“Vance, did Hy Greenbaum get you a lawyer?” Eddie asked.
“Yes, a fellow named David Sturmack. I spoke to him at some length on the phone. After I told him what little I knew he told me to tell the police everything. They came here and talked to me for an hour, and I followed David’s advice.”
“Vance,” Rick said, “you were talking about going down to Puerto Vallarta for a few days with Susie; maybe it would be a good idea if you went now.”
“No,” Bart said. “The press would find him there. Confidential magazine is trying to get together a story on Susie, and they’d pay anything to get to Vance.”
“Vance,” Eddie said, “would you like to go to the ranch in Jackson Hole for a while? You wouldn’t be molested by all these news hounds.”
“Yes!” Vance said emphatically.
“There’s snow on the ground,” Eddie said, “but the Coopers are still in the main house, and I’m sure they’d be glad to see you.”
“Yes, please,” Vance said.
“I’ll arrange for you to be flown up there,” Rick said. “Nobody will ever find you there.”
“How soon can I leave?”
“Tomorrow morning. Early, say, seven o’clock at Clover Field?”
“Good. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll have wardrobe fix you up with some warm clothing,” Rick said. “If you need anything, you have only to call me.” Rick handed him a manila envelope. “Here’s something to read, when you feel like it.”
“A script?”
“Yes, and we can go to work on it the minute you feel like it.”
“I’ll read it.”
“Oh, we’d like to assign a permanent secretary to you,” Eddie said. “There’s already a lot of fan mail about Susie.”
“The steno pool sent a girl over earlier. I’d be happy to have her stay on permanently.”
“Good. Phone her every day, and if we need to speak to you, we’ll leave a message with her.”
The group left, and Rick went back to his office to make the arrangements for Vance’s travel. An hour later, Tom Terry called.
“Remember our friend Harold Schmidt from Milwaukee?”
“Yes,” Rick said.
“He’s turned up in L.A.”
41
Vance Calder took off at half past seven from Clover Field in Jack Barron’s Beech Staggerwing with a hired pilot. He persuaded the man to let him fly the airplane for long periods, and he learned to operate the radio and the radio direction finder. By the time he reached Jackson, Wyoming, he had resolved to learn to fly.
While Vance was still in the air four county garbage trucks and a dozen workers showed up in the farther reaches of Mulholland Drive, closer to Malibu than to Beverly Hills, to clear a part of the remote area that had been used for months as an illegal garbage dump. Twice before the county had cleaned up the place, but people were still coming out there and dumping old furniture, dead pets and whatever else they no longer wanted. This time, the county employees were determined to end this, and they planned, after clearing the area once more, to fence the approaches to the informal dump and make it impossible for people to reach the area by car or on foot.
They began by removing the larger objects — sofas, chairs and kitchen appliances — and loading them onto the trucks. They planned, after removing anything larger than a bread box, to bring equipment to scoop up the remaining trash.
Two men were struggling with an old refrigerator, complaining about its weight, when the door came open and the naked corpse of a woman spilled out. The foreman sent a man in search of a telephone and the sheriff.
Later the same day, Tom Terry answered his phone at the studio security office.
“Lieutenant Morrison of the Los Angeles Police Department to speak to you,” his secretary said.
Tom picked up the phone. “Ben?”
“Hello, Tom. I may have some news for you.”
“Shoot.”
“This morning, a cleanup crew from the county was clearing an illegal dump way out on Mulholland, and they found a woman’s body in a refrigerator.”
“Any identification?”
“No, the body was naked and, of course, in poor condition, but the height and hair color and maybe the weight match your girl, Susan Stafford. Can you round up some photographs of her?”
“Sure, I can. I’ll messenger them to you.”
“Something else: the medical examiner found a small gold ring — pinkie ring — on her left little finger. There was a lot of swelling, and he had to cut it off. It’s two hands shaking, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, sort of a friendship ring.”
“Like that. Was your girl wearing anything like that?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll try and find out. Anything else you need?”
“Just the photos, not that they’ll be of all that much use. She’s pretty much unrecognizable.”
“Are you taking fingerprints and dental impressions?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a dentist near the studio that we send a lot of actors to for cosmetic work; I’ll find out if she’s been to him.”
“Thanks, that would be a big help.”
“I’ll call you when I know more.” Tom hung up and called Bart Crowther in publicity.
“Hi, Tom. What’s up?”
“You said you’re in daily touch with Susan Stafford’s parents, Bart?”
“That’s right. I talked to them about an hour ago.”
“A body has turned up, way out on Mulholland. There was a ring on the left little finger, a gold ring with two hands shaking.”
“I’ve seen rings like that.”
“Will you call her parents and ask if Susan wore anything like that?”
“Sure, I will.”
“I’d call Vance, but he’s on his way to Wyoming.”
“I’ll call the parents right now.”
“One more thing, Bart: do you know if the studio sent Susan to our dentist for any work?”
“Yes, we did; not much, though.”
“Will you call him and ask if he made any impressions of her teeth? It would be a big help in identifying the body. Also, I need some photographs of Susan.”
“Sure. I’ll get back to you.”
Tom waited impatiently for half an hour before the phone rang.
“It’s Bart. Bingo on the ring. Her mother says it had her initials and another girl’s, somebody she roomed with in New York, but she couldn’t remember her name.”
“Did you tell the folks about the body?”
“Of course not. I just asked her to describe any jewelry that Susie wore; told them the police forgot to ask.”
“How about the dentist?”
“He made full mouth impressions, even though he was only doing a couple of caps. Thorough guy.”
“Thanks, Bart. Can you send the photos over? Call the dentist and tell him I’m sending a messenger for the impressions and to wrap them up good. And get somebody to walk the photos over here, will you?”
“Sure thing. Be sure and let me know if an ID is made; we need to get out ahead of this story.”
“Sure.” Tom hung up and called Ben Morrison.
“Lieutenant Morrison.”
“It’s Tom. Susan Stafford wore a ring like the one you described. It will have her initials and the initials of another girl, name unknown, engraved inside. Her dentist also has full mouth impressions, and I’m sending them and the photos to you by messenger; you’ll have them in less than an hour.”
“That’s great news, Tom. Thank you.”
“Ben, I’d like to be the first to know if you make the ID, and our publicity guy would like to know about it before you make an announcement to the press.”
“Of course, Tom. I’ll get back to you, but it might be late; the body is at the sheriff’s office on ice.”