by Arlette Lees
“Who?”
“The nurse. She tells me she hasn’t seen you since that first time two years ago.”
“She’s lying. The old butcher took the money the moment I walked through the door. Her hand is a bear trap.”
“How much you make in tips tonight?”
“The money’s in the jewelry box. I haven’t counted it.”
He dumped the contents on the vanity, scooped it into his hand and then into his pocket. “There’s maybe twenty here. Now you only owe me one eighty.”
“Why take a few dimes and nickels when I’m the biggest draw this club has ever had?” No response. “You know the doctor I saw a while back? I need to follow up with some tests, César. Can’t you see how sick I am? I’m losing weight. He says I might need surgery.”
“Just do your job. A stripper with a purple scar across her belly isn’t worth much in this world.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A STORM ROLLS IN
Hallinan limped up the porch steps, but instead of Beezer’s little wags and yips, he was greeted by a creaking floorboard and the sound of wind in the chimney. He closed the flue. As he turned up the thermostat he noticed the empty space beneath the window where his mother’s piano had been. In its place was a gouge in the hardwood floor.
He spun a litany of colorful expletives. What did Dorothy do, come with George Atlas and a moving van? On the dining room table was a manila envelope with an attorney’s name in the upper left-hand corner.
”Welcome home, Rusty,” he said.
He smoked aggressively while he made coffee, warmed up a couple cans of chili con carne and half a leftover pizza. He settled down at the dining room table with the ominous-looking envelope beside his cup.
After he’d eaten, he had a third cup of coffee, lit another cigarette, and opened the envelope. There were forms and more forms, each numbered line in lawyerly capital letters.
Seems Dorothy had one small obstacle to obtaining a divorce. No grounds. He’d never cheated, didn’t have a ‘loathsome disease,’ was neither mentally nor physically abusive, criminally insane, or confined to a penal institution. Therefore, suggested Haverson Rumford, Esquire, Hallinan should be a sport and go along with Dorothy’s accusation of adultery. It would expedite the process and avoid the expense of lengthy courtroom wrangling.
He returned the forms to the envelope, rinsed his dishes, and went upstairs to bed. He’d barely drifted off when he woke to the rumble of thunder. The room was dark, a wall of rain battering the windowpane. He jumped out of bed, one thought tumbling over the next…the search…the horses…the tracking dogs.
Within five minutes he was showered, dressed, and downstairs. As he poured Kix in a bowl, Dorothy came through the door in a glossy red raincoat with lipstick to match. She was fashion-model thin with a wasp waist and coltish legs, more striking than beautiful, but eye-catching nevertheless. She shook out her umbrella on the hardwood floor. He set his cereal aside.
“If you’d been here earlier I wouldn’t have had to make a second trip,” she said.
“You weren’t supposed to come early, remember? Stanek pulled me off R and R. A child’s gone missing.”
“There’s no one gets it done like the great Rusty Hallinan.” Her tongue was sharp enough to cut paper, but he let it go.
“Why don’t you come home, Dorothy? There’s nothing wrong that can’t be worked out.”
“I’ve come for the papers.”
He handed her the envelope and watched her remove the documents.
“I hope you signed on the proper lines,” she said.
“I won’t put my name to a lie for the sake of expedience.” She glared at him and threw the envelope on the table. “Why did you take the piano, Dorothy? You don’t even play. First you take my dog, then you take my piano.”
“Because you don’t get it yet,” she said.
Hallinan held out his hand. “Give me my house keys.”
“When you sign the papers.” It would have been easy to wrestle them from her hand. Instead he walked to the door and opened it.
“Goodby, Dorothy.”
After she’d gone, Hallinan switched the front and back door lock sets. They required different keys. She might figure it out, but it was the best he could do on short notice. As he returned the screwdriver to the toolbox, the phone rang. It was Stanek.
“The dogs can’t work in this weather and the trails are too slippery for the horses, but we still have a sizable party searching on foot.” Stanek cleared his throat. “I have another reason for calling, Rusty. A man at The Castleton Apartments has gone missing. His name is Gavin Chase, a successful young architect.”
“When and where was he last seen?”
“At home. Nine-thirty or ten last night.”
“That’s not missing, Captain. That’s being late for dinner.”
“I know the woman. She was in my son’s senior class. She’s been calling the desk every five minutes. Go see what she has to say.” Hallinan scribbled down the apartment number. “Her name is Amanda Chase.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE CASTLETON
Hallinan pulled into the lot at The Castleton Apartments. The sky was black, rain clattering like buckshot on the roof of the Buick. It was a well-maintained complex tucked into a leafy knoll above Franklin Avenue.
Hallinan’s knee ached from the damp as he walked past a dripping hedge of juniper and up a flight of concrete stairs to the second level. He knocked on door 212. The door opened and a pretty young woman in jeans, blue t-shirt, and bare feet stood in the doorway. She was about five two or three with long-lashed, blue-green eyes, no makeup, golden-brown hair falling in a casual tangle. She looked like she’d been up all night.
“Mrs. Chase?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Lieutenant Hallinan. Captain Stanek asked me to come by. I understand you’re concerned about your husband.”
“Yes, please come in,” she said, stepping back from the door. “Let me take your coat. I’m surprised The Captain remembers me. It’s been six years since high school.” As she helped him shrug out of his coat, her hair brushed against his arm. It was soft and lavender-scented.
She hung his coat on the hall tree. “Please, won’t you sit?” She pointed to a white leather sofa facing a TV. He squeezed behind an antique trunk that served as a coffee table and sank into the cushion. “I just made coffee. Let me pour you a cup.”
“That would be nice, thank you. Black, no sugar is fine,” he called after her.
He looked around the room. There was an overflowing bookcase, a desk, a set of antique Chinese chairs, a Kandinsky print on the wall above a drafting table, three examples of pre-Columbian pottery, and a giant fern in a hanging pot.
She returned with two cups and settled next to him, her feet tucked beneath her. “I’m worried sick about my husband,” she said. “I can’t stop looking out the window. I’ve been running through every possible scenario and nothing makes sense. I can generally set my watch by Gavin, but last night he left around ten to run an errand and never returned.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No, only that he wouldn’t be long.”
“Do you have an idea where he might have gone?”
“I assumed to pick up a hostess gift, maybe a bottle of champagne. We were expected at a friend’s house.”
“Would Mr. Chase stay away voluntarily? Maybe, take a break from financial worries, marital problems? Does he drink to excess?”
“No, nothing like that. We’re in the process of purchasing a house, and he’s very excited about the upcoming renovation.” She took a thoughtful sip from her cup. “There is something about last night I can’t explain.”
“What’s that, Mrs. Chase?”
“Gavin drives a BMW. He’s crazy about that car. The only time he’s taken my station wagon was when his was in for an oil change. When I went down to the carport several hours after midnight, I found his car here and mine
gone. All that time, I’d given the police a description of the wrong car.”
“Tell me about the car he was driving.”
She set her cup on the trunk and walked to the desk. “I have paperwork from the dealership right here.”
“I imagine you’ve called the hospitals.”
“I’ve called everyone. I’ve called Sergeant Dunnigan until he’d like to launch me into space,” she said, returning with the papers on a white 1954 Chevy station wagon. Hallinan wrote down the license and VIN number.
“Mrs. Chase.…”
“Everyone calls me Amanda. When you say Mrs. Chase, I think Gavin’s mother is in the room. Since we have a mutual acquaintance, I think it’s okay to be on a first name basis, don’t you?”
“Rusty,” he said. “My mother wanted an Irish setter puppy for Christmas, but she got me instead.”
She smiled. “Is that really true?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“I’m glad The Captain didn’t send someone who thinks I’m a nut case. First I give Sergeant Dunnigan the description of a black BMW, then tell him it’s a white station wagon. What else could he think?”
Amanda glanced at the TV. “Do you mind? I’d like to know how long the rain is going to last.”
“Go ahead,” he said, curious to know if the Daisy Adler disappearance had leaked to the media. She switched it on and turned up the volume. A reporter was speaking from what appeared to be the scene of an auto accident. Behind him were three police cars, a fire truck, and a tow truck. Hallinan leaned forward.
“It must be a bad one,” said Amanda. “People always drive too fast in the rain.”
“At three A.M., this morning,” said the reporter, “the police were alerted to a car fire in lower Boyle Heights. The body of a male adult was discovered behind the wheel. Official cause of death is pending, but onlookers say the driver was shot in the head. Let’s move in for a closer look.” He stepped aside to give the cameraman a better shot. The car was a white station wagon, the windows blackened by smoke, the license plate missing.
“That looks like,” said Amanda, “but it couldn’t possibly…I’m afraid I’m not feeling very.…” As she looked at Hallinan, the light went out in her eyes. He was already on his feet moving toward her. Her face had gone white, her knees giving way. He caught her as she collapsed and eased her to the floor, her hair fanning out on the carpet. He rubbed her hands in both of his. They were cold and limp.
“Amanda! Amanda! Jesus Christ!”
Hallinan jumped up, grabbed the phone on the desk, and called for an ambulance. By the time it arrived, Amanda was conscious and doubled up in pain. He walked beside the stretcher as the attendants loaded her into the ambulance.
“What’s happening?” said Hallinan. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I believe your wife is having a miscarriage, Mr. Chase.”
Hallinan didn’t bother correcting him. He watched the ambulance pull away and ran back up the stairs to the apartment. He called Stanek, told him what had happened, and gave him the vitals on the car.
“I’ll call Hollenbeck Division and see what I can find out,” said Stanek. “Keep me posted on her condition.”
Amanda’s purse was on the kitchen counter. Inside were keys to the apartment, the BMW, and the station wagon. He put them in his pocket, pulled on his raincoat, stepped onto the walkway and locked the door behind him.
A guy came out of 214 posturing like a delinquent on the cover of a paperback book…black bomber jacket…tight jeans…cigarette dangling from his lip.
“I thought I heard a siren.”
“Me too,” said Hallinan. ”Must have gone up the hill.”
“If you’re here for a nooner while the old man is AWOL, you’re out of luck. The lovely Miss Amanda is one of those buttoned-up types.”
He’s an odd specimen, thought Hallinan. ”Are you rehearsing a script?”
“I don’t know. Do you think I’ll get the part?”
“I’m Officer Hallinan with L.A.P.D. And you are?”
The guy blinked twice before the mask of indifference fell back in place.
“For all I know you’re the Fuller Brush Man.”
“Does the Fuller Brush Man have one of these?” he said, flipping his shield. “I’m looking for a guy been driving on a revoked license. What was your name again?”
“Excuse me, I think my mother’s calling,” he said, flicking his cigarette butt in the rain and vanishing inside 214. That was certainly odd.
Hallinan used Amanda’s key to get inside the BMW. The car smelled like new shoe leather. He turned the engine over and it purred like a cat. The tank was full, the headlights and windshield wipers operable. So why did Chase take his wife’s car, and what was he doing in the barrios of Boyle Heights when he was expected at a Hollywood party?
He locked the vehicle and walked to the manager’s office. Behind the counter was an elderly gentleman in a dress shirt and bow tie. Hallinan knew him from past calls to The Castleton.
“What’s going on, Hallinan?” said Alvin Hornsby. “I saw the ambulance.”
“Someone had a fainting spell. What’s the name of the guy in 214?”
“Dack Traynor. He’s seen The Wild One too many times.”
“Single?”
“No, he’s got a wife works at the bank, but he doesn’t act like any married man I ever knew.”
“Cause any problems?”
“He’s a peeper. If Mr. Chase catches him at the bedroom window again, Dack won’t live long enough to collect his next unemployment check. I’m about to serve him with an eviction notice.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DIGGING DEEPER
On his way to Fairbanks Drive, Hallinan ran off a stack of missing person flyers with a blowup of the pony photo.
“Everyone in the household has been fingerprinted,” said Tug, when he arrived. “Any unidentified prints in the nursery will have to be run through the system.”
“They get Sigrid’s?”
“They’re on their way now. I’ve talked with the aunt again, but she’s told us everything she knows. Dr. Rappaport has come and gone. He said Adler gave Helen enough medication to knock out a herd of elephants. Adler hid in his den until Rappaport left, then drove off in his Mustang. He’s been nagging the shit out of me about Sigrid’s whereabouts.”
“And Mrs. Adler?”
“She’s in her room.”
“Any calls?”
“Not from kidnappers.”
“As soon as the storm blows over, we’ll try and get the dogs and horses back. Unless Daisy is recovered or we get a ransom call by this evening, we’ll bombard the media in the morning.”
“Mrs. Adler is expecting you,” said Tug. He went up the stairs. The bedroom door was open and Mrs. Adler waved him in. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but the moment he walked through the door she had her emotions under control.
“So you’re Hallinan. Auburn hair. Blue eyes. They’ve sent me a cop straight from central casting.”
“This is Hollywood, Mrs. Adler.” They exchanged a smile. She sat near the window looking out at the panorama of rain-swept hills. He took the chair beside her. She wore jade green lounging pajamas, her hair in a chignon.
“I hear you’re the one responsible for getting Dr. Rappaport over here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s good. Nathan’s already given me the treatment,” she said, with a wry smile. “The weather is working against us today.”
“That doesn’t mean the searchers are any less enthusiastic.”
“If Daisy is out there, do you think she survived the night? Please, be honest. I’m not as fragile as I look.”
“Yes ma’am, I do. Children are amazingly resilient. I’ve heard of newborn babies being pulled alive from collapsed buildings after a week without food or water.”
“Is it possible she’s been abducted?”
“I don’t know.”
“And the coy
ote theory?”
“If a hungry coyote ate the cat food, why bother the child? If his objective was to carry off Daisy, the food would still have been in the bowl.”
“That makes sense. Are you a religious man?”
“That depends on who you ask. I sometimes drink too much. I always eat too much and I haven’t been to confession in two years. On the other hand, I’m not on the take and I don’t cheat on my wife, which is irrelevant, because she’s leaving me for a younger man.”
She patted his hand. “You’re okay, Lieutenant.” Her skin was pale, almost translucent. There were shadows around her eyes. “Oh, how I hate this waiting game. I feel so helpless.”
“Have you eaten anything today, Mrs. Adler?”
“Maybe later. Sarah won’t let me starve.” She gave a small sigh. “I regret slapping Sigrid. She’s just a foolish teenager.”
“Maybe she needed a little slapping.”
Helen smiled. “Maybe she did. I was raised in this house, you know. When I married Nathan, he was a young intern with one threadbare suit and a pair of worn-out shoes. Believe me, Lieutenant, being married to a doctor is no walk in the park. They’re never home when you need them. Their patients think they’re gods, and they wish to be treated as such on the domestic front. Somewhere along the way, I’ve become as dispensable as high button shoes.”
“If your husband’s smart, he’ll come to his senses.”
“Don’t bet on it.” She opened a drawer in the small table that separated their chairs. “Here’s the guest list. Some people brought friends. Others didn’t show. Not everyone signed the guest book, so I’m not sure how much help it’s going to be.” Hallinan glanced at the list and folded it into his notebook.
“Thank you. What can you tell me about Horst Kepler?”
“He never goes anywhere without his camera, always has his ear to the ground and his eye to the keyhole, hoping for the money shot…a plane falling out of the sky…a politician in bed with an eighth grader, a school bus dangling from an overpass. Inviting him was a serious lapse of judgment on my part.”
“I understand Daisy’s outside door is generally locked at night.”
