by P. J. Conn
He had no personal property on him other than his watch and wallet and signed for them at the bottom of the form. When Detective Lynch took him into the same smelly interrogation room, he regarded him with an icy stare rather than curse the bastard in the filthy language he deserved.
"You know why you're here, so you might as well admit the truth," Lynch began. He waited for Hal to choose a seat and then stood with his arms braced on the back of the wooden chair opposite him.
Hal looked around the dreary room. "I've no idea why I'm here."
"Let's not stretch this out any longer than we have to. We've an informant who heard you offer a man money to kill your wife."
Gladys came through the door before Hal had time to do more than offer a startled gasp. "Who is this informant?" she asked. "Someone with a name like Leroy Slick who's hoping to get out of jail free by swearing to something that never occurred?" She sat down beside Hal and reached for his hand beneath the table to give his fingers an encouraging squeeze.
"He doesn't have to be named now," Lynch countered.
"Because no such witness exists," Gladys answered. "I'm beginning to believe you knew Pearl, and had something to do with her death."
"What?" the detective nearly shrieked.
"See how it feels," Hal asked. "What do I have to do to get out of here?"
"If you have some paid snitch you plan to have testify in court, think again," Gladys warned. "I'll speak to the DA's office within the hour and inform them of the way you're persecuting Mr. Marten and demand an apology for this ridiculous outrage. Plus, you interrupted a thoughtful memorial for his late wife. What in the world were you thinking?"
Lynch had turned a most unflattering red. The color flamed in his cheeks and spread down his neck. "No one believes he didn't know his own wife," he muttered between clenched teeth.
"I do," Gladys replied. "Now either book Mr. Marten so we can go to court and request bail, or I'll ask a judge for a writ of habeas corpus to keep Mr. Marten from being unlawfully held. It's your choice. Hurry up and do what's right."
Lynch regarded them both with a viciously controlled stare. He paused a long moment, as if deliberately making them wait. "I'll not book him today, but it's coming, don't think it isn't."
Gladys stood. "Let's go."
Hal left with her without offering his own opinion of the way Lynch had treated him. He picked up his wallet and watch. Gladys took him out a side door so they avoided the reporters who had been so eager to yell at him as he'd entered. He waited until they were in her car before he spoke.
"I thought something was off when they didn't take my fingerprints or photograph me. Isn't that routine with an arrest?"
"Yes, it most certainly is. Lynch was just bluffing in hopes you'd confess."
"Which I never will. Do you think we could actually make a link between Lynch and Pearl?"
She responded with a triumphant grin. "I doubt it, but it shocked him into releasing you, so it worked. Police are fond of using paid informants, but juries don't value their testimony."
"Do you think this is actually going to trial?"
"Not if I can help it."
"For a conspiracy charge to stick, don't they have to say who I supposedly paid to kill Pearl? Shouldn't he be tried for murder?"
"Of course, but you didn't pay anyone, did you?"
"No, I'd no reason to kill Pearl, or my wife. The whole situation is ludicrous, but isn't it easier to prove that someone committed a crime rather than that he didn't?"
"My business is defense, Hal, and I'm very good at convincing juries of my clients' innocence."
"I'm sure you are, but..."
"Do you want to go home, or come to my office? I'll call my contact in the DA's office and see what's behind Lynch's vendetta against you."
"Your office so you don't have to repeat the conversation. Vendetta is a good term. How about a vicious vendetta?"
She maneuvered through the light Saturday traffic to reach her office building, pulled into the underground parking, and found her space. "That's perfect. Let me do all the talking, or I'll lock you out of my office."
Hal laughed at the thought. "I promise not to scream and yell in the background."
Her building was eerily quiet on Saturday, and their steps echoed with a hollow ring as they crossed the marble-floored lobby. "We have to use the stairs on the weekends, do you mind?"
"I could use the exercise," he replied.
She climbed the stairs slowly. "I used to run up the stairs, and then had to rest before I could speak. So I gave it up as counter-productive."
He knew she was doing her best to keep him from thinking past the present moment, but he carried too large a knot of worry for her kindness to matter. He could still appreciate her shapely legs as he followed her up the stairs, however.
"Thank you for all you're doing for me."
"Don't forget it's my job."
She'd brushed off his compliment as though it were a spot of lint, but he'd been sincere. He dreaded the inevitable conversation about costs, and feared he'd already run through his savings. Thoroughly depressed, he followed her into her office and sat down in one of the leather chairs meant for clients. He glanced out the window, and was surprised to find the sun still shining.
"Would you like coffee? I could make some," she offered.
"No, thank you. I refuse to get drunk, but if you have a bottle of whiskey in your bottom drawer, a drink would be awfully tempting."
"One wouldn't be nearly enough, and then you'd wake up tomorrow with a brain-pounding hangover and blame your suffering on me."
"You speak from experience?"
"I'll take the advice I give my clients and not admit a thing."
He got up and walked to the window to look out while she called her contact. Even hearing only one side of the conversation, it was plain things weren't going his way. When she hung up, he still fully expected her to twist her news into something positive. He was wrong.
"This is worse than I feared," she began. "The police are under enormous pressure to find the Black Dahlia's killer, but with no suspects, they're out to defuse the bad press by solving every other murder they possibly can."
He looked over his shoulder. "With phony informants?"
"It's nothing new."
He drew in a deep breath. "Then we have to solve the crime ourselves. I'll have to canvas the street where I thought Faye lived, and see if I can find out something, anything, about her. As for Pearl, there's only the trailer where she must have only changed her clothes, and no leads elsewhere."
She rocked back in her chair. "You're still separating them in your mind?"
"What else can I do? Pearl is the one who was murdered, but she has no more substance than smoke. We spoke once about ghosts, and she said there were people she intended to haunt. I wonder how she's doing."
She got up and reached for her handbag. "I'll take you home."
"No, thanks, I'll ride the Red Car and maybe get off somewhere I've never been."
"Don't do anything foolish," she warned firmly.
He regarded her with a solemn gaze. "I doubt my reputation can sink any lower." He meant it.
* * *
Joe Ezell and Mary Margaret waited to leave Hal's apartment when Carmen Espinoza returned to her side of the duplex. Mary Margaret held half a dozen cookies neatly wrapped in wax paper. "Thank you again for the cookies."
"You're welcome," Carmen responded. She stood on her porch for a moment to survey the street, and finding no one lurking about, went on inside.
"What an absolutely astonishing afternoon," Mary Margaret whispered as they walked to Joe's car.
"I won't forget it anytime soon. I just hope Hal's attorney is as good as she looks."
Mary Margaret waited for him to open her door and slid into the front seat. When he got behind the wheel, she couldn't hold her tongue. "I don't suppose he hired her for her looks, but clearly most men would call her beautiful."
"
Come on, Mary Margaret, it was only an innocent observation."
"It didn't sound very innocent to me. Just drop me off at my house."
"I will not," he argued. "Let's do something fun, like go to the zoo."
She checked her watch. "There's not enough time left before it closes."
"Let's go tomorrow then. I haven't seen a hippopotamus in years. I'm fond of giraffes too. Did I ever tell you that? They have the most amazing long black tongues."
"You're just trying to distract me."
"Of course I am. I don't suppose you noticed that Hal is a good-looking man?"
"Is he?" She glanced out the window at the passing scene.
"Most women would think so," he replied in his best imitation of her tone, and he was relieved when she responded with an adorable giggle. There was really no comparison between a cute little redhead and a statuesque blonde, but that's a thought he'd keep to himself now that he was ahead.
* * *
A photograph of Hal entering the Hollywood Station was in the Monday morning edition of the Los Angeles Times. According to the reporter assigned to the crime beat, Hal had been questioned and released, but that he'd already hired a defense attorney clearly indicated he had something to hide.
He swore a long and particularly vile string of curses he'd learned in the Army, and threw the paper in the trash. While he doubted he'd be allowed to stay, he dressed in one of his new suits and went into the California West office early to greet each salesman as he arrived. Some appeared embarrassed, others surprised, and the four who'd come to the memorial wouldn't meet his eye. Lorraine Adams nearly wept when she saw him.
"That interruption on Saturday was so awful and unnecessary," she began. "Will you have another memorial for your wife?"
Hal took her arm and led her to her desk. "Not until we find who killed her," he whispered. He looked over her head and watched to see which salesman reached for his telephone first, most probably to tell George Sharp he'd dared to show his face there. When several grabbed their telephones, he went on into his office and waited for George's call. When in a few minutes the vice president appeared at his door wearing a look of barely suppressed rage, Hal wasn't surprised to have garnered such quick attention. He rose to welcome him.
"I thought I'd come by to see how things are going. I hope my salesmen haven't caused you any concern."
George closed the office door behind him. The glass top half gave the whole office a clear view, even if their conversation couldn't be overheard. He spoke in a harsh whisper, "I thought I'd made it plain you're not to come into the office. How could you have misunderstood?"
"I'm not in the least bit confused," Hal countered. "I intend to find who killed my wife because the police obviously don't know where to look, but that doesn't mean I can't give my office force the attention they deserve."
George's eyes narrowed to tiny sparks as he continued to fume. "I've always liked you, Hal, so leave now before you force me to let you go. Don't think I won't do it."
Hal's voice remained calm and low, "Do you have some complaint with the way I'm doing my job?"
"No, of course not, but that was before your got yourself tangled in your wife's murder."
Hal circled his desk to face him. He was taller and looked down at his boss with a carefully schooled expression. "My attorney assures me you've no grounds for my dismissal, so you ought to think carefully before you invite a law suit that would cost California West a whole lot of money and probably end your career."
George spit out the question, "Are you threatening me?"
"No, I'm merely sharing information. Now is there anything you need me to handle before I leave?"
George nearly strangled on his own spit. "No, just go, and I'll overlook the way you've disregarded my wishes today, but wait at home for a direct summons."
Hal opened the door for him and spoke loudly enough for everyone in the office to hear. "Thank you for your sympathy and support, sir. It's deeply appreciated."
The vice president had a swaying rolling walk, and his arms brushed his sides as he strode down the aisle separating the salesmen's desks. He looked neither to the right nor left. Hal closed his office door behind him and smiled at his secretary. "I need to go. Thank you for handling everything."
"It's my pleasure. I hope you'll be back soon, Mr. Marten."
"So do I. Good day, gentlemen. California West is grateful for your continued excellent work for the firm." Certain he'd impressed George Sharp sufficiently to keep his salary coming for the next few weeks, he left with a far bouncier step than he'd arrived.
* * *
Hal had just gotten home when the telephone rang. He debated answering before picking up. "Hal Marten," he said, an office habit.
Her voice was whisper soft, "This is Crystal. We met at the Bar of Music."
"Yes, I remember you." He crossed his fingers and hoped she'd learned something useful.
"You showed me a drawing of Pearl when we met. If she used two names with you, she might have gone by others. Someone might recognize her from the sketch, and I should have asked to take it with me."
He also still had the one he'd meant to give Joe Ezell, and he was sorry he hadn't asked Eddie to draw more than two. "Do you want me to bring it to the Bar of Music?"
"Could you?"
"Yes, do you want to meet again at six?"
"Could you make it earlier, five?"
"See you then." Hall hung up and wondered if Detective Lynch was still having him followed, but he didn't really care.
He fed Mr. Cuddles so the cat wouldn't starve to death before dinner. He still hadn't grown fond of him, but he owed it to Faye to take the best care of her pet that he possibly could.
He really ought to know which vet had seen the cat and began a search through the drawer where they kept household receipts. He was surprised to find a photo taken by a restaurant photographer soon after they'd gotten married. Faye looked so happy, and his grin was equally wide. He remembered the evening clearly. They'd eaten prime rib, and she'd laughed often at his jokes. She'd always been such an appreciative wife, and he wondered how much of it had been an act. He'd meant to buy a frame for the photo and left it on top of the dresser. There was no receipt for a veterinarian in the drawer.
* * *
Joe Ezell studied the drawing with an intense gaze before looking up at Hal. "In the photo you gave me to show around, your wife's smile is as radiant as sunshine, but here there's only a hint of a smile. As Pearl, she looks far more worldly. Maybe it's the little hat, or the provocative gaze."
"Provocative is a good word. Faye deserved an Oscar for the parts she played. I want you to take the new sketch of Pearl with you to the hotels. She could have called herself Petunia Smith for all we know, but when she played Pearl, she would have resembled the woman in the sketch closely enough to be recognized."
Joe closed the folder and set it aside. "I understand why you're so curious, but we've talked before about what dangerous characters we might bump up against. I don't carry a gun, and I don't want to run into anyone who does."
"I don't blame you. If you've had enough, just say so, and we'll settle your bill. I can make the rounds of the hotels on my own."
Joe leaned back in his swivel chair. "No, I'm too eager to discover just who your wife was, but we need to rely on the police if we get even a whiff of who killed her."
Hal raised his hand. "I promise I'll have my attorney pass any suspicious names to her contact in the DA's office. I need to know where Faye lived when she wasn't with me, or before we met. There has to be an apartment somewhere filled with her things I've never seen. She didn't live at the boarding house she called home, and while you show the sketch in the hotels, I'll canvas the neighborhood where she pretended to live. I'll need the photo you have of Faye."
Joe handed it over and opened a drawer on his desk to give Hal a small spiral notebook. "People will be more talkative if you take notes. It makes them feel important."
"Thanks. I have a pen." He waited to tell Joe about Crystal until he knew whether or not she'd be of any help. He stood and looked around the stark office.
"You could use a plant. Philodendron are good. They're showy and no trouble." The one he'd taken from Pearl's trailer was thriving on his coffee table.
Joe rose and followed him to the door. "I lean more toward cactus, but you're right, a green plant would give the office some color."
Hal shook his hand and walked the short distance home. When he found his landlord standing on the front porch talking with Carmen, his heart fell. "Good morning, Mr. Duffy," he called as he moved up the walk.
Duffy checked his watch. "It's nearly noon, but good morning anyway. We need to talk." He wished Carmen a good day and followed Hal into his side of the duplex. He dismissed Mr. Cuddles with a quick disinterested glance.
"I couldn't tell from the article in the Times, but were you released on bail?" he asked.
"No, sir. I've never been arrested, and I had nothing whatsoever to do with my wife's death. I'll understand if you want me to move, and quite frankly, I'd like to go, but I should stay here for the time being."
Duffy appeared unconvinced. "And why is that?"
"So I don't seem to be the shiftless bastard the police believe I am. No man should lose his wife in the awful way I did, but to be considered a suspect is nearly intolerable."
Duffy focused on the philodendron. "Carmen thinks the world of you, but I've gotten calls from several of your neighbors. They're worried about how often the police have shown up here. I'd appreciate it if you moved out when your lease is up August first."
Hal had no reason to argue. "Fine, that should give me the time to prove my innocence and find somewhere else to live. I hope the neighbors aren't worried about a shoot out. I don't even own a gun."
