by Denise Dietz
“No, never. That was my bit. He’d have me wear a child’s dress. Pink, short, with a bow tied in back. I think he had it sewed special. Oh, and a long platinum wig. That sure turned Jake on. He took all that stuff with him when he left.”
“When did he leave?”
“After the fire at the Morning Star studio. He saw it in the paper. He said he made a food delivery to the lady who burned, just before the fire. Maybe he thought he’d be blamed.”
“But the fire started after he left the studio.”
Maryl’s statement had been rhetorical and Betsy was in her own world. “I’m glad he’s gone,” she said. “Good riddance to bad rubbish. I wish he’d eat shit and die, pardon my French.”
Outside, walking toward the car, Anissa said, “That dressing up like a little girl bit sounds like Topher Coombs, except Betsy’s physical description doesn’t fit.”
“She’s a tad dippy.”
“Not that dippy, Maryl. Topher couldn’t dye then un-dye his hair. He doesn’t have muscles and never will, no matter how often he works out. And he has a beard. Betsy would remember a beard.”
Both women climbed into the Mustang and adjusted their bellies. Anissa put the car in gear, turned the ignition key and yelled, “Popeye!”
Marl glanced around the parking lot. “Where?”
“Not where. Who.”
“Okay. Who?”
“This may sound bonkers, Maryl, but a man named Popeye killed Randy’s lover inside a Malibu beach house. Then he ran away. But what if he didn’t? Suppose he waited, hid, saw me?”
“Did you witness the murder?”
“No.”
“I’m confused. If this Popeye person killed a woman, why didn’t the police arrest him?”
“Popeye didn’t kill a woman. He killed a man named David. There was nothing in the papers, so I assumed the cops traced him through his fingerprints. But I don’t know for sure.”
“Why would Popeye set fire to your studio?”
“Before the fire started, I told Delly an overzealous fan was following me. Maybe Popeye wanted to get rid of me.”
“Why, Anissa? You never saw him and couldn’t identify—”
“He was crazy, Maryl. He stabbed David with an ice pick.”
“Was Popeye once blond?”
“What? Oh, the dyed hair. I don’t know. Randy mentioned muscles, so Betsy’s description fits. And Randy said Popeye worked out. Or did he say Popeye liked to boat? Damn! I can’t remember.”
“Assuming Popeye’s real name is Jake and he’s bi rather than gay and he has this thing for little blonde girls, I still can’t get a fix on his motive. You’d never be able to identify him, and you weren’t inside the studio when it burned.”
“That theory’s way out in left field, huh?” Anissa started the engine. “What next, Fairy Godmother? Too bad Jake didn’t leave behind a scorched slipper.”
“Don’t be such a smartass. You sound like my brother. Look, we’ve found out more in a few hours than the police or Weiss and Wong-Weiss found in a whole week.”
“But where do we go from here? We’ve just eliminated Topher and Popeye, and for all we know Jake could have flown the coop. I can’t even fathom how to track him down. He looks ordinary and he drives a black car. Terrific.”
“Doesn’t the criminal always return to the scene of the crime?”
“Who says Jake’s a criminal? We know for a fact that the fire started after Henry saw him leave.”
“I have an idea. Betsy said she met Jake outside the Morning Star studio, but she’s not sure he’s an actor. He could be a soap fan, maybe the one who’s been following you. That makes sense. I mean, his quirky thing about blondes. Let’s put a classified ad in the paper and suggest a meeting. We can sign it Charl. When he contacts you, we can ask him who was at the studio before the fire started. He’s still our only lead.”
“That’s such a long shot, Maryl. This Jake has to be obsessed with Charl and read classified ads.”
“Okay, let’s assume Jake is obsessed. Can you signal him during the show?”
“No. The shows are taped ahead of time. Wait a sec. Tomorrow we’re shooting live. Maxine had tomorrow’s episode on the office telly when she died, and the tape burned. There’s a scene with Cal. It’s steamy, takes place in bed. With Max gone, I could probably adlib something and use the newspaper as a prop. I’ll ask the guy who works the dolly to zoom in on the classifieds. Isn’t jake a nineteen-twenties word for okay? That fits. After my thing with Cal, I’ll say everything’s jake. I’ll say it twice. Most viewers won’t catch it since they’ll be looking at Drew’s gorgeous body, but Jake . . .” She paused, shuddering. “If Jake’s obsessed, he’ll be watching me.”
“Anissa, that’s brilliant. Won’t Drew be suspicious if you adlib?”
“Aren’t we going to tell Drew and Jonah about today?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Let’s go home, call in the ad, then prepare a sumptuous feast for our men. How about lasagna?”
“Maryl, you just had breakfast, lunch, candy—”
“Lasagna dripping with tons of meat and cheese. Tomorrow, while you adlib, I’ll nurse my indigestion. The next day you have that Grand Jury thing. While you’re testifying, I’ll visit the fire department.”
“Why? To roast a Dalmatian?”
“Jonah once suggested I secure guest stars for his show. Wouldn’t it be fun to have film director Irwin Allen appear with a rep from the fire department? Didn’t Paul Newman star in The Towering Inferno? I’ll track down Paul and see if his eyes are really that blue. Then, just for grins, I’ll ask the Fire Chief how someone can start a fire when they’re not even inside the friggin’ building, pardon my French.”
Chapter Thirty
Anissa glanced up at the Hall of Justice, a forbidding rococo Victorian monstrosity. Jutting granite blocks provided roosting places for pigeons and starlings.
“This building is so ugly it’s beautiful,” she told Drew, “like a Volkswagen Beetle.”
“Or a gargoyle,” he said.
Anissa recalled the sculpted stone gargoyles outside The Playground, and suddenly had an awful premonition that things were about to go—as Jacob might put it—kaput.
She traveled to the fifth floor and wrinkled her nose at the rank smell. The top floor had holding tanks for prisoners and several odors, including a strong disinfectant, drifted down to mingle with the smell of bird droppings.
“The Grand Jury is a mystery to most people,” Joe had explained, “because nobody is permitted inside except the jury, prosecutor, and witnesses. The press is forbidden. Defense attorneys aren’t even allowed to be present with their clients, which is one of the reasons we’ve decided Delly won’t testify. There’s a jury foreman but no judge. Due to its size and population, Los Angeles has a twenty-three man jury with fourteen votes needed to indict.”
“You mean condemn, don’t you?”
“Look, angel, the prosecutor’s case is very weak. Benton obviously wants publicity for political reasons. The arson investigators believe the fire began with lighter fluid. Delly had lighter fluid inside her purse, but the perpetrator could have removed it while she napped. Her motive is allegedly revenge. Because she was fired from the show.”
“Joe, her contract wasn’t renewed. There’s a big difference. Topher Coombs was fired, not Delly. Topher was furious. He threatened to ‘cut off Maxine’s balls.’ ”
“Nobody believes Delly meant to kill Maxine Graham, but that doesn’t matter. It’s the old example of a bank robber who exchanges gunfire with the police and kills an innocent bystander. The bank robber would be brought up on murder charges. In any case, nobody saw Delly set the fire. I don’t think they’ll indict.”
“Condemn.”
Cast members from Morning Star made up the bulk of the witnesses. A subpoena had also been issued to Henry.
“Delly was invited to appear, but she can’t be subpoenaed,” Kathy had said. “Under our system, a defen
dant or possible defendant is protected by the Constitution from being forced to testify against herself, or to be put in a position where she might inadvertently incriminate herself. Delly is feeling much better, physically. However, she doesn’t remember the studio fire or the roof incident, and we won’t allow buttons to be pushed where she might have another breakdown.”
Although Drew was scheduled to testify at Monday’s hearings, he insisted on accompanying Anissa. “I’ll wait in the hallway, mingle with the newshounds,” he said. “That will take the pressure off you and Bugs.”
Outside the Grand Jury room, press members clustered. When Drew and Anissa arrived, reporters surrounded them, shouting questions.
“Hold it.” Drew gave a shrill whistle while Anissa slipped through the crowd. “One at a time. You know I’m not allowed to talk about my testimony or my wife’s testimony, but you can ask me anything else.”
At the corridor’s corner, Anissa bumped into a small, elderly lady dressed in an ankle-length, violet shirtwaist. Her white hair was tightly crimped around her scowling face. Her eyes hid behind harlequin eyeglasses with thick lenses. She had troweled pancake makeup onto her face, caulked the grooves from her nose to her mouth, then added red rouge and purple eye shadow. She didn’t look grotesque enough to be pretty—in fact, thought Anissa, she looked rather pathetic.
“Well, I never,” she huffed. “I’m an important witness and I was in the middle of a sentence when the reporters left me, just like that.” The snap of her fingers sounded like the pop of a soggy breakfast cereal. “Not even a ‘thank you, Mrs. Grady.’ ”
“Mrs. Grady?”
“DeLoras Grady. You’re that soap actress, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you an actress?”
“I was. Vaudeville. I danced with my late husband. We were called T.L.C. The T was for my late husband, Timothy, the L for his sister, Lucille.”
“And the C?”
“That was me. They called me Carmen.”
“Right. Carmen.”
“I sang, too. The music is so loud today, don’t you think? It shakes a body from head to toe. I had to stuff my ears with cotton when she had that band in her house.”
“Who? Delly?”
“Played night and day, they did. A body couldn’t get any rest. I thought my windows would shatter, and Jack Benny howled like he wanted to be one of ’em.”
“Jack Benny?”
“My dog. He’s my third Jack Benny, and very good company when he’s not howling to beat the band. That’s why I’m here.”
“Because of your dog?”
“Yes, indeedy. I walk Jack Benny three times a day, past her house. I live down the street.”
“Oh, I see,” said Anissa. I see, said the blind man.
“They sent some nice gents from the D.A.’s office to talk to neighbors. It’s lucky I remembered what I saw.”
“And what was that, Mrs. Grady?”
“Call me DeLoras. They have this window. You can’t help but look inside when Jack Benny waters their palm tree. What’s a body to do? Watch a dog pee? Sometimes I look toward the house, not spying or anything, so I won’t have to watch Jack Benny squirt pee.”
“Of course.”
“I saw her on the day of the fire. She looked crazy. Maybe the loud music drove her crazy.”
“Go on, Mrs. Grady.”
“Call me DeLoras. Or Carmen. I answer to both. She had a small ax, and I thought she might be planning to kill someone.”
“You saw that from the street?”
“No, the window. I heard the piano, only it sounded funny, so I took myself a closer look. She’d hacked the piano to pieces and was hitting it with a doll. At first I thought the doll was a real baby, but then it’s face broke. She glanced at the window, and I was so scared I just about fainted dead away. Her eyes looked like zombie eyes. I ducked down quick ’cause I never doubted for a minute that she’d hack Jack Benny and me—”
“Really, Mrs. Grady.”
“To pieces. On TV Pandora looks so innocent but I’ll let you in on a little secret. I peeked through a side window one morning, just after sunup, and she and her boyfriend were . . . well, I don’t want to shock you, you being pregnant and all, so I won’t go into details. But she was cussing and so was her parrot.”
“Parrot? Oh, Samantha.”
“Who?”
“Delly has a twin sister.”
“It was her, missy. She cussed. The man told her to be quiet. ‘I sing when I fuck,’ she said. Maybe she sings when she sets buildings on fire and kills people. I’ll have to remember that for the jury.” Mrs. Grady made several stabbing motions as she sang “Sing.”
Karen Carpenter she wasn’t. Anissa suppressed a shudder.
“One day she cussed at me when Jack Benny peed on her new car,” Mrs. Grady continued. “Sake’s alive, it was only a tire. Tires run over shit so what’s the diff—”
“Were you mad at Delly because she cussed at you?”
“Not mad, scared. She looked like she was about to sing, and we all know what happens then.” Mrs. Grady sliced the air around her throat with her first finger.
“It’s a shame Jack Benny can’t testify and substantiate your ridiculous theory, DeLoras,” Anissa said.
“Mrs. Grady to you. I saw what I saw, missy, and they’re calling your name.” This time the snap of her fingers sounded like the crackle of a well known breakfast cereal. “I guess it’s time for you to go inside.”
The Grand Jury room was immaculate and air conditioned. Anissa estimated the size to be fifty by thirty feet. Jury members sat on individual chairs behind long desks, arranged in rows, amphitheater style, facing what looked like a judge’s bench and a witness stand. Prosecutor Russell Benton and his assistant sat behind the bench.
This is so unfair, thought Anissa. Weiss and Wong-Weiss should be up there, too.
“The jury members are sworn in by the court reporter,” Joe had explained. “My educated guess is that the dialogue will go something like this. ‘Name of possible defendant: Delilah Gold Diamond. Matters to be considered in connection with above named possible defendant: Alleged arson of property and the murder of Maxine Graham.’ ”
“Then the court reporter will briefly relate circumstances of the alleged crime,” Kathy said, “and ask if any Grand Jury members have a ‘state of mind which will prevent him from acting impartially and without prejudice.’ If such a member exists, he’ll be excused.”
Unfair, Anissa thought again.
Placing her right hand on a black leather-bound Bible, she swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
“State your name.”
“Anissa Flory.”
“Mrs. Flory, can you tell us your occupation?” asked the district attorney.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“I can tell you my occupation.”
“Then do so, please.”
Anissa faked a cough. Joe had told her not to be a smartass, and yet it was hard to resist. She stared at Benton. He wore red suspenders under an open suit jacket. His silver hair, once bright orange she had heard, was combed into a high pompadour. His blue eyes were small but piercing.
Benton’s assistant had talked to Anissa on the Morning Star set, questioning her about Delly’s behavior. She’d answered yes, no, I don’t know, then excused herself for her next scene. Now the assistant smiled and winked. Anissa ignored him.
“My occupation is performer,” she said, folding her hands in the lap of her black maternity dress. Joe’s angel charm swung from its gold chain and her diamond birthday earrings felt too heavy. “I’m an actress on the daytime drama, Morning Star.”
“How long have you known the defendant?” Benton asked.
“I’ve known Delly for over a year.”
“Do you believe she set fire to the studio, leading to the death of Maxine Graham?”
“No, sir. In fact, I’d swear t
o it.”
“That isn’t necessary, you’re under oath,” Benton said with a smile. “Were you at the studio on the day of the fire?”
“Yes. Not during the fire. Before.”
“Did you see or talk to Miss Diamond?”
“Yes, sir. Delly was planning to pick up some things she’d left . . .” Anissa snapped her mouth shut. Joe and Kathy had told her to keep her answers short and not offer any unsolicited information.
Benton said, “What things?”
“Clothing and personal items.”
“Is there any reason why Miss Diamond suddenly decided to retrieve her items on that particular day?”
“I assume it’s because we don’t tape the show on weekends.”
“So she was aware that the studio would be deserted.”
Anissa studied the jury members, all men. They were listening with interest—a real live soap opera.
“Mrs. Flory?”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize that was a question. The studio is usually deserted on weekends. I assume Delly knew.”
Benton snapped his red suspenders. “What role did Miss Diamond play on your show?”
“Pandora. My roommate.”
“Your roommate in an apartment?”
“No, sir. A hospital.”
“The mental ward of a hospital, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Was Miss Diamond’s character insane?”
“No. She has a mental breakdown. They didn’t go into a lot of detail on the show. Pandora was a sounding board for Charl, my character, so the viewers would know what Charl was thinking.”
“Is Miss Diamond a good actress?”
“In my opinion, Delly is an excellent actress.”
“Yet she was fired from the show.”
“No, sir.”
“She wasn’t fired?”
“Her option wasn’t renewed. There’s a difference.”
“I’m not sure I understand. What’s the difference?”
“My character recovered from her illness. Pandora wasn’t needed as a sounding board so Delly’s option was dropped. It happens on daytime drama all the time. Pandora knew that. And Delly was aware that her character might recur, come back.” Anissa looked at the jury members. “Delly wouldn’t torch the studio, knowing Pandora might return to the show.”
