He checked the bathroom and found some empty spaces in the medicine cabinet, as if some bottles had been cleared out, but there was no makeup of any kind — strange for a woman’s bathroom. He checked the kitchen: the dishes were all put away and the counter-tops were clean. He looked for signs of blood everywhere but found none. He opened the service door and looked down the back stairs, then closed it. He went back to the front door, let himself out, relocked the door and went back to his car. He sat there for a moment, thinking, then he started the car and drove to the studio.
At his desk, he called Rick Barron in New York.
“Hello?”
“Rick, it’s Tom.”
“What did you learn?”
“Miss Stafford appears to have moved out of the Harmon apartment yesterday and then drove to Mr. Calder’s house with a car full of boxes. She unlocked the front door and went upstairs to her dressing room, deposited one of the boxes there, then went back downstairs. Then she disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Well, no one has seen her, have they?”
“No.”
“Oh, I let myself into the Harmon apartment and found that Miss Stafford had left a note for Miss Harmon on her front hall table. The envelope was still there but not the note. Everything in the apartment was in order, though it was obvious that one of the two roommates had moved out. The remaining clothes were of a mannish nature, and there was no makeup in the bathroom, which is odd for a woman’s apartment.”
“Where are you now?”
“Back at the studio. There are only two further things I can do: go to RKO and interview Miss Harmon, or call a lieutenant we both know at the LAPD and report Miss Stafford missing. If I call him, then he should probably interview Miss Harmon. One other thing: the LAPD is leaky with situations like this, so if we call them in, you’d better be prepared to read about it in the morning papers, probably even the New York papers.”
“I think it’s too early to call the police, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure it is. I’m disturbed that Miss Stafford was going about her business in a normal way, then suddenly disappeared in the middle of moving into Calder’s house, abandoning her car. Something else odd: after unlocking the front door of the house and taking a box of clothes upstairs, she replaced the keys in the car’s ignition.”
“I suppose that’s a little unusual, but hardly a reason for calling in the police.”
“Are you thinking maybe the girl just got overloaded with publicity appearances and bailed out? Went home to mama?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Then either somebody picked her up at Calder’s, or she’s on foot. Have you talked to her agent? She might confide in him. And somebody ought to call her family, if you know how to reach them.”
“Her agent’s name is Marty Fine, at William Morris. You call him, and if you think it’s a good idea, go interview Miss Harmon. I’ll deal with Susie’s parents if that becomes necessary. I have to go to a luncheon with Vance and some people from Life; when I get back, I’ll call you at the office. If you need to reach me urgently, I’ll be at a restaurant called Voisin.” Rick gave him the number.
“All right, Rick.” Tom hung up, called William Morris and got Marty Fine’s secretary on the phone.
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Tom Terry, head of security at Centurion. It’s urgent, and if he’s with somebody, tell him to take the call on another phone.”
“Just a moment, please.”
“This is Martin Fine,” a voice said.
“Mr. Fine, this is Tom Terry, from Centurion. Rick Barron asked me to call you. Have you spoken with Susan Stafford during the past twenty-four hours?”
“No. I last saw her at the opening of Bitter Creek on Saturday night. She told me she was going to rest on Sunday and leave for New York this morning, so she should be on a plane.”
“She missed her flight. Can you think of anyone she might go to if she’s... upset about something, or if she just wants to get away from it all?”
“The only people I know that she’s close to in L.A. are Vance Calder, who should be in New York, too, and a woman named Hank Harmon; they used to share an apartment.”
“No other men, no other girlfriends?”
“She lived at the Studio Club when she first came to town, but she never mentioned anyone’s name there.”
“No relatives out here?”
“No. Her parents live in a place called Delano, Georgia. You want their number?”
“Yes, thanks.” Tom wrote it down.
“I’m surprised she didn’t make the plane this morning,” Fine said. “She was looking forward to going to New York.”
“Did she show any signs of personal strain on Saturday night?”
“She was just a little tired, I thought, but she’d had a pretty full schedule all week. I’m concerned about this. Will you call me if you learn anything?”
“Sure.”
“And if there’s anything else I can do to help you, please let me know.”
Tom thanked him, then headed for his car and RKO Studios.
38
Tom drove over to RKO Studios and identified himself to the front gate guard. “I’m looking to talk with an RKO script girl named Hank Harmon,” he said to the guard.
“Sure, I know Hank,” the guard said, “but she’s not working here today. She’s over to the Culver lot, where they’re shooting a western.”
“Thanks.” Tom turned around and drove out to the “forty acres,” as it was known, the back lot where many films had been shot, including a lot of the exteriors for Gone With the Wind. He gave the gate guard his card and talked his way onto the lot, following directions to the western street set. He parked some distance away and walked over, not wanting to make car sounds when they might be shooting. In his time at Centurion, Tom had learned how to move around a movie studio without disrupting production.
He found the western street and saw the production grouped at the far end, shooting a street fight. Staying out of camera range, he moved closer down the street.
Hank Harmon was not hard to spot. She was sitting in a folding canvas chair a few feet from the director, a notebook in her lap, her face partly obscured by large sunglasses. She was handsome rather than beautiful, but striking nonetheless. She was wearing a western shirt and boots, and a buckskin jacket was draped over the back of her chair. Tom waited twenty minutes or so while they finished with the setup, and when they broke to move the camera, he approached Hank Harmon.
“Miss Harmon?” He extended a hand and smiled. “I’m Tom Terry from Centurion Studios.”
She returned his smile and his handshake. “How are you, Tom?” She seemed a very pleasant person. She was very tall — Tom estimated six feet or more, with the high-heeled boots — and slender but athletic-looking.
“Just fine, thanks. I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for Susan Stafford. Do you know where I can find her?”
“Why no. She shared my apartment for a few months, but yesterday she came by and removed her things. The last time I spoke to her, she said she planned to move into her bungalow at Centurion.”
“Did you see her yesterday when she came by?”
“No, I was out. I went to the farmer’s market, which I do every Sunday, and when I came back she had come and gone. She left a note.”
“I wonder, may I have a look at the note?”
“What’s this about, Tom?”
“No one has seen Susan since she left your house yesterday, and we’re concerned.”
“Who’s ‘we?’”
“The studio. Susan was supposed to take a flight to New York this morning, but she missed it, and we haven’t been able to locate her. Maybe there’s something in her note that could give us some indication of where she went or, at least, her state of mind.”