“He finished his shift October seventh and left on a camping trip to the Sierras. He just got back, opened his first newspaper in a week, and calls us. C’mon. We’ll talk on the way.”
As they drove to the waiter’s apartment, the detectives debated it further.
“But if Vranizan killed her, why would he leave such a public trail?” Pico said.
“Crimes of passion are rarely logical. But he lied about when he saw her last. He’s hiding something, and I bet it’s Kitty Hayden’s murder.”
Magruder enumerated the evidence. “We’ve got a greengrocer at the Farmers Market who heard her meet someone whose name started with M. A stolen car from the RKO lot where he worked. Known volatility and rages. Obsession with the first victim and loitering around a house where two of the dead girls lived. The fight at the restaurant, then Kitty spotted inside the stolen car around midnight. Fibers from the ape on her body. She was killed between eleven p.m. and five-thirty a.m. and we haven’t found anyone who can confirm Vranizan’s alibi that he was home asleep.”
Pico shook his head. “It’s all circumstantial. And we haven’t cleared DiCicco yet. There’s something squirrelly about him too.”
Magruder nodded. “When we get back, I want you to drive out to San Pedro and recheck his alibi. Everything has to be nice and tidy. Last thing we want is the media braying that we got it wrong on such a high-profile case. But I’d lay money on Vranizan.”
“What about Florence Kwitney and Louise Dobbs? He kill them too?”
“Who knows what shop of horrors we’ll find when we search that home studio of his?”
“What about the note to Kirk?” Pico persisted. “What about her being pregnant?”
What about the criminal investigation by the DA? What about my father? he thought.
“Let me put it this way,” Magruder said. “If the girl you loved told you she was pregnant by another man, wouldn’t you want to kill her?”
CHAPTER 32
Lily called Pico from the drugstore, eager to tell him about Roy DiCicco’s gangster ties, but he and Magruder were out on an interview. She left an urgent message, then walked home in time to take a call from Louise’s parents, who sounded shell-shocked and said they were en route to Los Angeles to escort their daughter’s coffin home. Lily tried to comfort them but burst into tears herself. An hour later Pico phoned back.
“Roy DiCicco at RKO has a brother who works for Jack Dragna,” Lily said.
There was a sharp intake of breath, then Pico said, “How do you even know about Roy DiCicco?”
“Max called and told me you brought him in and accused him of stealing a car off the RKO lot the night Kitty disappeared.”
“He’s supposed to keep those interviews to himself,” Pico snapped.
“Well, just this once, I’m glad he didn’t.”
Lily recounted what the RKO operator had told them and the speculation that DiCicco’s car hadn’t really been stolen.
“Maybe Roy DiCicco only wants people to think he’s estranged from his gangster brother,” Lily said. “He could have stolen that gorilla armature out of Max’s studio, it’s not like they keep them locked up, then sprinkled some fur on her corpse to make it look like Max did it. Everyone at RKO knew Max was mooning over her.”
“I’m going to check DiCicco’s alibi right now.” Pico paused. “And we’ll see if Rhett Taylor can ID him as the driver that night. But there’s another development.”
He explained what they’d learned from the waiter at Panza’s Lazy Susan.
“Good God.” Lily’s voice caught. “Max told everyone he hadn’t seen her since Labor Day.”
“It’s a lie. They fought, and from what the waiter heard, it was vicious. After forty minutes, Kitty stormed off. Max Vranizan proceeded to get smashingly drunk and left around midnight. Don’t forget he lives close to the Crow’s Nest and where the kid found the sandal. His RKO colleagues say he came in the next morning looking like he hadn’t slept.”
“He probably looks like that a lot when he’s got a movie in production,” Lily said. In the distance, she heard Magruder calling.
“I’ve got to go,” Pico said.
“Be careful when you talk to those Dragna people,” Lily said.
“And you sit tight until you hear from me this evening.”
Lily hung up, wondering whether Max Vranizan had really strangled Kitty—and perhaps the other two girls as well—or whether there could be another explanation for his deceit.
There was no doubt he was a brilliant artist. He was also eccentric, obsessive, and a liar. The more Lily thought about how he’d manipulated her, the angrier she got. She itched to confront him and hear for herself what he had to say. Rhett Taylor had eliminated Max as the driver of the Studebaker, so the more she thought about it, the more her gut told her that he was probably innocent of Kitty’s murder. But what if Max erupted into one of his black rages with the police and somehow incriminated himself? What if he was convicted of murder while the real killer went free? Lily picked up the phone and called RKO.
But Max was gone for the day. Lily sat, lost in thought, then it came to her. It was Thursday evening. He was at Clifton’s Cafeteria, with his science club cronies. Grabbing her purse, she ran to the Boulevard to catch the trolley downtown. As she waited impatiently, she heard newsboys yelling, “Extra,” and thought she heard the name Rhett Taylor. She bought a paper just as the trolley pulled up. At least three women on board were reading the same story, sniffling into tissues. Taylor had been found dead in his room at the Hollywood Hotel of an overdose of sleeping pills, an empty whiskey bottle by the bed. The papers were saying he was despondent because Confidential was about to run a story about his homosexuality. There was a quote from Violet McCree.
As she read, Lily felt numb, like she was slowly disassociating from her body. He’d asked her and Pico to stay until dawn, but they’d made excuses and left. Why hadn’t she realized his desperation?
But what if it wasn’t suicide, but homicide? Rhett Taylor was the only one who could identify Lily’s pursuer and the driver of the car that had picked her up. Without him, the killer might go free.
When the trolley reached downtown, Lily hopped off and walked the few blocks to Clifton’s, where a busboy directed her upstairs to a brown room where a dozen men sat talking over plastic food trays. A cloud of silvery blue smoke hovered above them.
“It’ll be a space elevator, mark my words, all the way to the moon,” a young man wearing a green cardigan and brown pants said.
“Violates the laws of physics,” said another, dressed in a suit and ascot. “I just had this discussion with my class at Caltech, and…”
The man stopped midsentence. “Well,” he said, standing up, and Lily got the feeling that women were rarer here than dragons’ teeth.
“Lily, what a surprise!” Max said, hastily putting down an octopus armature. His hand slid into his pocket, fingering something. “What brings you here?”
“Lily?” a young man with wavy hair said, waggling his great bushy eyebrows inquisitively at Max.
“Forrie, this is Lily Kessler,” said Max. “She’s a friend of Kitty Hayden’s family. Lily, meet Forrest Ackerman, a movie collector extraordinaire and the biggest science and fantasy buff around. He’s got Dr. Frankenstein’s electrodes, Bela Lugosi’s fangs, part of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis set.”
The man named Forrie grinned.
Lily said, “Max, I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Okay,” said Max, motioning her over.
“In private,” she said crisply.
The room erupted in guffaws and good-natured ribbing.
“You’re in for it now, Max,” said a studious-looking young man with a goatee.
“Did he leave a gorilla in your bed, miss?” said a young man with a thick shock of hair, spectacles, and a fiendish twinkle in his eyes.
The room erupted in hoots of laughter.
“Ray, you be quiet,” Max said.
“Watch ou
t for Bradbury,” called a voice from the back, “or he’ll turn you into a gold-skinned Martian girl.”
“They could very well have golden skin, Nathan,” the man named Ray said mildly, puffing on a meerschaum pipe with a hammered silver unicorn winding around the bowl. “We won’t know until we meet them.”
Max led her into the hallway, the raucous shouts of the science club following them.
“Are you all right? You look all out of breath.”
“I’m okay. But Max, I…”
“Let’s go for a stroll,” he said brusquely. “These fellows are getting on my nerves.”
“Here is fine.”
“I need some air. Damn eggheads smoke too much.”
It was dark outside. The October days were whittling down to winter, leaves rusting on the trees. The wind kicked up.
“Just a little stroll,” Max said, moving along the sidewalk.
“Why?” A jolt of suspicion went through her. What if she was wrong, and he had killed Kitty and the others? Would he now abduct her? But that was crazy. The streets were full of cars and people.
“Max, stop.”
“Okay.” He turned. His hand went to his pocket. “What is it?”
“You lied to me, Max. You saw Kitty the night she disappeared and I want to know why.”
“Why?” he echoed.
“The police know. I’m afraid they’re going to arrest you for Kitty’s murder.”
“But I loved Kitty.” His brow furrowed.
“I know. But people have been known to kill the ones they love. Especially when they can’t have them.” She paused. “What happened between you and Kitty on October seventh? Tell me the truth this time.”
“It was our anniversary,” he said glumly. “I took her to dinner.”
“What anniversary?”
“Of our meeting at the Pig ’n Whistle.”
She shook her head. “Let me get this straight. You took her to dinner to celebrate the one-year anniversary of your friendship?”
“That’s right. And then she had to ruin it.” A peevish tone crept into his voice and he stroked something in his pocket. Lily wondered if he had a gun. She began to back away.
“How did she ruin it?”
“She told me she didn’t have all night because she was meeting a guy named Frankie at nine for a drink.”
Lily grew very still. “And that got you mad?” She forced a casual tone into her voice.
“It wasn’t so much that. It was…she told me…” Max’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She told me…”
“What?”
“That I had to stop pining for her. That we were never going to be together.” He looked at her miserably and his hand slid out of its pocket, large and pale and…empty, she saw with relief.
“And you couldn’t live with that?” she said softly.
Max hung his head. “No,” he said hoarsely.
“Max,” Lily said. “What did you do?”
“I told her I’d kill myself.” His eyes were shrouded suddenly, something tricky in them.
“What else did you tell her?”
“I told her I’d kill her, and then myself.”
Could Pico be right? Lily scooted down the sidewalk. “You obviously didn’t kill yourself,” she said.
“And I couldn’t kill her. Especially after she told me she was going to have a baby.”
“That must have upset you. Did she tell you who the father was?”
“No.”
“Did you kill her, Max? Maybe it was an accident. You were angry and things got out of hand.”
“No.” He looked panicky, his eyes rolling and darting.
“The bartender overheard you fighting. He told the cops. What happened after that?”
He gave her a bleak look. “She ran out and I got drunk. Eventually I just went home.”
“What time was that?”
“Around eleven forty-five.”
Rhett Taylor had seen a man chasing Kitty at one-thirty. It wasn’t Max Vranizan.
“And you went right to bed, and never saw her again?”
“No.” He made a choking noise. “I…I went for a drive.”
“Where?”
“I drove up the Coast Highway. It was foggy, I could barely see. And I was drunk as a lord. But I didn’t care. I thought, If I die, what does it matter? My heart already died tonight.”
“How far did you go?”
“Up to the ’Bu and back.”
“What time did you get home from Malibu?”
“Around three-thirty.”
“So you didn’t see Kitty again?” Lily pressed, suspicious.
“No. But there was something by my doorstep.”
“What?”
“This.” He reached into his pocket and Lily flinched, until she saw the carved bone button. A red thread looped through the hole.
Lily’s breath caught in her throat. She’d seen one just like it.
“It’s a button from the outfit Kitty was wearing that night. She must have come by while I was out. Maybe she wanted to apologize. Maybe she was on the run and needed help. And I wasn’t there. I let her down.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was. If I had been home that night, she’d still be alive.”
“Why didn’t you tell the cops?”
“Because they would have suspected me. I was the last one to see her alive.”
“But don’t you see you’ve made it much worse?”
“I was scared they’d think I’d done it. And I was right.”
At that moment, a black coupe with tinted windows cruised past slowly. A window came down and they both saw the muzzle of a pistol. Before she could scream, she heard the rat-tat-tat and ducked, but a crimson stain was already seeping down the front of Max’s shirt. She saw his eyes, confused and beseeching, as he slumped against the wall, one hand trailing down her side. Inside the car, a man lowered the gun again and took careful aim. Lily jumped back and ran, people already screaming and scattering in the street. The sound of more shots rang in her ears.
CHAPTER 33
Lily wanted to grab one of the smartly dressed people and scream, Help me, but feared the shooters would just mow them both down. Max, she thought as her legs pumped, her mind refusing to believe it.
Who could want Max dead? Any last vestiges of suspicion she had that the animator had murdered Kitty Hayden now evaporated. Max was innocent. But he knew something. He’d told her Kitty was meeting someone named Frankie at nine p.m. Frankie Niccoli? Was Dragna behind it after all? Had his men killed Bernard Keck and Rhett Taylor too?
Ahead of her was a coffee shop, lit up like a beacon. If she could reach it, she’d be safe.
A flamboyantly dressed man fell into step beside her. Then another. Lily stiffened and slowed. The men slowed too. Was she imagining it? The coffee shop was only a half block away now.
She quickened her pace, decided to scream after all, and felt something hard push against her ribs. She took a step forward, and the gun moved with her.
“Easy,” one said. “Keep walking.”
Lily pretended to stumble, then jumped back and ran helter-skelter the way she’d just come. She heard an oath, the men turning around. They wouldn’t risk a shoot-out with people on the street, would they? But they were breaking into a trot. They intended to kill her.
At that moment, a bus pulled up and its doors opened, disgorging a flow of people. They poured onto the sidewalk, blocking her escape. She thought about jumping on the bus, but she’d be swimming upstream. On the other side of her was Barker Brothers Department Store. Hoping the disembarking passengers would shield her from view, she ducked inside and found herself in a furniture showroom. There had to be an exit in the back. The place was a maze of heavy wooden furniture as she threaded her way. The front door opened with a blast of air and her pursuers burst in. She ran into the back office.
A young man looked up from his typewriter and adjusted his glasses at the
sight of her. He looked seventeen and wore a name tag that said BOB.
“Is there a rear exit? Quick! There are two men after me.”
“Excuse me?”
Lily ran up and seized his lapels. “For the love of Christ, help me. They’ve got a gun.”
Her terror seemed to galvanize him. He vaulted over his desk. “Follow me.” Bob led her down a hallway.
“Gee whiz, this is pretty exciting,” he said.
“Too exciting. We’d better hurry, unless you want brains and blood splattered all over Barker Brothers’ fine furnishings.”
“Golly,” said Bob. “Are you a spy?”
She didn’t answer. They ran downstairs and Bob looked around, as if thinking of where he could hide her amid the china sets and dining tables, beds, and draperies. Then his eyes lit up. “C’mon, I’ve got just the place.”
He crossed the basement to another flight of stairs. Lily scurried after him. Above, they heard the pounding of feet and breaking glass.
“Where are you taking me? They’re going to find us like cornered rats,” Lily panted.
They were in the subbasement now, a dusty place stacked high with broken chairs, tables, and lamps with torn shades. Lily looked around in dismay.
“There’s nowhere to hide.”
“Yes, there is.” Bob picked up a flashlight atop a stack of boxes. He walked to the wood-paneled wall, stuck two fingers inside a knothole, and tugged. A hidden door swung open. Bob turned on the flashlight and played its light along a narrow, low-ceilinged passageway filled with cobwebs and crumbling plaster. “In there.”
Lily shrank back. What if Bob meant to keep her captive in some secret room off the subbasement of Barker Brothers?
“Aw,” said Bob, “you don’t trust me. I’ll go first. Come on.”
“What’s in there?”
Bob’s eyes danced. “It’s a secret passageway to the Paramount Theater next door.”
He entered, beckoned her to follow. With little choice, she did. He pulled the door shut and gave her a huge wink. “Follow me.”
She crept behind Bob the bookkeeper, down a cold passage that smelled of mice and musty air, the flashlight picking out bumps on the plaster wall, bits of straw poking out.
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