“‘When Harmon returned to Los Angeles she hired a criminal lawyer who refused to allow police to question her further. Knowledgeable sources tell me that new evidence is being developed that will further link Henrietta “Hank” Harmon to the killing of Susan Stafford, and that an arrest is imminent.’”
“You know anything about this, Rick?”
“First I’ve heard of it.”
“Well, I didn’t plant it, either, but I’m glad there’s nothing about a lesbian affair. Did you get a call from Hopper, asking for confirmation?”
“No, but there isn’t anything in that story that I could have confirmed, except that Susie is dead.”
“This thing smells planted,” Eddie said. “I asked Bart Crowther if he had anything to do with it, and he denied planting the story.”
“It could very well have been planted by somebody at RKO or somebody at the LAPD.”
“Well, I hope it’s true.”
“So do I.”
Vance Calder packed the last of Susie’s clothes in a cardboard box and stacked it on top of the box she had left in her dressing room the day she went missing. He carried the two boxes downstairs to the kitchen, where his housekeeper, Maria, was sewing a button on one of his shirts, and set them on the table.
“Maria, these are some things that belonged to Miss Stafford,” he said. “If there’s anything you want, or if you know anyone who might need the clothes, please take them. Anything else you can drop off at a Salvation Army store on your way home tonight.”
“Thank you, Mr. Calder,” Maria said. “And I’ll put your shirt back in your dressing room in just a moment.”
Vance walked through the house to the study; his new desk had arrived the day before, Sid Brooks having taken the old one, and he began putting office supplies that he had brought from the studio into the drawers. With the help of the studio’s design department he had replaced the furniture that Sid or his ex-wife had removed, and the living room had been painted a warm yellow. He had begun to feel that the place belonged to him and no one else.
Maria knocked at the door.
“Yes, Maria?”
She walked in and handed him a blue-velvet jewelry box. “This was in the bottom of the carton with the sweaters, Mr. Calder.”
“Thank you, Maria.” She left, and Vance opened the box. It contained a pair of small, diamond ear studs, along with a Bulova wristwatch and a couple of brooches. Also in the box was a gold, heart-shaped locket on a matching chain.
Vance picked up the locket and pressed the clasp. Inside, was a photograph of Susie with another girl, who Vance assumed was Hank Harmon. Both women appeared to be naked, at least from the waist up. Susie was leaning against Harmon, wrapped in her arms. One hand was resting on Harmon’s left breast. On the other side of the open locket was engraved an inscription: “Susie and Hank, one forever.”
Vance closed the locket and put it back in the box. He thought for a minute, then he picked up the phone and called Centurion Studios. “This is Vance Calder,” he said to the operator. “Will you please connect me with Tom Terry in security?”
“Of course, Mr. Calder.”
A moment later, Terry was on the line. “Hello, Vance. Can I help you?”
“I need some advice, Tom. I gave some clothes that belonged to Susie Stafford to my housekeeper, and in one of the boxes she found a jewelry case that contained, among other things, a locket holding a rather... affectionate photograph of Susie and a woman I assume to be Hank Harmon. I don’t think I want to send the photograph to her parents. My question is: what should I do with it?”
“You should give it to the police, Vance. I’ll call the detective in charge of the investigation and let him know about it. I expect he’ll send someone over to get the locket.”
“Thanks, Tom. Did you see the item in the paper this morning by Hedda Hopper?”
“Yes, I did, and I think it’s a good one.”
“Do you think they’re near an arrest?”
“If they are, they must have some new information I’m not privy to. I’ll call Lieutenant Morrison now; I expect you’ll hear from him soon.”
“Thank you, Tom. I’ll wait to hear from him.”
Ben Morrison was at his door half an hour later. Vance let him in and shook his hand.
“We met once before, Mr. Calder,” Morrison said.
“I remember; at my bungalow at the studio. Come into the study; the jewelry box is there.”
Morrison followed him into the study, and Vance handed the velvet box to him. He sat down, opened the box and examined the locket carefully. “This is very interesting,” he said.
“It doesn’t seem like a crucial piece of evidence, does it?” Vance asked.
“It could be valuable, in that it helps establish the relationship between the two women.”
“I’d hate for that photograph to be displayed in open court; so would her parents, I think.”
“I can keep it out of the papers, but when we go to trial, I’m sure it will be placed in evidence. There’s nothing I can do to prevent that, except extract a confession from Miss Harmon, and I don’t think her lawyer is going to let her do that.”
“I saw something in the papers this morning that implied you are close to an arrest.”
“I saw that, too, Mr. Calder. It didn’t come from me, and I doubt that it came from any of my people. My best guess is that it came from RKO.”
“Are you close to arresting Hank Harmon?”
“No, sir, we’re not, but please don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“Do you feel any need to correct the newspaper account?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Morrison said. “Maybe it will stir the pot a little. You never know.”
“I hope so,” Vance said. “When you’re finished with the jewelry, would you return it to Susie’s parents? Not the photograph; I don’t think they should see that.”
“Of course, I’d be glad to.” Morrison stood and offered his hand. “I’ll let you know if we come up with anything new.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Vance showed him to the door, then returned to his study and sank into a chair. Once again, he drove the recurring thought from his mind that he should buy a gun and shoot Hank Harmon. He made himself calm again, as best he could.
51
Tom Terry sat in his car across the street from Hank Harmon’s apartment house and watched a passel of photographers and reporters mill around. The shades were drawn on Harmon’s windows upstairs, and there was no sign of life.
Then Tom saw a prewar Chevrolet convertible, with the top up, edge out of the parking lot behind the building, driven by a woman. He wasn’t sure it was Harmon, but he was going to find out.
The Chevy turned up the hill, away from Sunset and the photographers, and accelerated. Tom started his car and followed, staying well back. The car made a couple of turns, then headed back toward Sunset. Tom made a note of the plate number and followed. The convertible turned up Coldwater Canyon and began climbing the mountain. As it crested the ridge at the top, it pulled over, and the top went down. Hank Harmon was at the wheel, and she seemed to believe that she had gotten away from her pursuers. She started down the other side of the mountain and into the San Fernando Valley.
Tom followed her for another twenty minutes, until she turned into a residential neighborhood and then into a driveway. He stopped down the block and watched her get out of the car, take a couple of suitcases from the trunk, ring the doorbell, then go inside. Tom made a note of the address.