Murder On Ice

by P. J. Conn

  "Go ahead and pursue it," Joe encouraged. "Do you know anything about Archibald Sutton, Cookie's agent?"

  "He represents what I'd describe as the second tier of stars. I've never heard anything bad said about him. Do you think he might have had something to do with her murder?"

  "No, I just wondered about him." The telephone rang, and Marty got up to leave as Joe reached to answer. "See you." Not too often, Joe hoped.

  Chapter 3

  Stephen Bennett, a CPA, had an office in Joe's building. Joe walked down the hallway to ask him to take a look at the contract Archibald Sutton had given him. "I know you're not an attorney, but how does the math look to you?"

  The accountant frowned as he gave the document a swift review. "Ten percent is standard, but he's asking you for a three-year commitment. Are you actually taking up acting in your spare time?"

  "No, I just let him think so."

  "Then you don't want to sign anything, Joe, or it might come back to bite you later."

  "I can see how it could. Thanks, Stephen." Joe went back to his office to think it over. He glanced at his watch, and reached for the telephone book for the number of the Disney Studios in Burbank. He asked to speak with Vince Thornton in the business department. The Disney operator promptly connected him to John Marks, and Joe used an imaginative story that always worked.

  "My name is Joe Ezell, and I'm attempting to locate a man who has come into a large inheritance. The family has mislaid his contact information, but they believe he's working at Disney. His name is Vince Thornton. Do you know him?"

  "Vince Thornton? Never heard of him." Marks's gruff voice fit his curt manner perfectly.

  "He's a graduate of the University of Colorado, and would probably have been hired in June. Does that sound familiar?"

  "No. This is a small department, and we haven't taken on anyone new since last March."

  "Is there another department where he might work, budgeting or accounting perhaps?"

  "No, again. We're all in one office. Lots of people want to work for Disney, but that doesn't mean they actually do."

  Joe gave him his telephone number. "Thanks for talking with me, Mr. Marks. Give me a call if Mr. Thornton appears, but don't tell him the good news. Let me surprise him. He'll thank you and maybe even give you a reward."

  "Yeah, sure he will."

  Disney was known for their beautifully animated characters, and Joe pictured John Marks as a grumpy bullfrog whose lily pad was rapidly sinking beneath him.

  The main offices of the Los Angeles Unified School District were downtown, and rather than make a trip and get caught in the late afternoon traffic, Joe gave them a call as well. Unfortunately, his inheritance story failed to work on the secretary who answered the telephone in personnel.

  "We never give out names of teachers, or where they're assigned. You may be a well-meaning person, Mr. Bell,—"

  "It's Ezell," Joe emphasized.

  "Whatever, sir, as I said, you may be a lovely man, but others are not. If a teacher wishes you to know her school, she'll contact you herself."

  "That's an excellent policy for security," Joe complimented. "Would you take a message and see that it gets to Mrs. Thornton? Unless she has my number and knows I'm calling about a substantial inheritance, she won't know to call me."

  "If you insist, but I'll make no promises."

  Joe gave her his number and said good-bye. The police would find her school, if she really worked for the LAUSD, but they had the authority to ask, while he only represented Discreet Investigations.

  * * *

  That night, Joe told Mary Margaret how easy it had been to fool the agent into believing he was an aspiring actor who could handle a part in a war movie.

  She clapped her hands. "You should do it, Joe. Even if you aren't given any important lines, playing a soldier might be fun. And you'd get paid."

  Being paid was what appealed most to him. He needed money for a honeymoon, and at present, he could only afford a day trip to Santa Catalina Island. "I suppose I could go on a few auditions. It might lead to more information about Miss Crumble."

  "Yes, do it, Joe. Humphrey Bogart isn't nearly as handsome as you, and he works all the time."

  "You're forgetting he's a fine actor, while I'm a private eye. Although I can usually convince people to talk to me."

  "Exactly, Joe, now all you have to do is convince a camera."

  * * *

  Saturday morning, Joe met Hal Marten and Gilbert Werner, both former clients, at the golf course near Griffith Park. With Joe's insightful instruction, Hal had mastered his initial lessons quickly, and Gilbert played well enough to turn pro. They were looking for a fourth man.

  "I asked Lou King if he played golf," Hal said as he placed his ball on a tee at the first hole. "He doesn't, but invited us to shoot pool with him in Chinatown sometime."

  "Chinatown?" Gilbert nearly shuddered at the thought. "Wouldn't that be dangerous?"

  Hal laughed. "I'm sure we could play pool with Lou without becoming involved in a Tong war. They were over long ago, besides, Lou is a bail bondsman and whatever criminal element there is in Chinatown would want to stay on his good side."

  "I've never shot pool," Gilbert admitted with a self-conscious shrug. "There might have been a pool table in one of the bars back home, but I never went into them. You two ought to go as often as you like, but I'll stick to golf."

  "Wise choice," Joe murmured under his breath. Gilbert was an engineer, and concern for his girlfriend's motives had inspired him to call Discreet Investigations. The unfortunate episode had convinced Joe that Gilbert needed some male friends who could provide sympathetic insights into what women wanted in men. When he'd invited Gilbert to join Hal and him for golf, he discovered the shy young man played with a professional golfer's skill and had much to teach both him as well as Hal.

  They walked across the course at an easy pace, and Joe told them about finding Cookie Crumble's body in an empty apartment in his building. "I should call Lou King and see what he knows about the men who hang out at Sherry's."

  "Isn't that one of Mickey Cohen's hangouts?" Hal asked.

  "It is. That's why Lou's insights should prove valuable." Joe and Hal stood back as Gilbert made a long drive straight up the fairway. "Nice shot."

  "Thanks. I read about Miss Crumble in the LA Times," Gilbert remarked. "Why would anyone want to kill such a pretty girl?"

  "Her looks had nothing to do with it," Joe assured him. "It was probably something she wanted to do, or refused to do, that the three of us could discuss in a civil manner with a woman. A man with more muscles than brains, however, would allow his temper to get the better of him. I hope to stop him before he kills another girl."

  "Won't the police catch him?" Gilbert asked.

  "I've learned not to trust the police," Hal interjected. "A detective can get the wrong man in his sights, and he won't let go despite a clear lack of evidence."

  "I thought the police always caught the right man," Gilbert said. "At least they did back home, but it was such a small town, there were few criminals to catch."

  "Sometimes they do apprehend the guilty party," Joe agreed. "Let's hope this is one of them, but I'm doing my own investigation too."

  "Be careful," Hal warned him.

  "I always am," Joe replied, but this was the first time an investigation would involve mobsters, and they weren't all that friendly. When he got home, he called Lou King and made an appointment to see him Sunday afternoon at his bail bondsman office in downtown Los Angeles.

  * * *

  Saturday night, Mary Margaret wore a long-sleeved black sheath dress to show off her petite figure and compliment her red curls. Her black heels added a couple of inches, but she still barely reached Joe's shoulder. Joe had picked up his navy blue suit from the cleaners, and with a white dress shirt and maroon tie, he could almost pass for a gentleman.

  "Let's not stay more than half an hour," he suggested as they left her cottage in the C
hrysanthemum Court. "We'll have a drink and observe the place without staying for dinner."

  "Is it expensive?" she asked.

  "More than the Jumpin' Plate," he responded, but he intended to list the tab on his expense account when he gave Leon Helm his bill.

  "I'll be too busy observing the entertainment to taste dinner anyway, so I'll be happy to leave without running up a large bill. We need to keep an eye on our resources, Joe. I want a small wedding with our friends rather than an extravaganza like the Hollywood stars have, and we need to start saving now."

  Joe hoped he'd soon be earning enough money to cover the minimal expenses his budget allowed, plus something more to save. "A frugal wife will be a great blessing."

  She giggled. "I'm not making any promises for after the wedding."

  He laughed with her, but turned serious when they reached Sherry's. "This is a job for me. Let's look like we're having a good time, even if we aren't."

  "Yes, I understand. We want to look like a couple out for a good time. We should be engrossed in each other, shouldn't we?"

  "Perfect, my pet." He handed the car keys to the valet, and held Mary Margaret's hand as they entered Sherry's. There was a display of color photographs of the featured entertainment enticingly dressed as they were at the beginning of their acts. An empty space must have held Alice Reyes's Cookie Crumble photograph.

  Joe and Mary Margaret were seated at a small table in the corner and ordered a Scotch and water and a sloe gin fizz. They had chosen to come in after ten, when the place would be too busy for anyone to notice them.

  Joe smiled at his beautiful date and looked around the room. The first person he recognized was Stuart Helms seated with three young men who were probably fraternity brothers. Their table was near the stage, and they clapped enthusiastically when a stripper named Ginger Snap came sashaying out on the stage. A buxom brunette, she wore a bibbed floral apron, a tall white baker's hat, and high-heeled shoes. She swung a pair of oven mitts strung together like kids' mittens in wild swirls as she strutted close to the edge of the stage, and then backed away.

  Mary Margaret leaned close to be heard. "She's really pretty. Why would she be working here?"

  "It pays well," Joe responded. While Ginger traipsed across the stage he checked the others in the room and spotted Mickey Cohen. A cloud of cigarette smoke hung over his table, and he and his friends were laughing over something one of them had said. Two turned to give Ginger their full-attention, but Mickey and the other three remained involved in the humorous tale.

  "They're being awfully rude to Ginger," Mary Margaret observed. "Why did they come here if they don't intend to watch?"

  Stuart and his friends made up for the mobsters' inattention. They hooted and called to Ginger, and snapped their fingers. She winked at them over her shoulder. Other men, and some couples, applauded the stripper's suggestive routine, but all she'd removed thus far was her baker's hat.

  Mary Margaret sipped her sloe gin fizz. "I counted five other women in the room, and they don't look as though they have to work for a living."

  Joe kissed her cheek. "They are working," he assured her.

  She understood and blushed almost as deeply as her hair. "And the men they're with?"

  "Mobsters," Joe answered. He was more interested in Stuart Helms, who looked right at home at Sherry's, although he'd denied knowing Cookie Crumble. One of his friends had caught Ginger's hat, and plunked it on his own head.

  The stripper untied the bib of her apron, but kept it in place with slow gestures beautifully enhanced by her bright red nails. An accomplished entertainer, she flirted with Sherry's patrons with every turn and shoulder dip. She promised so much more than she gave, and her audience became ever more enthusiastic.

  "How long does this go on?" Mary Margaret asked.

  Joe laughed. "A little longer. It's called a striptease for a reason." By the time Ginger had completed her routine with expertly spun tassels, he was ready to go. Mary Margaret wanted to see another act.

  "That was an amazing performance," she leaned close to say. "Do you suppose if I got some tassels, I could actually master a twirl?"

  He thought she was teasing, but he was never sure with Mary Margaret. "I'll buy the tassels if you'll practice." She raised her hand to promise.

  In the next act, a young woman calling herself Carmella Cordova came out draped in a tiered black shirt, a low-cut red ruffled blouse, and a fringed Spanish shawl. The toes of her black high heels were decorated with red silk roses. She wore her raven dark hair in a chignon, and her vivid make-up would have been more appropriate for the dramatic expressions of a silent film star than a stripper at Sherry's where patrons were seated close.

  The house band featured a guitarist to provide an authentic flavor and began "Lady of Spain." They were talented musicians and played with an impressive enthusiasm.

  "Do you suppose she's ever been to Spain?" Mary Margaret asked.

  "Tijuana maybe," Joe replied.

  A burly young blond man stood near the stage with his arms crossed over his chest. He appeared to be asking for a disturbance to quell, and Joe wondered if he'd dated Cookie, or had wanted to. A man at Mickey's table called the young man over, but he quickly returned to his post. His mouth formed a menacing downward curve, and he observed the crowd rather than Carmella dipping her embroidered shawl to reveal a dimpled shoulder.

  When their waiter came by, Joe asked the blond man's name.

  The man bent down to be heard over the rhythms of Carmella's music. "That's Corky Coyne. He's here to see everyone behaves himself."

  Joe smiled as if he'd only been curious, and ordered a second round of drinks. The next minute, a man seated near the stage rose and made a lunge for the long fringe on Carmella's shawl. Corky quickly responded, picked him up by his collar and the seat of his pants, and marched him out the exit to the parking lot. Corky soon returned dusting his hands, and Carmella hadn't missed a beat.

  "I hadn't realized there were hazards to a stripper's job," Mary Margaret posed. "Do you suppose Corky was as protective of Cookie Crumble?"

  "That's what I intend to discover." They left Sherry's at the end of Carmella's routine. She had a sultry dramatic flare Ginger Snap couldn't match, but he wished they'd been able to see Cookie's naïvely endearing schoolgirl act.

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon, Joe drove to Lou King's office on Los Angeles Street near the criminal courts building. The one-story concrete structure had the squat bearing of a prison facility, which might work to Lou's advantage. King's Bail Bonds in gold lettering decorated the large front window. Venetian blinds blocked the afternoon sun.

  A bell chimed as Joe came through the front door into the waiting room. A strikingly beautiful Chinese girl met him at the counter. A pale blue cheongsam graced her slender figure's subtle curves. She had pulled her glossy black hair into an intricate knot at her nape, and ebony chopsticks held it in place. She smiled and greeted him warmly.

  "You must be Joe Ezell. I'm Lou's sister, Jade. He usually forgets to introduce me."

  "A terrible oversight," Joe responded. He had the totally inappropriate thought that she could do a terrific Oriental goddess routine at Sherry's. Ashamed of himself, he quickly suppressed the exotic mental image. "Is Lou in?"

  "Yes, he's waiting for you. Come with me." She led him down a corridor to the end office and rapped lightly at the door. "Joe's here."

  Lou opened the door and gestured toward one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. "Come in and make yourself comfortable. May I offer you a drink?"

  "Thanks, but it's too early for me." The dark brown wool rug muffled their footsteps. Joe was surprised by how handsomely the office was decorated. The walls were painted a warm beige, and dark-stained wooden bookshelves behind the desk held almost as many leather-bound volumes as an attorney would display. Lou's formidable teak desk would add gravitas to any transaction. A lush philodendron in a handsome ceramic pot sat atop a low file cabinet and adde
d a bit of color.

  The neatly kept office could have been used for a movie set, and Joe wondered if that was all it really was. "Thank you for meeting with me," he began. "A young stripper's body was found in an apartment in my building, and the owner has asked me to work on the case. Perhaps you read about it in the paper?"

  "I did. Cookie Crumble had an abundance of talent and would have gone far had she not met with such a tragic end. Talk about 'cold-blooded' murder. I don't mean to make light of her death, but humor helps in this business. How may I help you?"

  Lou was an attractive man. He wore his thick, black hair slicked back, and he possessed an innate elegance Joe knew he sadly lacked. Even if he wore one of Lou's custom tailored suits, he'd merely be posing as a gentleman, and Lou looked and behaved as the real thing.

  Joe played with how much to reveal. "Cookie's agent told me she had lousy taste in men. Sherry's attracts boisterous college boys as well as two-bit mobsters who love only their mother. I've got a lead on the college boys, but I'd rather not sidle up to any of Mickey Cohen's men. I thought you might have heard if one of them is rough with his women."

  Lou nodded thoughtfully. "Too many to count, and they get away with it because the girls are afraid to go to the police. They're usually paid off to leave town and are glad to go."

  "How about Corky Coyne? Do you know anything about him?"

  "He's a conscienceless thug who circles the fringes of LA crime. He might do a favor for Mickey Cohen if asked, but it wouldn't require much thought, merely muscle. He works at Sherry's as a bouncer, so he had to have known Cookie. If she truly did have poor taste in men, he'd be at the top of the list."

  In the Coast Guard, Joe had known some big guys with a gentle demeanor. Corky didn't project even a particle of gentleness, however. "Heard anything new on the Black Dahlia's killer?"

  "Intriguing whispers," Lou replied. "He has to be the kind who'd stuff a girl in a refrigerator, but he'd probably do it while she was still alive."

  "Cookie was strangled first. The question is how she ended up in an apartment that had suddenly turned vacant."