Kill All the Young Girls

by Brett Halliday

  “I’m still trying to put it together. Why aren’t you here with an Assistant D.A. and cops?”

  “It isn’t time for them yet.”

  “If it were somebody else with this problem, I’d say bring in the lawyers.”

  Shayne laughed. “That’s worse than talking into a tape recorder.”

  “Give me a drink.” He took the glass out of Shayne’s hands and emptied it in one, long swallow. He shuddered. “That’s really vile. What do you want from me, Shayne?”

  “What did Consolidated-Famous close at yesterday?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “I want two hundred shares. All you’re going to be buying with that is a few hours’ jump. A chance to do a little straightening up before they get here.”

  “Two hundred shares… All right, you’ve got it. How many other people saw this beating?”

  “Dozens. I’m probably the only one who can identify Gallagher. Most of them were either watching the movie or making out. I’m not offering to forget about it. When people shoot at me with Lugers, when some retarded creep kills a girl with brass knucks, when somebody else blows up another girl I’m about to get into bed with, I want somebody slammed for it. It’s my business. I know you realize that. Did you send the bomb to Kate Thackera, Oscar?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Then it’s to your advantage to find out who did. It’s going to be hard to pin this on anybody. Here’s what we have. The gatefold. The fact that Kate had been seeing you. Your secretary had Kate’s room key in her purse. Add Turkey Gallagher; and you’re going to look bad in tomorrow morning’s paper. If any of the stockholders are still undecided, they’ll vote against you. This could be the turn, Oscar. The banks might not be so anxious to lend you money from now on.”

  “It’s exaggerated, but I see your point. Go on.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll decide that you can’t lose anything by giving me some leads. This is the best time of night for me. When you jolt people awake, they say things they wouldn’t say in the daytime.”

  “Stick to the beating for a minute. You think I ordered it. Why?”

  “If the Zions had a chance to buy Oscar Olson’s secretary, wouldn’t they do it? Of course they would. Her days in the job were numbered. She had no reason to feel particularly loyal. She was in a position to know most of your plans. How much money would that be worth? A lot, probably; and given the way she was feeling, she may have considered it more or less her duty. But she wasn’t careful enough. Your proxy outfit has some arm-twisters on its payroll, I’m told; and you passed the word to hit her a few times. Turkey misunderstood, or he got carried away. He doesn’t get many chances to beat up good looking girls who go to a drive-in alone in a loose shirt with no bra. Or you wanted her dead, and you knew that with Turkey there was a good chance it might happen. Or somebody on the other side wanted her dead and paid him under the table to put in that one extra lick.”

  “Again, why?”

  “To make it look as though you kill people.”

  Oscar climbed out of the pool, towelled himself off, and put on his robe.

  “I think I have to take a chance and do it your way, Shayne. The birds around here think I can’t tell them apart. Sometimes I mix up their names, and I told you I believe in a fast turnover so they won’t get the idea that any of this is theirs. But I need a few people with brains; otherwise I’d be nibbled to death.”

  “You mean Mandy.”

  “Like Mandy. The brainier they are, the quicker they start thinking how they can rob me. When this proxy thing came along, she was ready. But she was just a touch too eager, and I noticed it. I planted some items where she’d have to trip over them; and the next morning, Larry and Marcus had countermoves underway.”

  “Why didn’t you get rid of her then?”

  “Because when you’ve got somebody feeding stuff to the other side, there are ways it can be used. But now it’s the last night, time to stop kidding around.”

  “So you brought in Gallagher.”

  “I didn’t bring in Gallagher. I’ve never heard the name. But I gave the sign. I’ll deny this if anybody else asks me, but the situation called for an object lesson so nobody else in the family would get the same idea. And as a message to Larry Zion that I’m not as dumb as I look. But brass knuckles were not part of the deal. That’s all on the subject.”

  “We have other subjects. Drink some more cognac. It’s having a good effect on you. Were you paying Kate Thackera blackmail?”

  “No. I don’t pay blackmail, and she had nothing to blackmail me with.”

  “Then why was the Brannon picture used?”

  “I hope you can find out for me. Naturally, I don’t like it.”

  “Larry Zion’s tongue slipped when he was waking up this afternoon. He meant to say Kate. He said Keko. You did the same thing a minute ago.”

  “I was thinking about her when I fell asleep.”

  “But that’s where this whole thing intersects. Kate’s big aim was to make it in the movies. She was living with Keko. Keko died. Larry Zion replaced her with Kate, and that made Kate a star. Did Kate find Keko’s body?”

  “No, Evie Zion. Marcus’s wife.”

  “I have somebody looking up the clippings. Were you ever questioned about it?”

  “No, thank God. Never mind about clippings. In those days, the studios really ran that part of the country. Evie didn’t call the police; she called the Consolidated flacks, and the money began to flow. It’s ancient history. It’s been plastered over.”

  “Here.”

  Oscar accepted the glass Shayne held out. He looked at it with distaste but drank it like medicine.

  “I’ll have a hangover in the morning. I know—there are worse things than hangovers. You want me to tell you how it was with me and Keko.”

  He was a cool performer. During the day, with everything working, the transitions would have been smoother; and it would have been harder to determine what he was actually saying. But he was still not all the way back, and Shayne understood that he was going to be given just enough to keep him occupied while Oscar was making his own moves.

  “Were you with Keko the day she died?” he said.

  “Yes. But did I kill her? No. Do I know anything to indicate that somebody else killed her? No.”

  “Kate knew you were there.”

  “Yes; and frankly, I’m glad it didn’t get to be part of the record. That was a crucial year. I was thinking of trying a TV show. The publicity would have been a little messy. That doesn’t mean I paid Kate to keep her quiet. I offered her space in the magazine, and that was all. We gave her some good reviews. I can see how it looks: she was threatening me with it, and I had Mandy killed so she couldn’t testify that I sent her to Kate’s room with the bottle of bourbon.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve borrowed money on my magazine stock to buy into Consolidated-Famous, and I’ve put up those Consolidated shares as collateral to buy more shares. So here we are. What I seem to be saying is—thanks for waking me up.”

  “It wasn’t easy. You and Keko.”

  “The thing is, she claimed to be my daughter.”

  “Your daughter,” Shayne repeated without inflection.

  “She wasn’t. I hired a team of investigators and established that to my own satisfaction. We could have clobbered her if she’d decided to go into court with it. I knew her mother when I was just getting started. Fifteen, for Christ’s sake. I met her; we messed around. Everybody knows my philosophy. Birds are part of the air I breathe, part of my act. Something like this happens to me all the time. Somebody comes up and says wasn’t that a great trip to Yugoslavia, what a fantastic two months. I may remember Yugoslavia, but the chances are I won’t remember that particular bird. It used to scare me. Now I’ve made it an asset. I don’t know if you see what I mean—but they can’t touch me.”

  “You remembered Keko’s mother?”

  “Well—she was one of the first. And seventeen yea
rs later, a seventeen-year-old kid turned in some glossies; and we decided to use her on the gatefold. You know that body. The female body has always been important to me, and Keko’s was very much to my liking. Later she had the good luck to hook into Larry Zion, and he made her famous. When I saw her in her first movie—you’ll be surprised to hear this—I decided to marry her. And that’s when she broke it to me. She’d found her mother’s diary. Naturally, she couldn’t marry me if she were my daughter.”

  “Did you believe it?”

  “The dates weren’t that convincing, and you can’t tell me I was the only possibility. Maybe Keko had somebody forge the whole thing. She was in orbit most of the time. Her big object was to make herself hard to predict. I thought at the time that she really did want to marry me, in a way, and that she pulled out that diary to give herself an excuse to say no. The psychological ins and outs of that girl. As far as incest goes—I don’t advocate it, but it doesn’t totally turn me off. I didn’t lose any hair. But I couldn’t marry her after that. I’m known for some far-out positions, but I doubt if my public would back me in that one.”

  “How well established was she then? Did she want anything else from you?”

  “She wanted to cut me down. I suppose she was carrying a kind of grudge. As much as I love to ball, I’m considered a male supremacist—do you realize that? I’ve had complaints that sex for me is a form of reverse castration. That I don’t give a damn if they come or not. I deny that—I like it better when it’s mutual, and I’ve got a good stable of actors around here. She stayed a couple of months with me. When it’s time for them to go, I give them a check and a pat. It’s the best way. I remember Keko wanted to hang on. The only way I could get her out of the pad was convince her I was an uncharming heel, and I think she held it against me. She showed me the diary after we’d been in bed for eighteen straight hours. After. Do you see the point? She didn’t show it to me at the start. Draw your own conclusions. I took it in my stride, as they say.”

  “She didn’t want a cash settlement in exchange for being left out of your will?”

  “She already had cash. She was getting a hundred and fifty G’s a picture. She wanted satisfaction, which I was careful not to give her.”

  “Could she have hurt you with that diary?”

  “Oh, yes. She was one of the top box-office stars that year.”

  “Did Kate Thackera know about it?”

  “She never said so. But Kate did need cash at various times; and yes, I think I would have heard about it if she did know.”

  “How long after Keko showed you the diary did she die?”

  “Two or three years. She was getting nuttier by the week. All her marriages flopped. Funnily enough, I think if she’d married me, it might have straightened her out. She kept getting in worse and worse trouble with the studio. Slipping at the box office. Her mother had died of cancer, and she thought she had it. She was deep into drugs—three suicide tries in a year. That was nothing new. She tried it when she was with me, and that’s why I threw her out. If they want to kill themselves, do it elsewhere is the way I look at it.”

  “The last day, Oscar.”

  “Yes. She phoned me and said if I wanted that diary and some pictures, to come and see her.”

  “What pictures?”

  For the first time, Oscar showed traces of embarrassment. “The kind of bird who’s attracted to me sometimes likes to get pounded a little, Shayne. The punishment thing. Well, if they want me to belt them, I’m glad to oblige. I’ve never used whips. And Keko had the kind of skin you could bruise with a dirty look. That’s well known—her makeup people had to be creative artists. These were gag shots from the old days. They looked worse than they were.”

  “Pictures of Keko after a beating?”

  “A beating! Don’t be silly. After a little strenuous sex.”

  “And she wanted to give them back to you before she killed herself.”

  “She was closing the books. That was the line she used. She played it like a bad movie.”

  “Did Kate see those photographs?”

  “I keep telling you. The only thing she knew was that I was there. That was bad enough, because there was plenty of excitement around that suicide. I didn’t want the world to know I was balling Keko a couple of hours before she gobbled sleeping pills and got in the tub. People would think I had something to do with it.”

  He reached for the bottle. “I’m going to be bombed in another minute, and that’s uncharacteristic. I told you all this so you’ll know the kind of case they can put together. And you’re right; they can murder me with it. The trouble with the kind of cover-up job they did on Keko is, if there’s a slight shift in the wind it can blow away overnight. The first one to get to the D.A. buys himself out. Consolidated-Famous has no clout at all any more. Larry Zion couldn’t fix a ticket for speeding.”

  He drank. “Are you selling me that gatefold?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “The price would be higher than two hundred shares, but you know that. Do you ever do contingency work?”

  “Often.”

  “Then what kind of deal can we cut? I didn’t have a damn thing to do with blowing up Kate Thackera. Find out who did before eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, and I’ll put a thousand shares in your name. You’ll want that in writing. I’ll be glad to do it, unless I’m too drunk to hold a pen.”

  “Has anybody told you that Kate was the one who tried to kill Larry Zion on the highway yesterday?”

  Clearly nobody had. “You mean she was driving that red car? Work on it, Shayne, work on it! Larry doesn’t go in for turning the other cheek. And if you want something else—he saw Keko Brannon that same afternoon.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw a script he left for her, and it was dated that morning. The cops don’t know this—somebody ripped off the top page; and to them, it was just a mimeographed movie script. All right, it’s your baby, Shayne. You figure it out. Now will you get out of here and let me get some sleep?”

  Chapter 11

  Oscar had one more drink while Shayne dressed. The cognac was slipping down more smoothly. At least he wasn’t making faces.

  “One more of these will finish me,” he said. “I absolutely have to sleep. But I’m interested. Where do you start on a thing like this?”

  “First, I make a few phone calls.”

  “In other words, Oscar, mind your own business. I accept that. So long as you understand that only one thing matters to me, and that’s results.”

  Oscar had forgotten his promise to put their deal in writing. Shayne reminded him. Oscar wrote it out on a sheet of yellow paper and signed it.

  “I had trouble getting in,” Shayne said, putting the agreement in his wallet, “and I may have trouble getting out unless you’re with me. I want everybody to know we’re friends.”

  Oscar brushed his hair again and came with him, wearing only his terrycloth robe. The party quickened as he passed through, though none of the guests looked at him directly. The blonde guard tied up in the parked car began flopping around and making gobbling noises when the door opened.

  “You untie him,” Shayne said. “I want to get started. If I find out anything, I’ll call you.”

  “Don’t call me, I’ll be asleep. Call me in the morning at seven-thirty.”

  Shayne walked away. He started his Buick and left the parking lot without hurrying. But as soon as he made the turn onto the causeway and was out of sight, he came down hard on the gas, at the same time signalling his operator. If Oscar sent somebody else out to untie the guard, there was little chance that Shayne could reach Lewellyn’s truck in time to monitor Oscar’s first outgoing call.

  “Shayne,” he snapped when Lewellyn answered. “There’s a call going out any second now; so start your recorder. I’m on my way.”

  He cleared the last of the Venetian Islands, using the full roadway. He touched his siren and went through the tollbooths with emergency lights f
lashing.

  Reaching Buena Vista, he parked behind Lewellyn’s truck, opened the rear door, and stepped in. Lewellyn, wearing earphones, lifted one finger in greeting. He was bent forward over a small console, which squeaked faintly. The tape recorder was going.

  “Coming in right now, Mike. The guy’s name is George. Olson couldn’t get hold of him right away.”

  He turned the volume knob; and Shayne heard Olson’s voice: “Where the hell did you dredge up this Gallagher?”

  A voice answered. “He may be a little punchy; but he’s okay, Oscar. But I mean, do we want to talk about it on the phone?”

  OLSON: “I had the whole system here debugged. If it’s all right at your end?”

  GEORGE: “As far as that goes; but if you’ve got any changes to give me, couldn’t you get in a car and come over? I’d come out to the club, but I’m not getting around too good.”

  OLSON: “What’s the matter with you?”

  GEORGE: “I don’t even like to discuss it. Some bugout clonked me in the knee, and it hurts like a son of a bitch. The doctor says to take plenty of aspirin and keep off it, and we’ll get it X-rayed in the morning.”

  OLSON (sharply): “That was supposed to be very quiet and easy. Now I hear you thought you had to do some shooting.”

  GEORGE: “Oscar, to tell you the truth, I don’t know what happened! This big looney came up out of nowhere and started throwing punches. I had to decide off the top of my head. We just that minute put the arm on the chick; and it wouldn’t benefit anybody if we were busted for disturbing the peace at that point, right? The guy had to be crazy. I think I put a slug in him. There was blood on the ground.”

  OLSON: “In front of all those people…”

  GEORGE: “Oscar, I know. I know! But that was a bad place to be cornered. There was only one way out—the way we came in. Maybe I made a mistake, but I thought we ought to take him along and find out who he was. I shot at his legs.”

  OLSON: “He has a bullet wound in his shoulder.”