“How did they track him down?”
“They didn’t have to. Someone at the county recognized him when his body was brought into the morgue.”
“Okay, where does that take us?”
“Bender had a good reputation. He was a careful man. The fact that this happened to him means we are not dealing with the usual sort of snot-nosed riffraff running around playing tough guy.”
Archer rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I figured that out, too, not that I ever really thought that was the case.”
“PIs, as I’m sure you know, do not usually snoop around the house of their employer, so it is doubtful that Bender was working for Lamb.”
“Well, considering she wanted to hire me, I tend to agree with that. Most people only need a single gumshoe, and they grouse about paying one bill, much less two. But what if he was killed elsewhere and dumped there as a warning to her?”
Malloy looked intrigued. “Do you think that’s what happened?”
“I know you told me who you are, but you got some ID that shows you used to be a cop?”
Malloy took a wallet from his pocket and removed from it a card. “I kept this when I retired. My badge, of course, I had to turn in.”
Archer examined the card and then handed it back. “Okay. Lamb told me about a blue Ford that was parked on her street. She was concerned someone was watching her. I saw the car and checked the registration. It was Bender’s ride.”
“And if she had hired Bender she would have known it was his car?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” said Archer.
“So placing his body at her home was a warning to her, you were suggesting?”
“A stiff in your house will scare anyone.”
“But what was Lamb involved with that required her to be warned in such an extreme manner?” mused Malloy.
“If I knew that, this thing would practically solve itself. You said Ransome is your grandniece and you’ve been in LA all your life. But she’s a recent arrival?”
“Her mother is my brother’s daughter. They live back east. Cecily graduated from college there and came here to make films. She’s doing very well.”
“So I heard.” He hunched forward. “Can I ask a candid question?”
“What other types of questions should a detective ask?”
“In hair and dress Lamb is, albeit on a smaller frame, a carbon copy of Ransome, eccentric, so to speak. Two dark, moody straight-hairs in a wavy blond cutie-pie Hollywood pond. Anything else there I should know about?”
“In what way?”
“In any way.”
Malloy pressed his pale lips together tightly for a moment. “While I am of a generation that does not condone those who are attracted to the same gender, this town is full of them. Thus, I can neither confirm nor deny what you are so obviously thinking, Archer.”
“And would you have a problem if Cecily falls outside of the conventional?”
“Cecily has always fallen outside of the conventional. That’s why she has become as successful as she has. In case you’re wondering where my loyalties lie, I am immensely proud of her. And while I admit that I would prefer that she adopt a more traditional approach when it comes to matters of the heart, I have seen enough of life to know full well that my fellow human beings come in all sorts of packages and desires. My dear wife would be horrified to hear what I am saying, which is why I never say it to her.”
“What else did you tell your grandniece?”
“She told me that she had retained you to find Lamb, and after I checked into it I informed her that she was in good hands.”
“You two could have done all that over the phone.”
“Yes, but I wanted to see her. She is very busy, as young people so often are, while I have nothing to do except sit and wait for my time on earth to end. I can’t see her face over the phone. And I wanted to see her face.”
Archer nodded. “And thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“What’s your next move?”
“The Jade Lion Bar in Chinatown. Lamb seemed to have been a frequent visitor there.”
“I almost died twice in raids we made on some Tong gangs in Old Chinatown back in the twenties. Kill you as soon as look at you.”
“And new Chinatown has some wild parts to it, under the Hollywood facade.”
“People are people, so whether it’s old or new some of them like things on the wrong side of the law and always will.” He tapped a bony finger against the table. “So, you have no idea what Lamb is mixed up in that could cause her to believe that her life was in danger?”
“Not yet. Did you ever meet her?” asked Archer.
“Twice. Once at a party Cecily invited my wife and me to, and another time at a movie premiere, where I loved her film without really understanding a bit of it.”
“So what was your take on Eleanor Lamb?”
The pale blues suddenly took on a fiery spark, like living, pulsating Bunsen burners.
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t like her, Archer. I would never trust her. And I don’t think you should, either.”
Chapter 22
It was ten o’clock and the chilly rain was persisting when Archer walked through the West Gate on Hill Street and entered Chinatown.
A dull crack of lightning speared toward the earth nearby and was followed by a hollow sound of thunder. The new year seemed to be looking for trouble as it stumbled out of the starting gate.
As Willie Dash had alluded to, the current Chinatown had sprouted up after the original Chinatown had been bulldozed to make way for Union Station. Filmmakers and set designers had helped create the look of the new Chinatown, and thus Archer passed by a veneer of architecture that one might have seen in Hollywood pictures about China. To him, it deprived the place of any real, granular identity.
He passed dragons on walls, Chinese characters graffitied all over, and locked roll-up gates in front of shops because thefts and burglaries happened here just like everywhere else. The streets were mostly empty, a few bikes splashed down the street; he saw a car turning left, its brake lights burning the rain the color of fire. He saw only Chinese people, who gave his white face wondering looks before hurrying onward in the rain.
The Jade Lion was a four-story brick building that sat robustly on a corner lot at an intersection that was neither major nor insignificant. The eponymous lion in the form of a greenish marble statue stood guard outside the bar’s garishly red-lighted exterior. It looked angry and patient all at the same time, as though just waiting for a passerby to make a mistake before pouncing.
A white man in a gray suit was standing in profile under the bar’s narrow covered entrance smoking a cigarette, so Archer couldn’t get a good look at him. But he noted the Chinese man standing next to him was wearing colorful garb, including a close-fitted, fur-lined cap. On the man’s belt was an empty knife holder made of what looked to be bronze. Archer wondered where the knife was.
As Archer headed up the sidewalk, the man in the suit turned and quickly went back inside.
The Chinese man stepped forward to block Archer’s path. He was heavyset with no neck and a long, stringy mustache that bracketed his mouth.
“Yes?”
“I’m here for a drink.”
“Name?”
“Why? Is that required to get a whiskey and soda in this place?”
“Name?”
“John Smith,” replied Archer.
“Many men who come here have that name.”
“I bet.” He took out the book of matches. “I have this. I’d like to return it to a friend. They might be inside.”
The man glanced down at the matches and his expression changed to one of interest. “Who is your friend?”