THE ADDRESS WAS A BUST.
Sam read out another.
The cabbie U-turned and headed west on Sunset, away from the city, along the long, barren road, and then cut up toward the cool, dark hills and zigzagged up a rough-cut path.
The house was in the old Mission style, a big, fat adobe number built up a steep drive and surrounded by high shrubs and palms. The early-afternoon shadows showed a set of twin hills, and the air smelled of citrus.
The cab parked at the curb. Sam walked to the gate and stared up at the mansion. The day was cool, sky blue, and down below a bunch of men in overalls were digging a trough through an orange grove. Up a long, curving driveway, a butler washed a long Packard touring car.
Sam whistled to him from the gate.
The man didn’t hear him. Or pretended he didn’t.
Sam whistled again and the man stuck the brush back in a suds bucket and wandered down to the gate.
“Like to see Mr. Lehrman.”
“He ain’t here.”
“Tell him I’m a detective from San Francisco.”
“I don’t care if you’re the Emperor of Japan, he still ain’t here.”
“When will he be back?”
“Next week,” the man said. “Leave a card.”
Sam left a card and walked back down to the cab and told the cabbie to wait. On foot, he followed the wall of shrubs until there was a break and he found a wrought-iron gate.
The gate was unlocked.
Sam let himself inside and walked down a winding path through some exotic trees and bushes. There was hibiscus and lime. Lemon trees and palm. Flowers planted along a spindled alabaster wall and up a little staircase to behind the mansion.
Sam found three people sitting by a little round pool with a fountain in the center. Two men and a woman.
All were very naked.
Sam smiled and took off his hat.
“I guess I’m a bit overdressed.”
A man with tight slicked hair and a tiny mustache got to his feet. He was tall and bony and hairless and made no attempt to cover himself. He just wanted to know how the hell Sam had gotten into the garden.
“Let myself in,” Sam said. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lehrman.”
“Please leave.”
“I came all the way from San Francisco.”
“Are you with the police?”
“I’m a detective,” Sam said.
“Please sit,” Henry Lehrman said, sweeping his hand to a small lacquered table bordered by four silk pillows. “Would you like some tea?”
“Sure.”
“I hope our nudity does not shock you,” Lehrman said. “We find it to be quite natural and nothing to be ashamed of. This is my home and we have our own customs.”
“I heard I was born that way.”
The woman remained seated by the pool, eating an apple. She was young, maybe not twenty, redheaded and freckled, her skin flushed with sun. Sam made a note of her form as she was introduced as Miss Leigh. She smiled at Sam and Sam smiled back, liking the smile and shape.
Henry introduced the man as his spiritual adviser, Dr. Bagwa. The man wore a jeweled headdress and it jingled as he bowed. Sam couldn’t hide his smile, which wasn’t lost on “Dr. Bagwa,” who returned back to his spot by the pool with Miss Leigh.
“Dr. Bagwa is an expert in soul painting,” Lehrman said. “Have you heard of it?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“He can see the colors of man’s soul without the flesh and bone.”
“That a fact.”
“He’s quite wise, you know.”
Lehrman rang a little bell and a maid appeared and he asked for two cups of flower tea.
“I’m sorry about Miss Rappe,” Sam said.
“She was my fiancée.”
“What about Miss Leigh?”
“She’s my secretary.”
“I see.”
Lehrman looked off for a long moment, seeming to study the hills, and turned back to Sam. “She was my muse. My love. My friend. I don’t know if I can work without her. She was to be the star of my next film.”
Sam set fire to a Fatima and laid the pack and matches on the table. “What was it going to be about?”
“The film? Does it matter now? It’s all lost.”
“How long did you know her?”
“I’ve already answered these questions for Judge Brady.”
“Just a few more, if you don’t mind.”
The tea came. The maid thankfully brought a robe, an Oriental affair, that Lehrman slipped into and belted at the waist. He sat cross-legged on the pillow and lit a jade opium pipe.
“She was just an extra,” he said. “But she had a quality. You know they say she was born from royalty?”
“I read that. Is it true?”
“Virginia never knew her father,” he said. “I suppose it could be true.”
Lehrman pulled on the pipe and closed his eyes. He looked quite content on the little pillow.
“She lived with you?”
“She lived in the wing of the house with my aunt.”
“All very proper.”
“Well, of course.”
“And you loved her.”
“I did.”
“And how did she know Mr. Semnacher and Mrs. Delmont?”
“I don’t know.”
“But she was with them?”
“I’ve met Mr. Semnacher and find him to be quite distasteful. I know nothing of this Delmont woman.”
“You didn’t care that she’d gone to San Francisco?”
“We were free to live our own lives.”
“But she was your fiancée?”
Lehrman set down the pipe. He made a show of smoothing down the little black mustache. The wind blew off the shadowed hills, smelling of orange blossoms and tropical flowers. He made a sad face, looking more comical than sad. Sam watched him and fished for another Fatima.
He stole a side glance of Miss Leigh, laughing and talking with Dr. Bagwa.
“When did you meet Miss Rappe?”
“Two years ago.”
“She was in one of your pictures?”
“Yes.”
“And you fell in love?”
“Madly.”
“And she moved in here?”
“Yes. What does it matter?”
“Did you know any of her people in Chicago?”
“We decided not to speak of her past or who we were before we met.”
“I see.”
“Did she have many friends?”
“Of course.”
“Who were they?”
“I’m finding this tiresome, Mr…?” Lehrman raised an eyebrow.
Sam introduced himself and laid out his hand. Lehrman looked to his hand and stood, holding on to the jade pipe and excusing himself. “This all has been quite a troubling ordeal. If it wasn’t for the good doctor, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Lehrman took a crooked path back to the house. The glass doors rattled with a sharp slam.
Sam sniffed the tea and then took a small sip. It tasted like chopped flowers and sugar. He stood and stretched his legs, smiling over at Miss Leigh. She smiled back and crossed her shapely long legs. She wore her hair loose and it fell softly against the fine shoulders and the tips of her full breasts with small pink nipples.
Her eyes were wide set and an innocent green without a trace of paint. Somewhere a farmer was missing his daughter.
So intent on the girl, Sam missed the good Dr. Bagwa as he took a seat at the table, pulling loose a Fatima.
“Whatta you say, Pete?” Sam said, turning his eyes back to the girl.
“Thanks for not blowing it, Sam.”
“Man’s got to make an honest living.”
“You ain’t kidding, brother.”
“How long you been with this four-flusher?”
“A month.”
“Dr. Bagwa,” Sam said, laughing. “That tops your minister act in Port-land. Or the English duke in Cleveland.”
“I try.”
“You know where I can get a decent plate of ham and eggs?”
Pete the Fink told him. Sam said he’d meet him there in an hour.
“And Pete?”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you wear some goddamn pants.”