The Hollywood Murders-The Gretch Bayonne Action Adventure Series-Book 3 Page 3

  Chapter Eight

  The newspapers and magazines ran splashy stories about the tragic murders. Hollywood was in a panic and the whole country was watching in horror, wondering who might be next. It was a public feeding frenzy like none before.

  I was asked to attend an emergency, secret meeting at the Los Angeles police station. I don't know why they wanted me there, but I went out of morbid curiosity.

  Detective Bannon had compiled a list of thirteen potential victims and presented it at the meeting. There were about forty officers there and at least a dozen detectives.

  “I believe these woman are in danger,” he explained. “Police Chief Brady has agreed to make this case our number one priority and has approved indefinite overtime.”

  Bannon explained that undercover police officers would be assigned to each of the women's places of residence in case the killer paid them a visit.

  “We have identified the addresses of eight of these women,” he said, “and are working on locating the rest.”

  “Excuse me,” I asked him, “but why am I here?”

  “You were invaluable at the scene of the crimes,” Bannon replied. “I just wanted to keep you informed, Mr. Bay.”

  I knew what Bannon was up to. He didn't want to simply keep me informed, he wanted to keep me actively involved.

  “But you do know, Mr. Bay, that this information is top secret,” he added. “We can't have any leaks to the newspapers for obvious reasons.”

  “You don't have to worry about me,” I replied. “I don't write any more. And even if I did, I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

  “I realize that,” he said, “or you wouldn't be here tonight.”

  I was in an odd predicament. I really didn't want to know the details, but there they were, staring me in the face.

  Bannon passed out a sheet of paper with the names of thirteen women who could possibly be targeted by the killer. Eight of the women's names had addresses and listed the police officers who were assigned to provide twenty-four hour protection for them. But the most disturbing thing to me was that Patty Albright was not on their list. Clearly, she fell into the profile of potential victims. If they missed her, how many others did they miss?

  Bannon asked me to stick around after the meeting so he could speak to me in private. “We have some of the best detectives in the country working on this,” he said. “Not just from California, but from Boston and Texas too.”

  “That's good,” I replied, waiting for him to cut to the chase.

  “We've identified the type of bicycle tire that left the tracks at the scenes,” he went on, “and it turns out, it is not a common tire here in America. These aren't Schwinns.”

  “So they are special tires,” I said.

  “Sort of,” Bannon replied. “They are Bohles, and only one shop in Los Angeles sells them. And they don't stock them, they have to be special ordered.

  “What the hell is a Bohle?” I asked.

  “A German company that makes bicycles,” Bannon answered. “We're checking records of everyone who has purchased them here in the last five years.”

  “That could take a long time to track down,” I said.

  “The detective from Texas thinks they are newer tires,” he replied, “based on the tracks, so we are checking out the most recent purchasers and working our way back.”

  “That is some pretty damned good detective work,” I said, “if he is right.”

  “It's a long shot,” Bannon said, “but we don't have any other leads on this.”

  “What about the book of matches?” I asked.

  “The Red Carpet Room,” Bannon replied. “We got a partial finger print from it, but it is not very good.”

  “Has anyone checked out the club?” I asked. “If the book of matches was dropped by the killer, he may frequent the joint.”

  “We are checking it out, but we have no real good description of the suspect,” Bannon replied. “We only know he is a short man.”

  “How do you even know that?” I asked.

  “The bloody clothes you found,” he answered. “The man we are looking for is about five foot six inches and probably only weighs 130 pounds.”

  “That seems like a pretty good description to me,” I said.

  “Do you know how many short men there are in Hollywood?” Bannon asked.

  “Not off hand,” I answered. “But if you find a short man who rides a German made bicycle to The Red Carpet Room, you may have you something.”

  “That would be too easy,” Bannon smiled.

  “Second set of eyes,” I replied. “That is why I am here. Second set of eyes.”

  Chapter Nine

  In spite of the fear that was gripping all of Hollywood, my new girlfriend Patty was in good spirits.

  “I got an audition to be in George Cukor's next film,” she told me over dinner.

  “That's great,” I said. “But he isn't anywhere near finished with Dinner At Eight.”

  “That's okay,” she replied, “I can wait.”

  I was dreading bringing it up, but I had to talk to Patty about the Hollywood murders.

  “I want you to get some of your things together and come stay with me at Bela's house for a while,” I said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It's not safe for you to be by yourself right now,” I replied. “What with all that is going on.”

  “I know,” she said. “I appreciate your concern but I don't want to impose on Mr. Lugosi.”

  “He has a big house,” I said. “I've already talked to him about it, and he thinks it is a good idea, too.”

  “I can cook fairly well,” Patty said. “Does he like Italian food?”

  “I am pretty sure Bela likes any food,” I laughed, “but you don't have to cook. He has someone to do that for him.”

  “Oh, but I want to!” she replied. “And he can invite friends if he'd like! I love to cook for people!”

  “You can offer,” I said, “but most of the time we either eat out or just slice off some braunschweiger and make sandwiches.”

  “That is awful!” she said. “I hate braunschweiger!”

  “Then you can cook,” I laughed. “Either way, I want you to stay there, starting tonight. We can go by your place after dinner and get your clothes. Is it a deal?”

  Patty looked down at her plate as if she were contemplating. She looked up at me and grinned, nodding in agreement.

  “I will need to bring my auto as well,” she said. “In case I have more auditions.”

  “You have a car?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she replied. “I bought it when I was making money. I lost the house, but kept the auto. Thank god!”

  “I don't own a house or a car,” I said. “I just use other people's. So far, it has worked out for me.”

  We finished our dinner and swung by Patty's apartment to pick up some of her clothes.

  “You can follow us back to Bela's house,” I said as she got into her car.

  “I will meet you there later,” Patty replied. “I need to go see my sister first to let her know where I will be staying.”

  “You can't just call her?” I asked.

  “I need to see her,” she replied. “It's been a few days, and I don't like to go too long without visiting her.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Just don't be too long.”

  ***

  “Wolf called for you,” Bela's housekeeper, Yioko said as soon as I stepped into the living room.

  “He left this number for you to call him back right away!” she said. “I go home now!”

  “You should call him now,” Bela said.

  I hadn't seen my partner in several weeks but was shocked to be hearing from him so soon. I knew he was going out on a major tour to promote our book, which was rushed to print and became a best seller over night. I figured it would be months before I heard from him again.

  “Bay!” Wolf yelled over the phone. “I've changed my plans. I am not
going on this book tour. I am flying into California in the morning instead.”

  “What the hell for?” I asked.

  “The damned book has already sold over a million copies,” Wolf said. “I was going to go, for my own ego, but it doesn't need promoting. Bigger things are happening right now in Hollywood.”

  “You're talking about the murders,” I replied.

  “Yes,” Wolf said. “Of course I am talking about the murders. This is the new book.”

  “You are welcome to come,” I replied. “But I have a new career here. In motion pictures. I don't have the time or desire to chase this rabbit with you.”

  “Is that so?” Wolf asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I'm not going to get involved in this. You do what you want.”

  “I understand,” Wolf replied. “I spoke with Detective Bannon and he explained that this case is being kept under lock and key. No information about the murders can be released to the press until the killer is found. He has asked me to help in the investigation under the agreement that I will not write about it until it is over. I was hoping you would be in on it with me. But if not, that's fine.”

  “Damn it, Wolf!” I said. “I will help when I can, but I don't see this as a book opportunity. These are real people being killed. Three women have been murdered! This is not a book!”

  “Will you at least meet with me when I get to Hollywood?” Wolf asked. “Believe me, my intentions are to stop the killings, to find this man. The book will come later.”

  “Of course, I will see you,” I said. “But I can't promise anything. The Graf book was my last, as far as I am concerned.”

  “I won't push you,” Wolf replied. “You haven't gotten your first check on the sale of the book yet, have you?”

  “No,” I answered. “I haven't seen a penny.”

  “When you do get the money,” Wolf laughed, “it will be enough to buy a brand new Packard.”

  “That would be nice,” I said. “But you know what I would do with it.”

  “Drive the damned thing off into the river,” he replied.

  Chapter Ten

  It was after midnight and Patty still hadn't showed up at Bela's house. I was beginning to get worried.

  I had to be on the set of Dinner At Eight bright and early, but I couldn't sleep not knowing where Patty was. It occurred to me that she might have gone back to her house. Perhaps she forgot something. I decided not to wait around any longer.

  A light rain danced off the streets of Hollywood as I pulled up in front of Patty's apartment. The inside lights were on so I stepped out of the auto and headed towards the front door. Just before I got to the stairs I noticed streaks in her tiny front lawn. It was bicycle tire tracks.

  I leaped to the door and began banging on it in a panic. “Patty!” I screamed, as I tried to push the door open.

  I didn't wait more than a few seconds with no response before busting the door open with my shoulder.

  I took two steps into the living room and froze. It was dead silent. “Patty?” I called out. “Are you here?”

  There was no answer.

  I walked into the kitchen, but no one was there. I looked into the bathroom, and it was empty. I had this gut feeling that something was wrong, and dreaded checking the last room in the small apartment. Please don't let her be dead, I thought, as I walked towards the bedroom.

  The room was pitch black as I slowly pushed the bedroom door open. It made a chilling creaking sound until it came to a rest. As I ran my hand along the inside wall of the bedroom searching for the light switch, I heard a noise coming from behind me.

  “Hold it right there!” a man shouted.

  I spun around and saw two police officers with their guns pointed directly at my head.

  I stuck my arms up over my head and shouted “Wait! Don't shoot! I just need to check the bedroom!”

  “Back out of there!” one of the officers demanded, cocking his pistol.

  I walked slowly away from the bedroom and back into the living room as the cops suggested.

  “I am Bay!” I told them. “I am investigating the murders. Please, check the bedroom!”

  “I don't care who you are,” one of them said as he cuffed my hands behind my back. “You are going downtown for breaking and entering!”

  The other officer walked to the bedroom and turned the light on.

  “Nothing in here!” he said.

  I was relieved beyond belief that the apartment was indeed empty. But where the hell was Patty?

  “You don't know who I am?” I asked the officers.

  “Yeah,” one of them replied. “You are the guy who just broke into this apartment.”

  “No!” I pleaded. “I am Bay! Just check with Detective Bannon! I am working on the case with him!”

  “We will do that,” the cop answered, as he led me to the police car.

  I was taken to the Los Angeles Police Department and put in a cell, pending charges of breaking and entering.

  “Seriously?” I asked as they slammed the jail cell door. “None of you recognize me?”

  “You'll get a lawyer in the morning,” one of them said as they left me in the darkness of the cell.

  “But I have a movie to make in the morning!” I shouted.

  “Yeah and I have paperwork and a crap to take tonight,” one of them laughed.

  I lay down on the hard metal bed and contemplated my predicament. I didn't want to be involved in this, but here I was, a prisoner in my worst nightmare.

  “Son of a bitch!” I said. “I should have stayed at home!”

  “I should have stayed at home, too!” a voice coming from above me replied.

  “Hello?” I asked. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Vincent,” he replied. I could hear the squeaking sounds of bedsprings just above my head. Vincent was apparently my cellmate.

  “Perhaps if we all just stay at home, we won't end up in jail,” he said.

  “That's ridiculous,” I answered. “I am only here because I was looking out for someone. I didn't commit any crime.”

  “I didn't either,” he replied. “I was just minding my own business, riding my bike, and now, here I am. Locked up like some sort of criminal.”

  “Riding your bike?” I asked.

  “That's right,” he said. “I was just riding my bike at night in the rain. I know that seems odd, but I enjoy it.”

  I sat up on the hard bed and looked out the tiny barred window. The sun was just starting to come up.

  “Did they tell you what they were charging you with?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Vincent replied. “Not really. Bicycle theft, I reckon.”

  “Did you steal the bike?” I asked. “I mean, just between you and me.”

  “No,” he replied. “I bought it outright from a man who said he acquired it from the Summer Olympics. It is a very expensive Bohle. But I didn't get a bill of sale, so it might be hard for me to prove that I purchased it.”

  “It is a Bohle bicycle?” I asked. “You were riding a Bohle bicycle at night in the rain in Hollywood?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Since when is that a crime?”

  “Vincent,” I answered. “You aren't being held on suspicion of theft. You are being held on suspicion of homicide. Three of them, to be exact.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I finally got to make a phone call around 6:00 AM. I dialed Lugosi's number, hoping to god someone would answer.

  “Hello?” Bela asked.

  “Bela!” I yelled. “It's Bay! Is Patty there?”

  “I believe so,” he answered. “She arrived very late last night. Where are you?”

  “I'm at the police station,” I replied. “I went looking for her last night and things went a little haywire. So you are sure she is okay?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But I will go check on her if it will make you feel any better.”

  Lugosi assured me that Patty was sound asleep in her room. I told him I would see the
m both that evening at his house.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “It's a long story,” I answered, “but I am okay. I had to leave your car at Patty's place though.”

  “Keep it,” Bela said.

  “Pardon me?” I asked. “Keep what?”

  “The car,” he answered. “You can keep it. I want to buy a new one anyway.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I replied. “You are giving me your Packard?”

  “Sure,” Lugosi said. “You will need it here in Hollywood and it will give me a good excuse to get myself a new one straight away!”

  “I don't know what to say,” I stammered. “Thank you!”

  “You're quite welcome, my friend.”

  I was stunned, but didn't have time to think about it. I was too busy wondering why I just happened to be placed in the same jail cell as the suspect in the Hollywood murders. I mean, what are the odds? By the time Detective Bannon showed up a couple of hours later to spring me, I was pissed off beyond belief.

  “I should be at work right now,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “And I just spent the night in a jail with Bicycle Man! What the hell is going on?”

  “I just read the report myself,” Bannon explained. “I apologize, but I had nothing to do with you being arrested. As for the suspect, we are still working on that as well. But I have to ask you, did he tell you anything?”

  “Nothing,” I replied. “He was riding his bike. That is all he said. And I have a gut feeling that he is telling the truth.”

  “Gut feelings don't stand up in court,” Bannon said. “We need physical evidence to tie the killer to the murder scenes. And a motive. But so far, we have good reason to be holding this man, pending further investigation.”

  Bannon flipped through papers on his desk as I sat in a chair across from him, waiting for him to dismiss me.