the major studios obtain a certificate of approval before being released. The last thing anybody needs is for the government to become involved and start dictating what the studios can and can’t do.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Come in tomorrow morning . . . By the way, “first thing” is about ten o’clock around here. Late nights don’t lend themselves to early mornings.’

  ‘Ten o’clock is fine.’

  ‘Once you’re here, we’ll get all the paperwork out of the way, and then I’ll take you over and supervise the screen test myself. If that’s a success, then we’ll go and see the photographer. By the end of the day, I’ll have your photograph in front of every casting director and director in Hollywood. Then, we simply sit back and wait for the offers to come in. Today, you’re an unknown; but next week you’ll be a star.’

  ‘I’m already excited.’

  ‘And so you should be.’

  She hung up the phone.

  Well, she was on her way. Sam Rich was right – she was naïve about Hollywood and the movie business, but she wasn’t stupid. She really had no idea what she was getting herself into, so a man to watch out for her was imperative. Annie, and probably the other women as well, had been on their own. There’d been no one to look after them when they got into trouble.

  The phone jangled.

  ‘Katie Brazil.’

  ‘It’s Eliza.’

  ‘How are things with you?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’d love to chat with you, but I don’t have time. I received an anonymous tip earlier about a steamer trunk, which was owned by Elizabeth Short – you remember
, The Black Dahlia?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, this trunk was in the left luggage store at the Greyhound bus station downtown, but it’s now here in my newspaper office. It includes letters, photographs and clothing that belonged to Short.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you give the trunk to the police?’

  ‘Of course we’ll give it to the police . . . After we’ve been through it and photographed everything in it. Anyway, I’m on a deadline. This is tomorrow’s front page.’

  ‘Where did the tip come from?’

  ‘Anonymous.’

  ‘You don’t think it was the killer?’

  ‘I guess we’ll never know. So, what did you want?’

  ‘I’ve decided to pursue an acting career.’

  ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

  ‘You sound like Erik.’

  ‘I don’t mean to, but you could be putting your life in danger.’

  ‘Which is exactly why I’m doing it, and why I’m calling you. You said you knew a man who could act as my bodyguard.’

  ‘Yes. His name is Don Carroll. Do you want me to call him?’

  ‘Please. Can you ask him to come to my apartment at nine o’clock tomorrow morning?’

  ‘What are you planning to do?’

  ‘I have an appointment with Sam Rich . . .’

  ‘There are better agents in Hollywood than him.’

  ‘We won’t find the killer by going to the top agencies.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘After I’ve signed a contract, I have a screen test. If I pass that, I then need a photographic portfolio for casting directors. By this time next week you’ll have to queue up to speak to me.’

  ‘Or you could be victim number nine?’

  ‘Being a crime reporter has made you cynical, Eliza.’

  ‘With good reason. I’ll call Don now and make sure he’s available. If I don’t call you back, he’ll be there at nine.’

  ‘Does he have a car?’

  ‘Yes. He drives a Hudson sedan that looks as though he bought it at the junk yard.’

  ‘Great! Oh, and let’s keep this between you and me? Erik doesn’t need to know.’

  ‘All right, but be careful, Katie.’

  ‘I will.’

  She replaced the receiver.

  ***

  After eating his lunch sitting on a wall outside the library, he closed his eyes and let the sun caress his face. The last time he’d done that had been during the war with the 1st Marine Division. He’d had his back against a rock on Peleliu in September 1944 – was it only just over three years ago? They’d been trying to take the airstrip from the Japanese, but were pinned down by snipers in a lethal crossfire and couldn’t move. The only thing to do was to sit there, take stock and enjoy the enforced rest. It was called Operation Stalemate for good reason.

  ‘This is where I usually come to eat my lunch,’ a familiar female voice said. ‘There’s a bit of traffic and a few people coming and going, but it’s mostly quiet.’

  He opened his eyes to find Mrs Rackham sitting beside him. ‘And don’t forget the midday sun,’ he added.

  She sighed. ‘We spend all day locked inside drab buildings. I’m sure that’s not what God intended for us.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you married, Detective Urban?’

  ‘No. Never found the time. You?’

  ‘I was married to Henry for eighteen months, but then the war came along, he was drafted into the Army and never came back.’

  ‘It took a lot of good men.’

  ‘And even the ones who did come back weren’t the same as those who left.’

  He knew all about that. ‘No.’

  ‘How long did you serve?’

  ‘Four years.’

  ‘Was it as bad as they say?’

  ‘Much worse.’

  ‘Do you like liver loaf, Detective?’

  ‘Don’t tell me, you’re doing a survey of the food likes and dislikes of your library members?’

  Her lip curled up. ‘A Chief Librarian has many responsibilities.’

  ‘Yes, I like it well enough. According to the advertisements it has “B vitamins that help keep you smiling with glowing health”.’

  ‘Which is something you can’t afford to turn your nose up at.’

  ‘That’s very true.’

  ‘I’m cooking liver loaf and buttered spinach for my evening meal tonight, with banana drop cookies for dessert. It would be just as much work cooking for one as it would be for two, if I can tempt you to join me?’

  He stared at her. The war had left a lot of widows, but she was still young enough to make a life for herself. ‘Do you have a hidden agenda, Mrs Rackham?’

  Her face turned crimson. ‘Absolutely not. As I said, a Chief Librarian has many responsibilities, and one of those responsibilities is looking after the wellbeing of her members.’

  It should be him asking her out, not the other way round. But these were strange times. And when was the last time he’d asked a woman out? Or even thought about it? He hadn’t. Not since Eva. And if he was being honest, he was nothing to look at. What did she see in him? He’d be a fool, not only to turn his nose up at the liver loaf and buttered spinach, but to decline her company as well. ‘What time do you want me?’

  ‘Seven thirty?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Apartment 4E, 700 South Saint Andrews Plaza, Leimert Park.’

  He committed it to memory. It would take him about thirty minutes from George Washington Heights, but it was a straight run up Western Avenue. ‘Looking forward to it, Mrs Rackham.’

  ‘Marilyn. My maiden name was Kendrick.’

  ‘In which case, my name is Erik – with a k.’

  ‘Derived from the Old Norse Erikr, which means eternal ruler, or king – like Erik the Red.’

  ‘I was probably abandoned in translation.’

  She laughed.

  It was the first time he’d seen or heard her laugh. It was a natural laugh and she had good teeth to go with it. How strange, he thought. He hadn’t even noticed her before, but now he was looking at her differently. In his weakened mind they were already married with two children and a dog, and living in a house with a white picket fence in the suburbs.

  ‘How’s your research going?’

  ‘Do you remember that I said I was looking for crimes in municipal parks?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, now I’m also looking for events surrounding actresses, and although there’s an entertainments’ section in the newspapers, it’s not very helpful.’

  ‘If you want to know about movie stars you need to look at three magazines. Hollywood & Screen Life was first published in 1941. Before that, it was Motion Picture Magazine, which ran from 1914 until 1941. There was also a supplement called Motion Picture Classic between 1925 and 1931.’

  ‘And you have those on microfilm?’

  ‘Yes. Would you like me to bring them for you?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll get to them today, but if I could have them tomorrow, that would be great?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He pushed himself up and collected the lunchbox and flask from the wall. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go back and start again, and I’ll see you at seven-thirty tonight.’

  ‘I’ll walk back in with you.’

  Back at the microreader he continued going through the pages. It was considerably quicker now that he didn’t have to strain his eyes searching the small print on the entertainments’ page.

  However, the shooting of Mabel Normand’s lover – Courtney S Dines – three times by her chauffeur with her pistol on New Year’s Day 1924, was on the front page. As he read the article, he realised that it could very easily be considered another connection to the murders. This one to Paula Simpson and the car key left between her breasts. The car key represented the key to Norman’s Stutz Bearcat limousine. But like the other connections – it was tenuous to say the least. If he went into the
police department and told the other guys what he suspected, they’d think he was still sick. The Lieutenant would probably sign him off for another six months, or worse still – fire him.

  They’d accuse him of making the facts fit his theory. Would they be right? He was beginning to doubt himself, his thought processes. He had a dead rattlesnake, a snake brassiere and Theda Bara; then there was a new red shoe, a suspicious death and Thelma Todd; lastly, there was a car key, the Dines’ shooting and Mabel Normand. All three women were silent movie stars. Was he making it up? Was he seeing what he wanted to see? Was it simply desperation? He had no idea. And the more he thought about it, the more he began to doubt there were any connections at all.

  He stopped, switched everything off, collected up his things and made his way to the reception.

  There was a queue of people at the desk.

  Mrs Rackham – Marilyn – looked up.

  He smiled and waved.

  She responded in kind.

  He’d already said that he’d see her later, so he didn’t need to repeat himself.

  Outside, he hailed a cab.

  ‘Washington Heights, Old Town Torrance,’ he said to the driver, made himself comfortable and closed his eyes.

  ***

  Eliza hadn’t called her back, so she guessed Don Carroll was available to act as her bodyguard. Was she doing the right thing? What choice did she have? The police were getting nowhere, and were unlikely to find the killer by sitting in the police department waiting for leads to fall into their laps. They had no idea who the killer was, and no idea how to catch him. As long as she took precautions, which she was doing, everything would work out fine.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Erik.’

  She opened to door to let Erik in. ‘Hello. How was your day?’

  ‘Not bad. I thought I’d drop in to let you know how things are going before I have a lie down.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I went to see someone who knows about Hollywood actresses and as soon as I mentioned the dead rattlesnake left between Hildegard Zinn’s breasts, he thought of Theda Bara playing Cleopatra in 1917.’