The Last Embrace

by Denise Hamilton

  “Here,” Gadge said, stopping. Harry examined the sidewalk but saw nothing—no thread, hair, dried blood, earrings, scraps of cloth. It was a long block. He imagined Kitty hurrying home late at night. Then a sudden assault, in a lonely place with shuttered shops and no witnesses.

  Harry questioned each shopkeeper, but as he expected, they all closed by ten p.m. and didn’t recall anything unusual that evening. Walking back to the sidewalk, he hiked up his pants and got on his hands and knees for a beetle’s-eye view.

  “You sure the shoe was here?” he asked finally.

  “Yup, and it wasn’t there at eleven the night before.”

  “How’re you so sure?”

  “The owner of that deli”—Gadge pointed to a store that Harry had just canvassed—“sometimes throws away perfectly good sandwiches. I waited until he went home at eleven to go through the trash.”

  Harry pushed himself off his knees and dusted off leaf crumbs. He’d narrowed it to a seven-hour window—Kitty Hayden had run into trouble between eleven p.m. and six a.m. the next morning when Gadge found her shoe. Something bad had happened here, he could almost feel it.

  He decided to give it one more try. Head bent, eyes scanning, hands clasped behind his back, he walked slowly to Hollywood Boulevard, then crossed the street and came down the other side. This time, he spied something wedged into a crack where the sidewalk had buckled from the tree roots. It looked like a big dirty pebble. He picked it up, saw that it was a button. Stylish. Carved of bone. A woman’s button. With a bit of dirt-encrusted red thread still in the hole. To match the red suit? Kitty Hayden’s body had been found a mile away. But the shoe suggested she’d tussled with her attacker right here. And now a button. Was it even hers? Harry scraped off grime with his fingernail. He needed to look at photos of the suit again. But first…

  Harry slipped the button into his pocket and called Gadge. They hiked back up to Hollywood Boulevard and Harry studied the businesses on either side of the intersection. A greengrocer, a leather shop, a florist. Lots of offices. They all would have been closed by eleven p.m. Half a block down, Harry saw a nightclub called the Crow’s Nest. Bars stayed open late. Maybe a patron had heard something.

  The sign on the nightclub door said CLOSED, but the front door was unlocked. They walked in.

  The place smelled of last night’s sweat, spilled alcohol, and a miasma of stale perfume and smoke. In the dirty aquarium light, couples danced. A man sat at an upright piano, picking out tunes with one hand while holding a drink. Seeing Harry, he put down his drink and launched into “God Save the Queen.” He played atrociously and Harry thought he might be drunk.

  There was a sudden shuffling on the floor. A wary watchfulness descended. The bartender, a handsome guy with a ruffled white shirt, plunged glasses into hot sudsy water. Harry made his way to the bar.

  “I’d like to ask your customers something. It’s about a woman who’s mur…disappeared. I wanted to know if anyone heard anything unusual the night of October seventh out on the street. Like screaming or the sounds of a fight.”

  “You a copper?”

  “No. Just a…friend of hers.”

  “And I’m Joan Crawford,” the bartender said. “Sorry, bud. I don’t know anything about your lady friend. And we’re closed.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “It’s a private party. Didn’t you see the CLOSED sign out front? I suggest you leave.”

  “Now, wait a—”

  The bartender put down the glass he was washing and began walking around the bar. He was bigger and burlier than he had looked from behind the counter.

  Harry said thank you, grabbed Gadge by the collar, and left.

  Back at the car, he found his newspaper photos of the dead girl. Most of the buttons on the girl’s jacket had popped, revealing the blouse beneath. But one was intact. Harry held his button next to the glossy black-and-white image, feeling a strange tingling at the base of his neck. It matched.

  The sign on the stucco building said DOCTOR S. R. LAFFERTY & ASSOCIATES, DERMATOLOGY, but the door was locked. Maybe Dr. S. R. Lafferty no longer helped girls in trouble. Lily was about to leave when the venetian blinds in the window parted and a pale doughy face looked out. Then the door opened.

  “Yes?” said a man who wore stained hospital scrubs.

  “A friend of mine sent me…I’m looking for Dr. Lafferty…”

  Lily wasn’t sure how to go on.

  “We’re closed for lunch,” the man said, staring at her lower belly as if she’d drawn a crimson bull’s-eye in lipstick.

  “I can come back.”

  “If you’re here for a skin care consultation, please call us for an appointment.”

  “That’s not what—” Lily began.

  The man craned his neck around her to see if she was alone.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his words fast and insinuating.

  The man leaned over and coughed so violently that his body convulsed. Pulling a wadded handkerchief out of his pocket, he hacked and hacked. There was dirt under his fingernails. She prayed this wasn’t Dr. Lafferty. Lily wanted to flee, but she pushed on.

  “I was hoping to talk to the doctor about some trouble I’ve been having.”

  He licked his lips. “How long has this been bothering you?”

  “Nine weeks,” she said, feeling that they were talking in code.

  A flicker passed over his eyes.

  “The doctor can help you, miss. Come back after two.”

  Lily was back at two-fifteen after eating an egg salad sandwich and drinking a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. This time there was nothing sinister—she walked into a clean and pleasant reception area appointed with magazines and ashtrays. Nurses in crisp white uniforms called patients. One woman had a pimply teenage girl with her. Several older women with bejeweled, liver-spotted hands hid their faces behind hats and oversized dark glasses. The man with the begrimed fingernails was nowhere in sight.

  Lily signed the patient roster and waited for her name to be called. After an hour, she checked with the receptionist and was told the doctor would see her last because she didn’t have an appointment.

  Finally, the nurse led her into an examination room filled with glass cabinets and advertisements for face-care products. Twenty minutes later the doctor came in.

  He was in his sixties, but his hair and eyebrows were dyed the color of shoe-black. His cheeks were ruddy, the skin clean-shaven, and he smelled faintly of antiseptic. The skin around his eyes was stretched taut, giving him the look of an aged doll. When he picked up a clipboard, Lily noticed a tremor in his hand.

  “Welcome. I’m Dr. Lafferty. What can I do for you, Miss…Corcoran?” he said, using the name she’d given.

  Lafferty peered at Lily’s skin. “Your complexion looks fine to me. Bit pale, maybe.”

  “A friend told me about you,” Lily said. “I have a problem.”

  He looked up. “Ah, yes. I believe my associate mentioned a girl. Lie down on that table and let’s have a look at you.”

  Lily froze. “But—”

  “Do you want to take care of this or don’t you?” he said sternly. “It’s all the same to me.”

  Lily felt trapped. She didn’t like being alone in an examination room with this strange doctor, couldn’t bear the thought of him touching her.

  “This isn’t a pelvic exam, Miss Corcoran. No need to take your clothes off. I’m just going to palpate your belly, see how far along you are.”

  Reluctantly, Lily lay down on the stainless steel table, holding her legs tightly together and smoothing her skirt down as far as it would go. She tried not to shudder as she felt his hand slide under her girdle, her fist cocked for the moment when his hand would stray lower and she’d punch him in the mouth.

  He probed the contours of her stomach, face furrowed in thought. The hand withdrew.

  “All right, you can sit up now.”

  Lily feared Dr. Lafferty had caught her out, and st
arted preparing a lie in her head.

  “You’re ten weeks pregnant,” the doctor announced with authority.

  Lily couldn’t believe that he’d take her money and scrape up her insides when she wasn’t even pregnant.

  “We can help you,” he continued. “It’ll be a hundred fifty dollars. Cash. What do you say?”

  Lily was so stunned she couldn’t say anything.

  “Don’t look shocked. You girls think it’s fun and games. Now you’ve got to pay the piper.”

  Lily wanted to slap his face. Instead, she smiled.

  “Do you see a lot of girls like me?”

  He gave a sandpaper laugh. “More and more.” He shook his head. “I reckon it’s the war that did it. All you gals getting jobs and running around on your own.”

  Seeing something in her face, he added, “Mind you, I’ll do anything I can to help a girl in trouble. And it’s not for the money, because there isn’t any. Not after the precautions I take.”

  “I bet the studios send you business.” Lily inclined her head west and smiled enigmatically, letting him decide whether she meant facials, nose jobs, or abortions.

  “They’ve got accounts here,” he said, adding with sudden suspicion, “Who’d you say sent you?”

  “A friend from Hollywood.” Lily felt her way through the conversation. “She might have gone by the name of Doreen.”

  A strange light flashed, then banked, behind his eyes.

  “Don’t recall anyone by that name.”

  “Kitty, then,” said Lily, watching him.

  “Nope,” he said.

  Dr. Lafferty pressed an intercom and said, “Reginald, Room Three, please.”

  Again, she noticed the tremor in his hand, shuddering to think of him performing surgery.

  Lily had sensed the air in the room shift as soon as she mentioned the name Doreen. She felt pretty sure that Kitty had been here, using her real name.

  “Miss Corcoran, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t think I’ll be able to help you after all. And I’m a very busy man. Good day to you. My associate will see you out.”

  He left and Lily, her heart galloping in her chest, made to follow him. She took a step and ran smack into the man in the orderly’s outfit. A hand with dirty fingernails gripped her wrist, tightening until her flesh burned.

  The walls echoed with silence. It was late afternoon, no one left in the building. Reginald hauled her to a back door and shoved her out. She stumbled and fell to her knees, found herself in an alley. The man stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

  “You don’t want to get on the doctor’s bad side,” Reginald said. “He’s got friends who could make life difficult for you. Now get lost and don’t come back.”

  Lily retreated to a safe distance. She’d blown her cover by uttering Doreen’s name. This was her last chance to goad Reginald into revealing anything useful. In daytime, here in suburban Culver City, Lily felt perfectly safe.

  “Or what?” she taunted. “You think you can take care of me the way you did Kitty Hayden? Did she die on Dr. Lafferty’s operating table? You don’t care about the girls you butcher, do you? So long as you get paid.”

  “Miss, are you okay?” came a quavering voice from across the alley. An elderly woman in a flowery print dress stood on her porch.

  “I’m fine,” Lily said, pushing her hair off her face. “But did you know that you’re living next to an abortionist?”

  “There’s no call for that kind of language, young lady.” The woman shook her head and Lily heard the screen door slam as she went back inside.

  Lily calmed down as she dusted herself off. She’d call Magruder and Pico, tell them her suspicions. Suggest that they investigate. As if on cue, a police car pulled up to the mouth of the alley. A uniformed policeman got out, baton in hand.

  “We got a report of a disturbance in the alley, miss. What seems to be the problem?”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Officer. I’d like to file a report. I was just manhandled in that doctor’s office,” she said, pointing to the red brick building. “The doctor in there performs abortions on young women in trouble and I think he may know something about—”

  “Dr. Lafferty?” the policeman interrupted.

  “Yes sir, that’s—”

  “Dr. Lafferty is a dermatologist in good standing in this city, miss. Are you impugning his reputation?”

  “He just told me I was ten weeks pregnant when I wasn’t and offered to take care of my ‘problem’ and—”

  “Why are you telling a dermatologist that you’re pregnant?”

  “Because he’s using dermatology as a cover to perform—”

  “Why did you lie? Are you on some kind of medication, miss?”

  “No,” she cried, “I’m trying to tell you that—”

  “Because I’m inclined to take you down to the station and arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

  “There’s no need to do that, Officer Tranow,” said a man behind her.

  It was Dr. Lafferty, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase.

  “Doctor,” the policeman said with a warm smile. “Maybe you could tell me what in heaven’s name—”

  “This young woman is clearly disturbed,” the doctor said. “She came into my office several hours ago, demanding to be seen. She is suffering under the delusion that she’s pregnant. I called you because I was afraid she was a danger to herself.”

  “You called the police?” Lily said in disbelief.

  Lafferty smiled. “Officer Tranow’s our neighborhood beat cop. He makes sure everything’s running smoothly.”

  “That’s right.” Tranow’s eyes flickered distastefully over Lily. “So how about it, Doctor? You want to swear out an affidavit for Camarillo?”

  Lily blanched. Camarillo was the state mental hospital in Ventura County. Seeing the cozy way the doctor and the cop spoke, so casual and friendly, filled Lily with unease. It was simple enough for doctors to get people locked up. She saw herself screaming endlessly, the sound ricocheting silently in a fun house hall of mirrors.

  She began to back away.

  “Why don’t we step inside my office?” Lafferty suggested.

  Officer Tranow’s hand tightened on his baton and he walked toward her. They flanked her.

  At that moment, a car appeared at the end of the alley, speeding toward them. As they scattered to get out of the way, it stopped with a shriek of brakes. Detective Pico vaulted out. Then he was standing beside her.

  “This little gal giving you trouble?” Pico said.

  Tranow regarded him with annoyance. “This is a police matter, sir,” he said. “We’ll thank you to step aside and be on your way.”

  Pico flipped open his LAPD detective badge and grinned.

  But Tranow was not so easily dissuaded. “You’re out of bounds, Detective,” he said with a nasty smirk. “This is Culver City, which falls under the jurisdiction of the Culver City Police Department, not LAPD.”

  Pico’s smile grew broader. “I know that, Officer. But this young lady and I are friends, if you take my meaning.”

  He turned to Lily, talking low and fast. “How ya doing, sweetheart? I haven’t seen you in a blue moon. Why’dja run out on me like that?”

  Lily was speechless.

  “So if you two don’t mind,” Pico said, “I’m going to escort my little friend back across the city line.”

  “Get her out of here,” Lafferty said. “Miss Corcoran, I recommend that you go home and lie down. You have suffered a hysterical episode. If this condition reoccurs, you’ll need to go for a full evaluation. I can recommend a specialist.”

  But Officer Tranow wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  “If I see you in Culver City again, I will arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

  “Okay, Miss Corcoran, off we go now,” Pico said, maneuvering and pushing Lily to his car. Hands on her shoulders, he shoved her into the passenger seat, whispering “Shut up,” as his lip
s grazed her cheek. Then he slammed her door and went around to the driver’s side.

  “Thank you kindly,” Pico called out in parting. “Be happy to return the favor someday.”

  He yanked the car into reverse and quickly backed out of the alley. When they’d gone around the block and were back on Venice Boulevard, he spoke.

  “You want to tell me what you were doing, using a fake name and riling up a studio abortionist? You almost got yourself in all kinds of trouble.”

  But all Lily could think of was the burning sensation on her cheek where his lips had been, the shock that had run down her spine at his casual touch. No one had touched her like that in eight months, not since Joseph. Then an overwhelming, knee-quaking relief hit her. Underneath the civil conversation in the parking lot, she’d sensed menace, a powerful net drawing tight.

  Still, it wouldn’t do to let her emotions show. Turning to Pico, she asked with numb calmness she didn’t feel, “Why are you following me, Detective?”

  CHAPTER 16

  Following you?” Pico said, in a perfectly modulated voice. “I was just on my way to pick up some Danish at Helm’s Bakery down the road. Boys at headquarters love their crullers.”

  Lily laughed. “Danish? At five in the afternoon? You expect me to believe that?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  His even tone told her that not all good actors work for the studios. He was staring straight ahead, concentrating on driving. Under his breath, he hummed a song.

  “Will you please tell me what that was all about?” she said.

  He stopped humming and gave her an earnest look. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”

  Pico chuckled, shook his head. “And you actually listened to me back there. Amazing.”

  “Did I have a choice?”

  His eyes crinkled. “No.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I’ll bet that’s what Kitty Hayden thought too.”

  Lily frowned. He’d dodged her question deftly, turned the conversation back to Kitty. Of course he was following her, nothing else would explain his sudden appearance. But maybe, just for once, it wasn’t a bad thing.