Thirty-two
Following the Dodger win, I phoned Patty Bone again at the swank Bel-Air Hotel. Having been married to him at one time, she might know if Hondo Kenyon had any immediate family. Her appearance at his funeral demonstrated a bond between them that had endured despite their long separation. If the heiress herself couldnât tell me all there was to know, nobody could, I reasoned.
The man-hunting Marjorie at the hotel switchboard was off this time, and a new voice told me Miss Bone was out of town. She didnât try to parlay that news into a date.
Merv Shawâs offices were closed, throwing another block. I had hoped he knew of the funeral arrangements, perhaps had made them himself for his former client. I wanted his reaction to the murder of Dr. Godiller. As a former D. A. dealing with homicide, he might have critical paths for me to follow.
I further imagined that Merv Shaw would be as anxious as I to apprehend the person who killed Kenyon, Schwab, Donna Dennis, and Dr. Godiller, unless he did it all himself.
It was early Friday evening. The Mars Vista singles were swinging. They were splashing in the pool, drinking and laughing it up around the pool site. I hoped Ms. Snodgrass was in there, having fun. I listened for a titter from Norma Harley without reward.
This time I had resolved upon a more diligent search. Harleyâs apartment upstairs was dark. So was Kenyonâs. I used the key I had appropriated the last time. Now I put the lights on, instead of scuttling around by flashlight like some common intruder.
The large desk was my first target. At the back of the top drawer there were some old letters and picture postcards. They werenât much, but one of the cards was paper-clipped to a small colored snapshot. Although in flowered swim trunks, the man looked familiar. The curvy blonde clinging to his hairy body was not. The scrawl on the postcard told Hondo they were having a great time, and wished he was there. It was signed Mike and Matilda. The postmark was Bermuda. I turned the picture over. If me and the missus can do it, it read, so can you. See you at spring training. Mike.
I heard the elevator open outside, then footsteps along the landing. Snapping off the lights, I retreated to the bedroom.
The footsteps halted outside the door. A key was inserted and the door opened. The lights were switched on. Desk drawers were opening and slamming shut.
The approaching footsteps had sounded brisk and feminine. The person at the desk was a woman, a very beautiful one. It was a relief to know certain deductive powers of mine were still intact.
âLiz Conway?â I said.
Apparently, she knew her name and wasnât too surprised that another shared her secret. She didnât jump â merely turned to face me with a graceful unhurried movement.
âOh, Mr. Roper, isnât it? Merv pointed you out to me at Hondoâs funeral.â
âMiss Conway, not to be stuffy about it, I am a detective, and I hope you can explain what youâre doing here. Otherwise, Iâll have to assume you killed Hondo Kenyon, and came here to remove incriminating evidence against you.â
She looked at me coolly, looking very lovely, sexy, and desirable. Her voice went right along with the package, making it very difficult for an investigator who had only recently vowed diligence. âYouâre not with the police, are you?â
âNo, private investigator.â
She smiled. âThe ones Iâve met before are shabby men who wonât look you in the eye.â
âA noble profession tarnished by misfits,â I said. âNow, tell me that you didnât kill Hondo so that I donât have to shoot you and drag you down to headquarters.â
Her eyes were an intense dark blue, cobalt ringed by dark thick lashes. âI didnât know anybody killed him. The news said he was electrocuted in the pool.â
âItâs being revised and updated,â I said. âHow does it happen you have a key to this apartment?â
âHondo gave it to me.â
âTerrific,â I said. âDoes Mr. Shaw know? Maybe Iâm asking the wrong Shaw who killed him.â
She leaned back against the desk. âWell, I donât think Merv knows. But if youâre anything like the kind of private dicks Iâve known in the past, heâll be finding out about it mighty soon.â
I shook the old head earnestly. âNot from me. Itâs none of my business. Iâve been turning up so many women who admit they were involved with Kenyon, one more comes as no surprise. And it doesnât mean a thing to me unless you decided to do the bum in. Now what are you doing here?â
âItâs like this, Mr. Roper. Iâm not using this as a cop-out but I had to get involved with Hondo. He insisted on it, and letâs say he had some kind of leverage going for him.â
âScorchy Smith?â I said.
This time, she reacted, her eyes smoking, angry. âWhat do you know about Scorchy Smith?â she parried.
âI understand she made a film she now regrets doing. Did olâ Hondo hear about it or did he have a print?â
âHe had a print. The last remaining one.â
âToo Hot to Handle â that the one?â
She blinked, surprised. âYou do get around,â she said softly. Then, âYes. There were ten prints. I had them all destroyed but the one Hondo got somehow.â
âAre you sure he had it? Maybe he was bluffing.â
âNo, he had itâ â her arms embraced the room â âin here, someplace.â
âWhat makes you so certain?â
She smiled ruefully. âThe first time I came up here, to see for myself if he was bluffing. He ran a reel off on his projection machine.â
She watched me snap my fingers. âSchwab,â I said.
âWhat?â
âThe apartment manager. He could have got it from Schwab.â
She frowned. âI donât get it. The manager?â
âBefore he became an apartment-house manager, he was a theater manager. He ran the Pussycat in Hollywood.â
She shrugged, pursing her lips. âI dunno. We can ask him.â
âHeâs dead,â I said. âShot two days ago. Maybe you killed him, too.â
âI donât remember doing that, either, Mr. Roper. Why would I kill the apartment manager?â
âHe might have been able to identify you as the woman seen here at times in Kenyonâs apartment. As the woman seen at the pool area the night he was drowned. Caught you fiddling with the wiring, and so on. Also knew you as the star Scorchy Smith. You buy up the prints, you kill the witnesses.â
âMy God!â she said. âAnd I was beginning to like you. Thousands of people saw that film. It was a big hit. Could I kill them all? And how would I know who ties Scorchy up with Liz Conway, or not?â
âTrue. But â â
âI did it ten years ago. I canât hide from it. But also I donât kill to keep my secret. Actually, what Scorchy did wasnât all that terrible. Maybe not something youâd take your mother to see, but nothing like the porno stuff around today.â
âBut it was still a sexy dirty movie. Otherwise, you wouldnât be here.â
âYouâre right. It was a dirty movie.â
âWhat about your husband? Does Merv Shaw know?â
âI donât know. I never dared discuss it with him.â
âIt might be a better idea if you assumed he knew.â
âWhy?â
âI was at his offices the day ...