Читать книгу Hollywood Heat - Arlette Lees - Страница 14

CHAPTER NINE

TROUBLE ON THE HILL

Hallinan and Boatwright parked at the overlook fifty yards beyond the Adler house. The hills were deep black, the moon spilling off the edge of the sky’s inverted bowl. The predawn chill had set in, and miles away at the eastern end of Griffith Park the nightlights from the Observatory cast a ghostly glow.

In 1896 the park was deeded to the city by wealthy capitalist Griffith J. Griffith, making its five square miles the largest municipal park in the nation, with its fifty miles of bridle trails, rugged terrain, and thriving wildlife population.

The park was G. J. Griffith’s most famous legacy, unless you count the two years he spent in San Quentin for shooting and partially blinding his wife while in a self-described state of alcoholic insanity. The park was beautiful and wild. It was also an infamous body dump site.

There were two patrol cars parked at the overlook when they arrived. Down a jagged path that twisted eastward through thick chaparral a trio of flashlights bobbed through the darkness.

“Well, let’s do it,” said Hallinan.

They walked to the pink house, entered through the wrought iron gate, and mounted the steps leading to the front door. Halfway to the entrance a second set of stairs angled off the main path and ran along the right side of the building to the back. Ornamental shrubs and herbs grew in large terracotta urns at the far edges of the steps, and a ficus with a braided trunk grew in a planter box to the left of the front door.

Sergeant Paul Garner met them in the foyer. He was a good-natured officer in his fifties. He’d failed the lieutenant’s exam three times, but was a damn good meat-and-potatoes cop.

On the far side of the entry was a staircase leading down to the kitchen and dining area. Up a few steps to the right was the living room, occupied by a small assembly of weary, anxious people. A colorful clutter of wrapping paper, balloons, and party hats were scattered around the room, champagne glasses and ash trays on every surface. A staircase on the back wall of the living room led to the third level.

“Strongbow is upstairs with Dr. Adler,” said Garner. “Mrs. Adler was about to give a statement when the doctor injected her with a sedative.”

“Interesting,” said Hallinan.

“That’s what I thought. The fingerprint team is up in the child’s room now.”

He and Tug entered the front room and Garner made the necessary introductions. Dr. Adler’s Aunt Sarah sat on the sofa beneath the arched windows twisting a lace handkerchief. On the love seat, stage star Trudy Shawn had wilted against the shoulder of her agent, Todd Sinclair, and sitting alone by the fireplace was the Swedish au pair, Sigrid Nordgren, with her back turned to everyone.

“Might not hurt to call Elmer Wood and get his bloodhounds out here,” said Garner.

“Good thinking,” said Hallinan. Garner went downstairs to use the phone in the kitchen.

Sarah Adler was a retired French teacher living in The Fairfax District near Farmer’s Market. Trudy Shawn resided at The Hollywood Studio Club while looking for a house to rent. Todd Sinclair had a suite at The Roosevelt on Hollywood Blvd.

Trudy and Todd had canvased the neighborhood looking for Daisy, Trudy in high heels that raised blisters on her feet. Hallinan took their statements, their contact information, and let them leave.

Trudy gave Tug a wink as she headed out the door. His ears turned pink. Hallinan sent him outside to see if anything seemed out of place, while he interviewed Sarah Adler in Helen’s Adler’s downstairs den. Sarah last remembered seeing Daisy walking up the staircase shortly after midnight after a brief appearance at the party. Sometime within the next hour she’d vanished.

“All of the bedrooms, plus Nathan’s den, are on the third level,” she said. “There’s the front door leading to the outside, another off the downstairs dining room that opens onto the side patio, one to the front living room balcony, two leading to the back patio, one from the master bedroom, and one from Daisy’s room.”

“Who else went upstairs in the course of the evening?” said Hallinan.

“Anyone who wanted to, especially if the downstairs bathroom was in use.”

“How many people were in the house tonight?”

“Maybe sixty when things were in full swing. There was a guest book, but a photographer named Horst Kepler took off with it.”

“You mean he stole it?”

“Just pushed me aside and ran. Oh, how I’d like to wring that man’s neck. Calls himself Photographer to the Stars. That’s Hollywood. Everyone has to be Something to the Stars. He’s responsible for Daisy’s modeling career. A bunch of nonsense, if you ask me.”

“Why would he want the guest book?” said Hallinan.

“The signatures, I suppose. Lana Turner was here with Johnny Stompanato, and a lot of big shot movie people. Perhaps he could sell it or maybe he’s just an aggravating putz.”

“I imagine you’re sleeping here tonight,” said Hallinan.

“Yes, I’ll be upstairs in the guest room.”

“That’s all for now. If you think of anything else we can talk in the morning.”

Garner met him back in the front room. “Wood is in Bakersfield on another job, but he’ll be here with the dogs by noon tomorrow if the traffic’s not too heavy.”

“That’s good. Call Sunset Stable. They keep a list of volunteers. Have them organize a mounted patrol for the morning.”

Tug came in from the outside with nothing remarkable to report, and volunteered to help Garner organize the search.

“I’ll interview the Nordgren girl next,” said Hallinan. “She looks like someone sent her to Siberia.”

“Maybe they don’t talk to the hired help,” said Garner.

“And Tug, tell Strongbow I want to see Dr. Adler as soon as he’s through talking with him.”