Hoodwink

by Rhonda Roberts

  ‘Honeycutt, how come you know so much about Montfort? This can’t all come from reading Zebediah’s letters home.’ This was the first time he’d exhibited any real interest in my case.

  ‘Darlin’.’ His Southern drawl lengthened into a caress. ‘I went to military school until I was fifteen … in Louisiana. Their version of a history lesson was for us to re-enact every major conflict in the War Between the States. I was raised ready to refight the Civil War.’ He snorted. ‘And win it.’

  From his slight pause I was guessing Honeycutt was fifteen when his younger brother was shot. For just an instant his expression had become less smoothly confident. I wanted to know more about Kyle, but didn’t quite know how to ask.

  ‘What about the buyer Neves was acting for?’ said Honeycutt.

  ‘It was some organisation called the Hope Foundation. They want the desk for a gala auction they’re giving to raise money for the Refugee Relief Fund.’

  ‘The same Refugee Relief Fund that Susan’s connected to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  We both sat there staring down at the picture of Susan.

  ‘Have you got any idea how it could all link together?’

  ‘Nope, nothing.’ No point in lying.

  Silence.

  How on earth could I even start to investigate these kinds of leads in the short time I had left? Earl would die tomorrow night!

  I rubbed my face … And I needed more sleep.

  Oh God … what was I going to tell Troy?

  Honeycutt slung a warm, comforting arm around my shoulders. ‘Now, darlin’, you haven’t asked me what my day’s been like yet.’

  That sounded so hopeful I refrained from pushing away. ‘Did Selznick know anything?’

  ‘Yes, but he was pretty skittish. I said someone had pointed Renfrow out at his party. And, as I was so intrigued by American gangster movies, I might be persuaded to invest in a package of movies that had one in it.’

  ‘I’ll bet that made his eyeballs light up like traffic signals.’

  ‘That it did, darlin’.’ Honeycutt grinned, both dimples in play. ‘Anyway Selznick rang Jimmy Bergman, a scriptwriter for MGM who specialises in gangster movies. Bergman grew up in the same part of New Jersey as Lewis Renfrow.’

  ‘Finally, a break,’ I said with glee, sliding out from under his warm arm at the same time. I just couldn’t concentrate with him so near.

  ‘Yeah, Bergman was the right man to talk to. He and Renfrow grew up in the same street … Lewis’ mother was Miriam Renfrow, a half-Jewish, half-Italian drudge who worked as the neighbourhood abortionist. Renfrow’s father deserted them when he was two, so Jimmy’s mother used to feed Lewis when Miriam couldn’t.’

  ‘Right … Nothing like poverty and abandonment as a good foundation for a career in crime.’

  ‘Oh yeah. When Renfrow was ten he joined the local street gang that guarded one of Meyer Lansky’s speakeasies.’

  ‘Meyer Lansky …’ Eve had mentioned him on Open Day.

  ‘When Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel joined Lucky Luciano for a Jewish-Italian Mob merger, things really took off for Lewis Renfrow. His mixed background made him fit right in.’

  ‘Eve said the New York Mob sent Renfrow and Bugsy Siegel out to Los Angeles.’

  ‘Yep, they could all see California was the next urban growth area,’ said Honeycutt. ‘Al Capone and the Chicago Mob had been trying to break into the West Coast scene for decades … But the LAPD was so corrupt and so well organised they stomped out any real competition before it even got started.’

  ‘But Renfrow and Siegel still managed to find a way in.’

  He nodded. ‘When Hollywood began to really boom in the early 1930s, everything changed. Los Angeles became too big and too complex for even the LAPD to control all the illegal opportunities coming their way.’

  ‘So the Mob began to edge their way in through the cracks,’ I said. ‘And now Renfrow and Siegel are here to make sure that the New York Mob gets a piece of the LA action.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Did Bergman say whether the promotion into management had mellowed Renfrow? Is he still a hitter?’

  ‘No, Kannon, I don’t think Renfrow’s mellowed because he’s in upper management now,’ said Honeycutt sarcastically. ‘Last year he found out that one of his lieutenants had been skimming funds from his new Pasadena gambling club. Renfrow caught up with the thug in a nightclub on the Strip. It was Saturday night and Renfrow shot him, point blank, in a room packed full of civilians.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? And Renfrow was never convicted, of course.’

  ‘No. Strangely enough, out of the sixty-odd people present, no one actually saw anything. Even people who’d been splattered with the victim’s brains.’

  ‘Ah, a room full of blind people … So in other words, Lewis Renfrow is a hard man and if he knows about Ruby and Earl then he’s probably the one that put Earl in that cement body cast.’

  ‘And all without any fear of retribution from the LAPD.’

  Okay. ‘Did Bergman know whether Renfrow had found out about Ruby and Earl?’

  ‘I felt him out about that but Bergman had no idea,’ said Honeycutt. ‘I couldn’t ask him outright, of course, because then he’d just tell Renfrow.’

  Damn!

  I chewed a nail. ‘I don’t know what to do about Susan Curtis.’

  ‘What can you do, Kannon? You could spend all the time you’ve got left just trying to locate her. Besides, Renfrow fits the profile,’ asserted Honeycutt. ‘So who are you going to investigate?’

  He’d stopped calling me darlin’ … That meant he’d snapped back into full supervisor mode. Or possibly full Marine mode.

  This was going to be a crapshoot no matter what I spent the next twenty-four hours doing …

  But the manner of death was in line with a Mob hit …

  ‘I have to find a way to get close to Renfrow, to feel him out.’

  ‘Good, I thought you might say that.’ He wore the cat-eating-the-canary grin again. ‘Bergman told me Renfrow’s going to a séance tonight and we have to be present.’

  ‘A séance?’ I was flabbergasted. ‘Why? Who’s he trying to contact?’

  ‘His mother, Miriam. Bergman said she swore on her deathbed that she’d watch over her boy Lewie from the other side. Renfrow’s been trying to make contact with her ever since.’

  ‘A superstitious gangster? Interesting. Just one problem … I need to keep tabs on Earl. And according to Susan’s diary he stays at home all tonight.’

  ‘She’s lying. Selznick’s meeting Curtis for dinner, I heard him confirm the appointment while I was in his office. They’re going to a ball in the Purple Light District.’

  Bloody Susan. ‘What the hell is the Purple Light District?’

  ‘Selznick said it’s the city’s Psychic Quarter, the place where all the spiritualists and fortune-tellers hang out. He said the district surrounds MacVille Park, just west of here.’

  ‘MacVille Park?’ I shook my head. ‘Don’t know it.’

  ‘In our time MacVille Park is just open parkland at the very end of the Santa Monica Mountains, in between Los Felices and Burbank. Locals go there for picnics and hiking; tourists go to catch the view out over Los Angeles.’

  ‘But you’ve never heard of this Purple Light District before?’ I asked, bemused.

  ‘No.’ From his tone Honeycutt wasn’t happy about that fact either.

  We both let that particular puzzle sink to the floor. We had too many others to work on.

  ‘Tell me more about tonight.’

  ‘The Psychics’ Guild is holding both the ball and the séance at MacVille Park. Today is their special feast day, the Festival of the Shades. Selznick said half of LA will be there.’

  The Festival of the Shades … no wonder they were having a séance.

  ‘So what do we have to do to get in?’

  ‘Getting into MacVille Park is easy; it’s open to the public tonight for the festival. We already h
ave tickets for the ball as we’re going as guests of Selznick, but we need costumes. Selznick said we can hire them at the Good Shepherd Inn across from the front gates of the park. He’s booked a suite there for his guests.’

  ‘What about this séance?’

  ‘It’s on at midnight, after the ball finishes. Selznick says he’ll try and get us in, but he won’t know until later.’

  ‘What if we can’t get in?’

  ‘We have to. Bergman said Renfrow’s slugged his way into the private séance because he’s desperate. Renfrow knows there’s a traitor close to him … He wants to ask Miriam what to do.’

  Was adulterous Ruby this traitor?

  32

  THE PURPLE LIGHT

  DISTRICT

  Honeycutt pulled out of the Beverly Hills Hotel and took a left on Sunset Boulevard. We were taking his Speedster because I didn’t want him anywhere near my old Ford. If he saw the sinister doll scratched into the driver’s door he’d go into orbit …

  That, or send me there.

  Once we hit Hollywood we realised it’d been a big mistake to go that way. Selznick hadn’t exaggerated; the traffic was bumper to bumper along Sunset Boulevard, which was lit up like Las Vegas on heat. And every second nightclub and bar on the Strip had a flashing neon skull on their roof or front wall.

  The traffic crawled along but the sidewalks were zooming … full of raucous clusters of costumed revellers striding the rest of the way to MacVille Park. Even the electric trams were decorated with streamers and busting at the seams with gawking tourists trying to capture the festive sights on film in the fading twilight.

  Further along Sunset the clubs and bars turned into shops also in the holiday mood. They were taking full advantage of the mammoth crowd and their windows bristled with tacky souvenirs, bizarre masks and dancing skull puppets. Folding signs perched at intervals along the pavement advertised a weird array of services: Indonesian faith healers, magical Mexican beetles and the latest Indian rope trick … The stores were all doing a roaring trade, diverting eddies from the noisy mass of humanity surging towards the park.

  On the other side of Cahuenga Boulevard we hit the Purple Light District proper and the real estate prices shot up. The palm trees were taller and better tended and the buildings were more graciously spaced.

  I was surprised to see more traditional houses of worship in the spiritualist heart of LA. A big Catholic church, á la Notre Dame, dedicated to Our Lady of the Lake, sat opposite a minimalist New Methodist Church of Christ. Further on, a Kalin synagogue with the Star of David in neon lights on top sat next to a Reshi Hindu temple. The ivory-coloured temple was topped with two towers carved with writhing figures of gods and goddesses and a statue of the elephant god Ganesh, trunk reared back, bellowed greetings from over the front door.

  It may’ve been Saturday night but there was a throng of chaplains and parishioners standing out the front of each and every house of worship. The one thing they all had in common was that they steadfastly turned their backs on the tidal wave of festively bedecked heathens sweeping by.

  The traffic jammed to a complete stop.

  ‘Crap!’ Honeycutt checked his watch. ‘This is taking too long. We have to get to the Guild Hall and find out whether Selznick got us into the séance.’

  ‘I’m gonna take a look up ahead,’ I said and got out.

  Hell and damnation …

  The road ahead was actually barricaded … and black-uniformed cops were searching cars driving towards MacVille Park.

  ‘Honeycutt.’ I banged the car roof. ‘You’d better take a look at this …’

  To the right of the barricade the LAPD were swarming up the steps and into a whitewashed pueblo church with a black tiled roof. Below them, a line of cops were trying to keep the surging pedestrian hordes from trampling a cordoned-off section of the pavement.

  ‘Son of a …’ Honeycutt scanned the road, face tight with frustration.

  ‘The cops are searching cars.’ I squinted up at the black tiled roof. ‘Hey, do you know what kind of church that is?’

  He didn’t reply, too busy studying the police.

  It definitely wasn’t Anglo-Saxon …

  Sure, there was a towering green cross on the roof, but it had two equidistant crossbars instead of one and green foliage was blooming off the end of each bar. There was also a black-and-white figure sitting on the uppermost cross bar — possibly a woman, but I couldn’t quite make the details out.

  I felt between my breasts.

  That green double-barred cross was exactly the same as the silver pendant Charmaine had given me … except for the seated figure.

  I resisted the urge to pull the pendant out and check.

  Honeycutt was smart enough to put two and two together and make a whole lotta trouble with the answer.

  Just below the black roof line there was a title carved. I read it out loud, ‘The Church of the Queen of the Yucatan.’

  ‘The Yucatan Peninsular was Mayan territory, wasn’t it?’ muttered Honeycutt, still watching the police. He knew all about Earl’s bizarre tattoo.

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  Earl had his Mayan tattoo and I had a Mayan protective amulet …

  The traffic ahead burst forward. The cops were letting the cars through in sets of five, so we slid back in.

  We came up to the barricade, the lead car in a set of five … and abreast of the police cordon.

  I gaped.

  Directly opposite my side window a woman was sprawled at a broken angle, face-down on the hard pavement. Her long blonde hair fanned out around her like a halo. She wore a green serape embroidered in black and a black skirt embroidered in white.

  Green, black, white …

  The same colours as the pueblo church squatting on the stairs above her.

  She was lying in a pool of blood with a long silver spike sticking out of her back.

  ‘Everyone out!’

  I jumped.

  A uniformed cop had stuck his head in Honeycutt’s window and bellowed his command.

  ‘What’s going on, officer?’ said Honeycutt, opening his door.

  The cop gave him a cynical appraisal. ‘None of your goddamned business, punk … but I wouldn’t be going into MacVille Park tonight if I was you.’

  The cop searched the back seat and then tore the keys out of Honeycutt’s hand to open the trunk.

  We stood together next to the hood. The air sizzled with tension. They had to be searching for the dead woman’s killer …

  The cop dumped Honeycutt’s keys on the road and went on to the car behind us.

  Honeycutt scooped them up and we got back in.

  The cops holding the excited crowd at bay parted to allow two navy-blue-suited men past. The pair strolled over to the corpse and lounged there, looking down. They were bored.

  The short, thickset one pushed up the brim of his dark hat with one stubby finger and glared around in disgust. ‘What a waste of time. These fuckin’ Spics are always killing each other …’

  I froze.

  It was Shorty, one of the goons from the bridge at Venice. He was the one I’d kicked into the water.

  Shorty was an LAPD detective too …

  And he was only eight feet away from me!

  I glanced over at Honeycutt in anguish. He was watching the cop slowly work his way through the cars behind us. His eyes were hard, impatient.

  I couldn’t warn him …

  I crouched, as though searching for something in my bag, shielding my face as best I could.

  ‘Come on, Muller, ya gotta do something,’ griped the other detective. ‘The mayor was screamin’ down the phone as soon as he heard about the dame.’ He nudged the woman in the ribs with his boot, rocking the body. ‘You know she was his pet Spic.’

  Muller ignored him to scratch his crotch.

  ‘Muller, friggin’ wake up! The Boss is fit to kill anyone that crosses him after what happened in Venice last night.’

  On the bri
dge Muller had called the taller man Boss … the one I’d flattened.

  ‘Shut ya yap!’ snarled Muller. He gave the onlookers a cursory glance to see if anyone had heard. ‘You gotta a big mouth …’

  ‘Juanita!’ screamed a Latino man, pushing through the crowd. Beside him was a young boy with the same horrified face.

  The man jumped the cordon, desperate to get to the body. The police manhandled him back but the son got through to lie sobbing over the woman’s body.

  ‘Get off her!’ yelled Muller as he kicked the boy away. ‘You’re messing with the evidence.’ He towered over the cringing child, foot back and ready to lay in again.

  The devotees in front of the church roared at the sight.

  They were Latinos, all dressed in the same green, black and white. They surged across the police line to get to Muller, ready to take him apart at the seams.

  As one, the LAPD ripped the heavy truncheons off their belts and started sledging them.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here, Honeycutt, now!’ This was turning into a riot.

  ‘Go!’ A cop slammed our hood with his truncheon. ‘Beat it!’

  The barricade had been cast aside and Honeycutt accelerated into the empty road ahead.

  MacVille Park was unmistakable. It was guarded by a high red-brick wall, which stretched into the distance.

  Was that to keep people out … or in?

  We’d turned left into Western Avenue, then right into Los Felices Boulevard, which ran next to the walls marking the boundary of the park. There were black-uniformed cops on either side of the front gates, scanning the incoming crowd with aggressive intent. As we watched, they hauled a skeleton-costumed man aside, slammed him up against the wall and frisked him.

  Bloody hell. I had to find a disguise … and soon.

  I shot Honeycutt a fleeting glance; so far he hadn’t picked up on my edginess. I had to keep it that way.

  ‘Selznick was right about using the Inn,’ said Honeycutt coolly.

  I wanted to scream. He was bored now there were no barricades to ram through.

  If only he knew …

  Every inch of potential parking space next to MacVille Park was jammed full. There were vehicles on the nature strip, double-parked and wedged into driveways. The pedestrians were now blocking what was left of the road so Honeycutt slowed right down.