by Thomas Amo
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Julie Jackson
Agent Summers slowly turned her head to emphasize her puzzled expression. Her body shook with a chill as she started to speak but she stopped herself.
"Is something wrong Agent Summers?" asked James. This time it was Summers who needed to find her voice. "Did you just say Julie Jackson?"
James stared at her silently. "Yes, why?" he asked cautiously.
Summers looked around the room as if she was attempting to be certain they were alone.
"Why are you here?" asked James in a curious tone that caught Summers off guard. But before she could answer James continued, "I assumed that because you're FBI, you were here because of Hermann Kritzler. But you didn't flinch when I mentioned the film can in the crawlspace at the hotel. So you obviously didn't know anything about that. What happened at the station house was as much as shock to you as it was to us. So if you didn't come here for Kritzler, Valerie Rivera, Amanda Carlyle, or Clem..." James hesitated as he looked at Summers. Running the names through his mind he tried to sort through why she was here. He narrowed his eyes and looked dead into hers. "It's me. You came here for me. Why? Does it have something to do with Julie?"
"Yes," said Summers in a flat, matter of fact voice. She left the room and made her way out of the front door and back to the car. James quickly followed her feeling frustrated and confused.
"Do you know Julie? Is she in some kind of trouble? Just what the hell does that writing on the bedroom wall mean!" he shouted after her.
Summers reached into the backseat of the car and pulled an evidence pouch from her interview folder. With her back to James she clutched the folder against her chest. She closed her eyes.
"What the hell is going on?" James demanded.
Summers took in a deep breath and then turned to James so that they were face to face. She held the evidence folder out, offering it to him.
"This is why I am here."
James looked at Summers cautiously and then opened the file. A series of photos spilled out from the folder and onto the ground.
James looked down at the top photo and recognized it immediately. The glossy black and white photo had captured the image of a bisected nude female laying in a vacant lot.
"You're here because of The Black Dahlia?" asked James.
"I wish, look again," she said as she pointed to the second photo. This one was a close up of the face of the victim. The eyes were glazed, the mouth gashed into a sardonic grin.
"It's Elizabeth Short, so what?"
"No, Inspector James, it's not. Her name is Julie Jackson."
James looked at Agent Summers with disbelief in his eyes. She felt the pain of his lost blank stare.
"This is Julie? What happened?" asked James through gritted teeth. "I mean, do you know what led up to this? Is there a suspect?"
"No, there's no suspect."
"You must have some idea otherwise you wouldn't be here in San Francisco talking to me."
"I believe our cases our linked but I'm not supposed to tell you that," said Summers as she pulled the report from the file and handed it to James. His eyes scanned the page of the coroners notes: Nude bisected female found in vacant lot. Jane Doe identified via fingerprints as Julie Anne Jackson.
"This murder was obviously meant to be a copycat of Black Dahlia, just as yours was supposed to be a reconstruction of the Arbuckle scandal," said Summers. James thought hard about what he had seen in the hotel and looked again at the photos Summers had shared with him.
"This is your case? This copycat of Elizabeth Short?" asked James. Summers nodded as she tried to read his expression.
"Did you take it over from the Los Angeles police department?"
"No, it was ours from the beginning," said Summers.
"Then that means your case is connected to another murder. One you took over from local jurisdiction. That case led you to Julie didn't it?"
Summers, knew she could no longer keep James in the dark.
"Yes, but I swear Tom, I had no idea your case was going to link to me personally. Whatever this is, it's beyond any kind of traditional investigation."
"Don't give me a bunch of mis-directional bullshit. What was the case that lead you to Julie?" demanded James.
"Two days ago in the early morning hours the Hollywood police were called to the address 401 S. Alvarado Street. The manager of a retail store met them in a panic. He was trying to calm a vagrant who kept shouting, 'He's dead' and pointing to an abandoned house across the street. The police made their way inside the house where they certainly did find a body. But this was someone who had been dead a very long time. The corpse was lying flat on it's back and was extremely well dressed with a diamond studded lapel pin that carried the initials, 'W.D.T.' This, of course, told the officers who ever it was had money when they were buried."
"Were buried? Are you saying someone dug the body up?" asked James.
"That's exactly what I'm saying and robbery was obviously not the motive, otherwise the diamond pin would have been missing. That same morning the police also received a call from the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Inside their Catholic mausoleum a vault that contained the body of film director William Desmond Taylor had been broken into and his body was missing. The crypt's marble faceplate was shattered in half and the casket was left lying on the ground empty."
"Who's William Desmond Taylor?"
"One of Hollywood's most famous unsolved murder cases."
"The body in the house was his?"
"Yes, someone had taken his corpse and delivered it to the abandoned house."
"And the only way the police knew it was there was because of the homeless man?"
"Yes, but it doesn't stop there. The store manager told police when he arrived to work that morning, he found a book on the doorstep outside the store with a note on the inside cover."
"What did the note say?" asked James as Summers removed a clear plastic evidence bag containing a monogrammed embossed note. Gently he took it from her hands. The moniker bore the initials, M.N. The paper was old and the ink faded. James looked at Summers with a questioned expression.
"Mabel Normand," she said.
The name meant nothing to him as he examined the contents of the note.
To My Dearest Sweet William,
If only we had shared the night.
Mabel
James felt even more confused. "How does this connect to Julie in any..." James suddenly felt a chill in his heart as he read the name Mabel. His memory flashed to Fatty Arbuckle in the hotel.
"How am I doin Mabel?" James remembered the dark haired girl kneeling down next to him. "You're doing just fine Fatty, just fine."
Summers could tell James was remembering something important.
"What is it Tom?"
"Do you have a photograph of Mabel Normand?"
Aware that James was on to something, Summers said, "It's there in the file." James flipped through the folder and found a studio photograph of Mabel Normand. His blood ran cold. It was her.
"Taylor? Is he in here too?" asked James knowingly as Summers nodded quickly. James flipped through more pages until he came across the photo of William Desmond Taylor wearing the diamond studded lapel pin. His knees left him as James slowly slid down to the ground with his back against the car. Summers knelt down next to him. "Tom!"
"Holy Jesus Christ, Ashton. They were all there."
"Who?"
"I saw them."
"Saw who, Tom? You're not making sense."
"Yesterday when I was in room 1219 I saw this man, William Desmond Taylor."
"You saw him? How?"
"I don't know how, but he was there with her, Mabel Normand."
"Tom, that's not possible! Unless you're telling me you had some kind of experience up there."
"What are you saying? You think I saw ghosts?"
"You have to admit whatever is going on here isn't natural."
"I'm really having a hard time
accepting that. But I also can't deny something happened to me in that hotel and whatever it is, it's personal for both of us."
"Tom we need a plan."
James suddenly remembered. "Wait, you said there was a book."
"Book?" quizzed Summers.
"Yes, with the note from Mabel inside it."
Summers responded nodding yes.
"What was the book? I mean the title?"
Summers retrieved a leather briefcase from the car. Slowly she opened it and removed the book that was sealed in a clear plastic evidence bag. She handed it to James. The book was old and worn, same as the note. It showed considerable wear on its black hard covers as James held it in his hands. The front was embossed with gold stamp printing and showed Egyptian pillars, a great winged seal with hieroglyphs. The title gave James an involuntary shiver as he read it. It was called The Book of Lies
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Book Of Lies
As James examined the book his mind wandered back to Julie.
"Why weren't you supposed to tell me our cases were linked?" asked James.
"Honestly, we thought you were a suspect. I don't mean for that to sound offensive Tom. It's just that ... I know you were close to Julie at one time," said Summers as she collected the crime scene photos and replaced them in the file.
"She was my first," said James as he stared blankly away from her. His expression then quickly changed to one of question. "Wait, how do you know that Julie and I were close?"
"From the items we collected from her home in Los Angeles."
James' detective mode took over as he tried to push away his emotions from being the victim. Losing a teenage crush was one thing, but losing your first love was another. He had to force himself to take control and not lose sight of the fact there was a serial killer walking the streets of San Francisco.
"What sort of things?" James inquired.
"You name it and it pertained to you," said Summers as she located a list of items from the file on Julie Jackson.
"Can you be a little more specific?"
Glancing at the list, Summers began to rattle off several of the items, none in any particular order. "I wouldn't know where to begin, but she had photos, newspaper clippings about cases you worked on. Oh and the diaries she had written about you, they go back as far as 1969."
James was stunned. He was astonished that Julie had been so interested in him that she would follow his life and career. "Anything else?"
"Anything else? Isn't it clear she worshipped you? Under different circumstances I would say this borders on stalking."
"There has to be a reason, Agent Summers. Yes I admit we were in love at one time, but that was a very long time ago. And if she truly was interested in me, why didn't she attempt to contact me? It's not like she didn't know where look."
Summers nodded in agreement. "That's true, but perhaps she had a reason for keeping her distance."
"What possible reason would she have? I'm not married, I've got no kids. It's not like there was anyone in the way."
"Yes for you, there was nothing in the way, but maybe she felt there was something or someone keeping her from you."
The comment caused James to seriously pause. He wondered if someone had been keeping her from contacting him, who could it be? And why? James felt for a moment he had the answer, then it slipped away from him as Summers broke his concentration with her next question.
"Just exactly when was the last time you can absolutely say you saw Julie Jackson, Inspector James?"
"That sounds like the kind of question you ask a suspect, Special Agent Summers," said James with an indignant tone.
"It's the same question you would be asking me if the situation were reversed."
"It was at her mother's funeral," said James.
"You were still in a relationship then?"
"No, we had broken up long before then. Her mom and dad divorced around the time we were both 17. Her mother had become a drunk and her dad just couldn't put up with it anymore, so he moved away to Hollywood. Julie, felt obligated to stay and look after her mom."
"What happened?"
"Her mother's drinking had become all consuming and Julie had to drop out of school. She worked two jobs just to pay her mother's bills. We began to see each other less and less. She really didn't have anytime for a boyfriend anymore and I understood, but I still couldn't help but feel abandoned. I made several attempts to do things for Julie that would help her stay positive. In the end it only seemed to annoy her. Eventually she got sick of her mother's constant abuse and moved to Hollywood to be with her dad."
"She just left you without a word?"
"No, she was very honest and upfront with me about her decision to leave San Francisco. She said she couldn't stay and watch her mother drink herself to death. As much as she loved me, she said she needed a new life in another place."
"And this new life didn't include you," added Summers.
"Exactly, so she decided to kill our relationship and bury it along with her past."
Summers raised an eyebrow. "Kill? That's an odd way to describe the end of your relationship with Julie."
"Odd or not. It's how I feel about it. Felt about it," James said decisively.
Gathering her notes and photos, Summers placed them back into the case file. She could tell James was still bitter about not being given the chance to share a life with Julie Jackson. "It may be none of my business Inspector James, but for what it's worth I can tell you she regretted letting you go. She regretted it for the rest of her life."
The comment hung stale in the air, catching James off guard.
"How can you know that?" he asked with a tone of pain in his voice.
"I'm a woman, and a woman just knows. But if you want a more defined answer, then the obvious should be apparent to you. She kept diaries about you, followed your career. I think it's safe to say Tom, she never stopped being in love with you, and you with her," said Summers as she attempted to show him she was sympathetic to the situation. "At least that's my two cents worth."
James nodded in agreement.
"You're right," he said wiping a tear from his eye. He pulled his wallet from his inside jacket pocket and removed a worn out faded photograph of Julie and himself taken shortly after they began dating. Warming to her sympathy, James shared the photo with her.
"This was us back in December 1969. Our first Christmas as a couple." Summers took the photo and looked at their stolen moment, frozen in time.
"Thank God for Polaroid's, huh?" she said trying to lighten the mood. She handed it back to James and watched him look deep into his past.
"I want to get whoever did this to her. Can you help me catch them?" asked James not looking up.
"Yes, I can. And I will," assured Summers.
"What do you need from me?"
"I need you to go to Hollywood with me and visit Julie's home."
"There is no way I can go. In case you haven't noticed, Ashton, I'm in the middle of a series of murders that belong in a Stephen King novel."
"I won't disagree with you there. But I'm FBI and our cases are linked, I'll get my director to speak with your captain to get you cleared for a couple of days."
"This whole thing is insane, but maybe you're right. Maybe the key to all of this begins with Julie," said James. Then he remembered a hitch in the plan—Summers wasn't supposed to inform him about why she was there.
"None of that matters now. The writing on Kirkland's wall makes it clear that the two cases are connected. Listen Tom, I'm going to contact my director now and tell her I'm taking charge of your case so our office can secure Kirkland's home for evidence."
James readily agreed as he turned and looked back at the home of his best friend. Summers stepped away to call her director. James once again looked at the evidence files Summers had on Mabel Normand, Taylor and Julie. He couldn't bring himself to look at the Black Dahlia photos. The thought of someone doing such horrendous things to
Julie turned his stomach and tore at his emotions. Instead he tried to focus on the book that was found by the store manager. As he looked at the spine of the book he noticed the author's name for the first time—Aleister Crowley. He felt as if he knew the name, but wasn't sure why.
James' attention was broken by the arrival of a plain looking sedan pulling into the driveway. Two men dressed in business attire stepped from the car. Summers completed her phone call and met with the men. She spoke briefly to them and they nodded in agreement at whatever instructions she had given them.
"Okay, Tom, let's go. I've got you complete clearance by the Bureau. We are taking over the case all the way back to Amanda Carlyle. We need to get back to your department and my director will meet us there. She'll smooth over any bumps you might have with your captain and inform her we need you in Hollywood for the next several days."
James and Summers climbed into his car and began to drive back to the station.
"Under normal circumstances, I would have fought this every step of the way. But actually I'm relieved to let someone else take the lead. So you said you need me to go to Julie's home, haven't the police already searched it?"
"When your name came up and I discovered you were a detective I knew I was going to have to interview you. So I had the place secured and no one else has been allowed to do a search without me present. Getting you to search it with me was imperative," said Summers as she rolled down the window letting the cool breeze billow through her hair.
"Why?" asked James.
"If I miss anything, any detail, I'm sure you will catch it. No one knows Julie better than you do, Tom."
"Don't be so sure, I haven't seen her in over 13 years and we were only together for five."
"But you were in love with her. And that never goes away."
James sighed as he stopped at the red light. His face was showing a slight agitation at the agent's confidence in his dedication to a faded love.
"You act as if by my going there with you I'm going to find some secret message she left for me to help solve her murder."
"I'm counting on it," said Summers when suddenly her face was sprayed with hundreds of beads of broken glass. The small diamond-shaped shards flew across from the driver's side window pelting her chest, arms and face. James gripped the steering wheel tightly as he tried to control the car while it spun in a half circle. The passenger side slammed into a parked car on the side of the road. Dazed, Summers, looked across at James who was shaking the bits of glass from his hair when she saw the grill of Hummer H2 coming directly at his side of the car.
