1 The Hollywood Detective

by Martha Steinway

  Grabbing the top of the window frame, I swung my legs in so that I was sitting on the ledge, then, ever so slowly, I lowered myself in. I ducked down low so my silhouette couldn’t be seen against the curtain from outside.

  My lungs ached for breath and it took all my strength not to give it to them in fast, needy gulps. Instead I remained crouched with my lips pursed, taking small breaths through my nose. I stood up and walked quickly past the beds toward the door.

  “Not again, you need to drink less beer,” one of them said wearily as I turned the handle and stepped out into the corridor. I could only hope he didn’t open his eyes and discover his roommate was still slumbering in his bed.

  30

  I turned toward the main building and soon found myself just a few feet from the lobby area. I stood in the dark corridor and stared through a glass door at the armed nightwatchman sitting behind the reception desk. I needed to get him away from his post so I could sneak a look at the patient lists and find out which room was Clara’s. I had to think fast: I could be discovered at any moment.

  So long as the corridor remained dark and the light in the lobby stayed on, I knew I would be almost invisible to the guy behind the desk. I just had to hope he didn’t plan on taking a leak any time soon. The nearest bathroom was probably the one I had failed to climb into, which meant I was between him and it.

  I didn’t have the luxury of waiting to see what his routine was, how often he would get up and do the rounds, because I couldn’t risk being found in the corridor. I needed to create a distraction, but it had to be one that didn’t attract attention to myself.

  I made my way to the bathroom on the second floor and locked myself in. I shoved the plug in the sink and turned both faucets on. Water gushed and spluttered into the sink. Then I walked back out into the dark corridor and crept to the far end. All I had to do now was wait.

  It took over fifteen minutes for someone to discover the flood and raise merry hell. Within seconds people were out of their rooms and the watchman was dragged away from his post. As far as the other residents were concerned I was just one of a number of shoeless people who’d pulled on their pants to find out what was causing the commotion. No one paid me any attention and I walked straight into the lobby, leapt over the reception counter and searched frantically through the rosters, lists and registers. It took longer than I would have liked, but I eventually discovered Clara Lockhart was in room 29.

  The door from the staff block burst open. I ducked down behind the counter. The watchman strutted over toward me, making the floorboards shake with each footfall. He started searching for something on the desk, just a couple feet from the top of my head. I held my breath.

  The door opened again.

  “You got the key, Don?”

  “Still looking.”

  I heard scrabbling noises above and prayed he’d find the damn keys soon.

  “Come on, it’s still coming through the ceiling like Niagara. We gotta mop it up with something.”

  “I know! The key’s got to be here some place.” More scrabbling. “Got it!”

  The two men, as best as I could tell from my position under the counter, had gone through a set of double doors into the residents’ wing. If I wanted to find Clara, I figured I better follow them.

  I ran quickly to the far end. The hallway lights had been turned on by the guard and I could see that none of the doors had numbers on them: I presumed they had to be the consulting rooms. I found a staircase—also lit—and rushed up one flight. The corridor on the second floor was dark: this had to mean the nightwatchman and his pal were some place else. The residents’ wing was quiet. The uproar in the staff quarters hadn’t penetrated the main building.

  I checked the first door on the corridor. In the dark, I could just about make out a number: 20. I stepped as lightly as I could looking for room 29. Suddenly a bright rectangle of light appeared up ahead. A moment later the patrolman and his sidekick emerged from a room only twenty feet away with big piles of towels in their arms. My breath stalled. Any minute they would turn and see me. I had to act first. I ran fast toward them. If I was quick they wouldn’t get a chance to realize I didn’t actually belong there. “Need a hand?” I asked.

  “Shhh,” came the reply. “You mustn’t wake the patients.”

  I stood before them, panting heavily.

  “Who the hell are you?” The watchman looked down at my naked feet.

  I pointed up over their heads, into the room they’d just come out of. “Look! The water’s coming through the ceiling here too.”

  They both turned, stepped into the doorway and looked up.

  “Right up in the corner there,” I said.

  “I don’t see nothing,” the guard said.

  “Get closer,” I said.

  They stepped inside and I slammed the door, locked it and put the key in my pocket. They instantly started banging on the door and hollering for help. So much for not waking the residents.

  I didn’t have long.

  I ran along the corridor, checking off door numbers as I went and pulled up at number 29. I tried the handle. It turned and I pushed open the door, then raised my hands, palms out, expecting to be greeted by screams. But none came.

  I gently closed the door behind me.

  “Clara?”

  In the dim light I could make out the shape of a woman lying in a narrow bed, she seemed to be sleeping.

  “Clara, it’s okay. I’m here to help you.”

  I crept toward her and she started to stir.

  “Miss Lockhart. Please don’t scream. Mary sent me.”

  She started to wake up. Her eyes opened but it took a while for her to focus, but as she soon realized a strange man was in her room I could tell she was about to scream. I no choice but to put my hand over her mouth. She tried to struggle but was too weak.

  “It’s okay, Clara,” I said again. “Mary sent me. I’m going to take my hand away now, but don’t scream. I’m here to help. Do you understand?”

  I felt her nod under my grip. I slowly pulled my hand away, fully prepared to move it right back if she so much as raised her voice.

  “Is it time?” she whispered. Her words were slurred as if she were still half asleep.

  “Time for what?”

  “My operation.”

  “The only thing it’s time for is to get you out of here.”

  “What?” She reached over and turned on a bedside light. When she turned back to me I saw her face was a mess of deep purple and yellow bruises. The bridge of her nose was bandaged. It would be a long time before anyone put her in front of a camera again.

  “You’re not the doctor,” she said, still slurring a little.

  “But you are Clara Lockhart, right?”

  She gave me the tiniest of nods. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Spencer McCoy and I’ve been sent to get you.”

  “By who?”

  “Mary.”

  Her eyebrows puckered as she absorbed what I was saying. She looked a little sad at the mention of her roommate’s name. Maybe even a little guilty.

  “How does Mary know where I am?”

  “She doesn’t. It’s a long story and I’ll tell you everything in the car,” I said. “Come on, let’s get you up. We need to make our escape nice and quick.”

  “Escape?” Her sky-blue eyes clouded in confusion. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

  31

  “We are leaving right now,” I insisted. “Come on. We don’t have long.”

  Clara struggled to sit up. I tried to help her.

  “Get your hands off me!” Her sleeping pill was starting to wear off.

  “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Do you think you can stand?”

  “I told you, I ain’t going nowhere.”

  “But it’s not safe here, Clara. You’re in danger.”

  “No I ain’t!”

  I thought I heard a noise out in the corridor.

  “Yes, yes y
ou are.” I wanted to shout at the girl to make her understand, but I managed to keep my voice low. “You’re going to have a procedure in the morning and it’s not going to be nice. You need to come with me. Now.”

  The poor girl looked as confused as she was battered.

  “It’s called E.C.T. and it means they’re going to hook your brain up to an electric current. It can do a lot of damage, Clara. People get real hurt when they have it done.”

  “Listen, pal. I don’t know who you are or why I’m not screaming this place down right now, but I do know that you’re wrong.” She lifted a lock of ice-blonde hair from her right ear, exposing a thick bandage. “This is what I’m having done tomorrow. I want it to match the other one again.”

  “What happened?”

  “Guess it got messed up pretty good.”

  “How?”

  “I ain’t supposed to say.”

  I heard more noises in the corridor. It sounded to me like a door opening.

  “Was it Tomasky? Did he do that to you?”

  She looked more shocked than she had since she’d woken up. “What’s that creep got to do with anything?”

  “You were seen having a fight with him, at William Powell’s place.”

  Her eyebrows wrinkled as she tried to remember. “He might have gotten mad but he never laid a finger on me.”

  “Then who hurt you?”

  “I told you, I’m not supposed to say.”

  I heard footsteps out in the hallway. Not the heavy thuds of a liberated watchman, but the stuttering movements of a resident, no doubt wondering who was locked in a laundry closet trying to punch their way out. I didn’t have long.

  “You can tell me later.” I reached out for her arm but she snatched it away.

  “And I already told ya—I ain’t leaving!” Her voice was loud enough to attract attention.

  “Listen, Clara. Mary’s been worried sick about you, worried enough to hire a guy like me to find you. Turns out she was right to worry: when you didn’t turn up at Paramount for that audition, she knew you were in trouble. And believe me, you’re in more trouble than you know. We’ve got to go.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll be in a lot more trouble if I leave. Tell Mary I’m sorry, tell her I tried to get a message to her, I asked one of the nurses to send her a postcard. Mary knows how things work in this town.”

  Now I could hear voices on the other side of the door. No shouts, no screams, just a low mumble.

  “You can explain it to her yourself.” I opened her closet, looking for a bag I could throw a few of her things in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Packing. Put some shoes on.”

  Clara climbed out of the bed and came toward me. She grabbed hold of my shirt and turned me to face her. Up close, her face was even more badly bruised than I had realized.

  “Listen, buster, I didn’t ask you to come, but I am asking you to leave,” she said, her eyes pleading with me.

  “Not without you.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not leaving.”

  “Then at least tell me why. If I can’t persuade you to come, I’ve got to be able to tell Mary why.”

  She gave me another tiny nod and tears started to form in the corner of her eyes.

  Suddenly there were shouts out in the hallway. Men’s voices.

  “What the hell’s happening out there?” Clara asked.

  “I imagine they’re looking for me.” I glanced round the room and saw a chair. I grabbed it and wedged it tight under the door handle.

  “What d’you do that for?”

  “Buying enough time for you to tell me why you’re here.”

  She shrugged. “Guess it’s pretty simple. I keep quiet about what happened to me. The studio fixes me up and they make me a star. It’s the Hollywood dream, ain’t it?”

  “Who did that to your face?”

  “That’s the part I can’t tell you, but like I said, Mary knows how it works. Studios take care of their stars.”

  “So it was a star did this to you?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Which one?”

  “Wouldn’t matter if I told you because you’d never believe me anyway. Nicest guy in Hollywood, or so they say.”

  From the hallway came the sound of doors opening as residents tried to find out what all the fuss was about. That watchman and his pal wouldn’t be locked up for long.

  “Clara. I wish you were right. I wish the studio really did plan to make you a star, but the doctor isn’t fixing your face tomorrow, he’s frying your brain.” I took her by the arms, gently but firmly. “E.C.T. makes people forget a lot of things. That’s what they want.”

  She shook her head and pulled away. A tear fell down her cheek. “No, no. You’re wrong. Why would Mr Strickling go to so much trouble if they just wanted to do that?”

  “What trouble?”

  “Getting Mary’s necklace back from that Butterfield tramp for one thing… And making sure…”

  “What?”

  “Making sure the papers won’t have nothing bad to write about me when I’m a star.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wilfred Tomasky,” she said, her voice breaking as she said his name. “Do you know what kind of pictures he takes?”

  I nodded. A flash of shame spread across her face.

  “Eddie got all my pictures back from Tomasky’s. Why would Mr Strickling do that if he didn’t plan on making me a star?” Her blue eyes pleaded with me to agree.

  The noise outside got louder. I heard a door slam. Then one distinct voice shouting over the hubbub.

  The watchman must have been freed.

  Footsteps thudded purposefully down the hallway. I had to go. I moved over to the window and looked out. It was about ten, maybe twelve feet to the ground below. I opened it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We can’t get out of here the way I came, can we?”

  The door handle rattled. The chair held.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “They’re going to steal your memories.”

  Tears streamed down her bruised cheeks. “If I leave with you I got nothing. If I stay here I still got a chance of being a star.”

  There was a loud thump on the door. The chair jumped.

  “I gotta take that chance.”

  “But—”

  “I made my decision.”

  I looked into her face and realized there was nothing I could do to persuade her. “The necklace,” I said. “Have you got Mary’s necklace?”

  Clara nodded.

  “Get it for me! Quick!”

  She knelt down and reached under the bed. I levered myself up onto the window frame.

  The door shook again as the watchman banged hard on it. “If you don’t open this door I’m going to shoot my way in,” he hollered.

  Clara pulled out a small cardboard box. I folded both legs beneath me and got ready to jump.

  “Hurry!”

  She lifted the lid.

  Out in the hallway the watchman hollered again. “I’m going to count to five and if you haven’t opened the door by then you better stand well back. One…”

  Clara pulled out the necklace.

  “Two…”

  She ran over to the window and handed it to me.

  “Three…”

  I slipped it in my pocket.

  “Four…”

  I jumped.

  I pulled my knees up and my elbows in as I dropped through the air. I landed hard, fell onto my side and rolled. I struggled to my feet and started to run. I heard a voice above and behind me but I didn’t turn round.

  “Hey! Stop!” It was the watchman hollering from Clara’s window. He was too heavy to follow me out. But not too heavy to fire a gun. A loud crack echoed through the grounds. Then another. A bullet thudded into the lawn right next to my bare feet. I willed my legs to move faster. Another bullet drove into the turf. Then a
nother. I pumped my arms. My feet felt numb. I tried to focus my mind on the gate. And freedom.

  The next bullet grazed the right leg of my pants. I ran onto the cinder driveway. I heard another shot, this one much louder than the watchman’s pistol. A shotgun. A second round sounded out.

  Just keep going.

  I turned the bend and the main gate came into view. Just twenty more paces. I increased my speed and hurled myself at the latticed metalwork, clawing my way up as fast as I could. I swung my legs over and dropped onto the sidewalk on the other side. My bare feet hurt so bad, but I had to carry on. If I could just get to some place where there were would be people, I knew they wouldn’t fire again. I turned toward the seafront.

  Another booming shot rang out, then a second one straight after. They were firing through the gate at me. I tried hard to pick up speed.

  Then I heard another noise—the crunch of gears and the roar of an engine. A moment later I was blinded by headlights as a car turned into the street. It screeched to a stop right in front of me. The passenger door flew open. I froze.

  “For crying out loud, Spencer. Get in!”

  It was Red. Beautiful, glorious Red.

  I ran toward the open door. “What are you doing here?” I jumped in.

  “Saving your life by the looks of things.”

  She floored the Cadillac and I craned my head to see a patrolman at the gate lower his shotgun.

  32

  “Jimmy Stewart?” Mary Treen’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “Are you sure?”

  “She said it was the nicest guy in Hollywood.”

  “But Jimmy Stewart? I’ve worked with the guy.”

  We were all silent for a moment.

  “I heard a few rumors about him at the Cocoanut Grove,” Red said, as if that explained the unexplainable.

  Mary still looked like she didn’t believe it could be true.

  “Maybe Clara will tell you herself when she comes home.” I pulled open my desk drawer and reached inside for the necklace. I placed it carefully in front of her.

  “Thank you,” Mary said absentmindedly. She was still getting to grips with Clara’s revelation.