I found him in the kitchen tasting a honey-colored dipping sauce. «That's good,» he announced. «Smells good,» I agreed.
He gave me a searching glance, picked up a plastic baggie stuffed with ice cubes and tossed it to me. «Here, Rocky. Ice your hand.»
I caught the bag, glanced down at my hand, and he was right. The knuckles were puffy and pink. I applied the ice pack and glanced around. «Anything I can do?» «The Perkins file is on the coffee table. You want a beer?»
I walked over to the sofa, sat down feeling the protest of newly punished muscles on top of yesterday's aches and pains, and picked up the file. A stack of newspaper and magazine clippings slithered out and spilled on the carpet. Jack was right. Perkins had kept anything and everything related to Eva Aldrich. I scooped up the fragile clippings. There were also sheets of legal paper covered in faded handwriting. Perkins's unofficial notes? I flipped through, absorbed. «You want a beer, Tim?» Jack repeated.
I glanced up and he had a funny half grin. «Huh? No. Thanks. I don't want to push my luck. How did you get hold of this?»
«My first partner was one of these old-timers who knew just about everyone on the force. I got hold of him and he put me in touch with Perkins's wife. He'd only kept one file – this one.»
«Wow.» What really wowed me was that Jack had bothered to do this on his day off. It was way beyond the call of duty. I looked up. «Thanks. I really appreciate this.» He shrugged. Turned back to the oven.
I continued reading through the folder. Perkins must have kept up the file until shortly before his death. There were several photos that I recognized from the Life magazine spread of that evening, and there were a couple of those Where Are They Now features from the
early '70s. A lot of the stuff I'd seen on microfilm and microfiche, but some of it was new –and a bit lurid. There was speculation about drugs and alcohol and Eva's sexual orientation –none of which had shown up in the earlier articles about her death. Was there any foundation in fact or was this all based on rumor and gossip – and boosting circulation numbers?
I barely noticed when Jack set a plate of wings and a Coke beside me. He sat down across from me and ate silently while I frowned over Perkins's notes.
At last I looked up out of the years and distance and said, «According to Perkins, only two people at the party were unaccounted for at the time of Eva's murder: Stephen Ball and Gloria Rayner. He didn't seem to consider Burack or Fumagalli real suspects at all.»
Jack said, «For what it's worth, I think Fumagalli's alibi is unbreakable. Over a dozen people saw him at the Tropicana.» «He could have hired someone.» «We've been over it,» he reminded me. «That wasn't a professional hit.»
He was right. «They found the knife,» I said. «It had been wiped clean of prints and dropped in the swimming pool. That information was never officially released to the press. I wonder why not.»
«Could have been a lot of reasons,» Jack said. «Usually it's because we hope someone's going to accidentally trip himself up during questioning.» He tipped his head at my plate. «Are you going to eat something?»
«Oh, right.» I set the file aside and picked up a little drumstick. «The murder took place during a party at the Garden of Allah, but Eva was found inside Stephen Ball's adjacent villa. The murder weapon was a knife from Ball's own kitchen, so the killing almost certainly wasn't premeditated.» «I thought you'd find that interesting.»
«I can't believe this never came out before. It's not even made clear in the official reports.» I bit into a wing, crunchy with baked parmesan cheese and oregano and garlic. My eyes widened. «Wow. That's really good.» I reached for another wing. Suddenly I was starving, and even the fact that my various bruises and sore spots were starting to make themselves felt didn't distract me. Jack and I munched for a few minutes in an unusually companionable silence.
He neatly wiped his mouth on his napkin. I finished off my Coke. «I think Ball did it,» I said. «Perkins doesn't come right out and say so, but I think he leaned that way too. She went to Ball's villa during the party – why, if not to meet him? He didn't go with her, so he must have given her a key because she got inside somehow. And he's the only remaining principal who won't give me an interview.»
«That's not exactly conclusive,» Jack pointed out. He rose, went to the fridge and got himself another beer. I declined a second Coke. «I know, but why won't he talk to me? What does he have to hide?»
«It's not a news story to him,» Jack pointed out. «It's part of his life. A painful part.» «It was fifty years ago.»
«Yeah, but all the same, it's a touchy subject for someone or that goon wouldn't have shown up this evening warning you to back off.»
I swallowed hard, remembering that gun pointed my way. Bang. I dropped the last chicken bone onto the pile before me. «True.»
«By the way, I want you to come down to headquarters tomorrow and look through the mug books.» «It was dark. I didn't really get a clear look at his face.» «Still.» I sighed. «Okay.» Jack's gray eyes were alert. «Problem?»
«Not really. It's just a pain in the ass not driving. It takes up half the day making bus connections. Taxis are expensive. And I really didn't get a good look at him.»
«How long do you have to be seizure-free before you can reapply for your license?»
«At least three months. And, as you know from personal experience, I'm not seizure-free yet.» His gaze slid away from mine.
«Anyway,» I said into the somewhat awkward pause, «I should be going. Thanks for letting me see the file.» «You can keep it for now. No one knows about it. You might as well.» «Seriously?» He nodded.
«Thanks.» I picked up the file, rose, and he said, «You don't have to go, you know.»
I stopped and stared at him. Jack gazed steadily back at me. «How about coffee and dessert while you tell me what you've found out from your interviews? Might help to run your findings past someone else.»
«Uh…okay.» I sat slowly back down. «I haven't found out much in the way of new information.»
«So you said, but you're willing to tap Stephen Ball for murder, so you must've come to some conclusion from talking to people.» He went into the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine.
«I've seen Gloria Rayner twice. The first time we mostly talked about her. Last time we talked a little about Eva, but she's pretty cagey. I know she could tell me a lot more if she chose. I'm hoping the third time will be the trick.» «Gloria Rayner? She does those AARP ads?» I could just imagine Gloria's opinion of being remembered for her AARP work.
«She was one of those '50s blonde bombshells. She and Eva were best friends – and rivals, I think.» «Romantic rivals or professional rivals?»
«Both, as far as I can tell. I know they were both trying for a role in a William Wyler film.» I watched Jack moving efficiently around his small kitchen. The overhead light shone down on hair as black and glossy as a raven's wing. «And I've seen Roman Mayfield once.» «He's the astrologer?»
«'Seer to the Stars.' I forgot to tell you, he's the one responsible for leaving the tarot card on my front door.» Jack stopped and stared at me. «He admitted it?» «Pretty much.» «He admits leaving a tarot card – like somebody left on Aldrich's body?»
«I don't think he looked at it like that. Or maybe he did. He's an oddball, but…» I stopped, remembering his kindness and patience that afternoon. «But what?» «He's a…genuinely nice person.» Jack looked unimpressed.
«He didn't have a motive that I can see. He's gay, for one thing. His relationship with Eva was strictly platonic, from what I can tell. Anyway, my point is, the card wasn't left as a threat. I think it was supposed to be sort of a come-on, actually.» «He sounds like a nut.»
