Fade to Black (24 page)

A pair of young men in their early twenties, wearing UCLA jerseys, passed a football back and forth on the beach, but stopped when they noticed Marilyn and Stacey.

“Hey, ladies!” they crowed, “how’s about coming and playing with us.”

Stacey turned and laughed back at them, “Why don’t you go play with yourselves!”

“Oh, pair of frigids, huh?” one of the men joked to the other as they ran off to cast their charms elsewhere.

“God, these people around here,” Marilyn said. “They’ve all got brain damage.”

“You brought us down here,” Stacey reminded Marilyn gaily.

“Oh, well,” Marilyn admitted, “It’s good to go shopping here, it’s—”

“—your favorite hangout,” Stacey finished for her. “Tell me about it. How many sunsets have you and lover boy watched from here the past week?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Marilyn said innocently, “eight? I can’t help it, Stacey. Sunset’s the only time I can stand to come to see him here. You know, after all the beach bunnies have gone home. You should see the way they paw at him. I bet there’s dozens of them down there right now, showing off for him. It’s worse than at Chippendales. I go crazy!”

“Ho ho, do I detect a jealous housewife in the making?”

“Of course not!” Marilyn said haughtily. “Hey! Look at this!”

She stopped and pointed at a standing sandwich board just off the sidewalk, covered with local snapshots and a flier announcing an open call for models for a Marilyn Monroe lookalike contest.

“Oh no, here we go again,” Stacey teased.

“No, wait,” Marilyn said. “They’re by the same guy that wants me for this modeling job!”

“What job?”

“He called me at the skate shop and said he wanted a model that looked like Marilyn Monroe. Just like in this ad.”

“When?” Stacey asked, suspicious.

“Tonight!”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well, I already knew what you’d have to say about it.”

“Marilyn. You’re not going alone,” Stacey asserted. “If David doesn’t go with you, then I—”

“No, I don’t want to tell him,” Marilyn insisted. “I want it to be a surprise.”

Stacey laughed, “Marilyn, you’re one of a kind.”

“You’ve got a car and I don’t,” Marilyn hinted. “It’s in Hollywood.”

“All right, I’ll go with you and we’ll check it out. There’s a lot of phoney photographers, you know,” Stacey said. “Jerks like Joey Madonna.”

Marilyn pointed at the advertisement.

“This one’s quite legit if you ask me.”

“You’re so naïve, Marilyn.”

“Thanks,” Marilyn said, looking around and then ripping off the card on the poster giving the photographer’s name and address.

“What did you do that for?” Stacey asked.

Marilyn put the card in her purse.

“This is my big chance, Stacey. Why beg for more competition than I already have?”

Stacey nodded her head. “Maybe you aren’t all that naïve after all.”

They walked as far as Brooks and Ocean Front before they came to the booth with the antique lace dresses. Marilyn sorted through the offerings excitedly, finding two that she liked. The woman selling the dresses had constructed a portable dressing room behind the rack, and Marilyn went inside, trying both dresses on and finding that her favorite of the two also fit her perfectly. She ran out of the room and showed it off to Stacey.

“Isn’t it just beautiful?” she asked, admiring herself in the mirror placed over the dressing room door.

“It is, Marilyn,” Stacey admitted, “It really is. If I were a man I’d definitely ask to marry you on the spot.”

“Sorry,” Marilyn chirped, going back to change, “I’m already spoken for.”

After she paid for the dress, they started back down the sidewalk toward the opposite end of the beach.

“I want to show it to him!” Marilyn said excitedly.

“That’s bad luck, Marilyn.”

“Do I look like the superstitious type?” Marilyn asked, walking faster. Stacey picked up her own pace to stay with her.

“What about that rabbit’s foot you wear whenever you rollerskate?”

“That’s different.”

“Oh, I see ” Stacey said sarcastically.

They’d heard on the radio that there were supposed to be a million and a half people at the beaches all along the coast this weekend, but it seemed as though they were all here. An available stretch of sand was as rare as a real estate bargain in Bel Air, and the girls had to excuse their way through a coglike maze of basking sunbathers before they reached the lifeguard station where David worked. The lifeguard’s back was turned as he looked out at the hundreds of bobbing heads and waving arms frolicking in the gentle waves of the ocean.

“David! David!” Marilyn called out from the foot of the tower. As she had anticipated, there were several bikini-clad teenagers, bodies tanned like chestnuts, standing around, pretending to seek shelter in the shade of the tower as they looked up at the bronzed lifeguard sitting on his bench like a king holding court.

It wasn’t David, however, but a younger man, with dark hair beneath his safari hat. He looked down and peered over the top of his Foster Grants at Marilyn and Stacey.

“Where’s David, Winston?” Marilyn said.

Winston shifted on his bench and looked back toward Ocean Front Walk.

“Well,” he offered, “he’s somewhere out in the water, bodysurfing while he’s on break.”

“Oh,” Marilyn said, disappointed, looking out into the water. “Do you know whereabouts he is out there?”

“Do I know where a needle is in a haystack?”

“Well, will he be back soon?”

Winston shook his head. “Doubt it. He just left a few minutes ago. He’s got an hour off, you know.”

The lifeguard glanced back at the Walk, then abruptly stood up and began blowing his whistle. Two long blasts, then a short. As he was repeating the code, Stacey frowned suspiciously and glanced back at where he’d been looking.

“Marilyn,” she said, nudging her friend.

Marilyn turned around and saw David at one of the show booths. Beside him was a deep-tanned redhead wearing a yellow Spandex swimsuit. They were arm in arm until David looked toward the direction of Winston’s frantic whistling.

“Oh, shit,” Winston moaned from his tower perch.

David waved away the redhead, but too late. Marilyn stormed up to him, several steps ahead of Stacey.

“Wait, Marilyn,” David said, “I can—”

“You can go to hell!” Marilyn said, throwing the dress at him. “I hope it fits her! If it doesn’t maybe you can use it in your act!”

“You have to let me explain,” David said, reaching out to hold her. She lashed at him with the back of her hand and he shouted, stepping back and reaching for his cheek.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Marilyn fumed.

People were starting to gather around, some even taking sides and cheering the fight on. Stacey grabbed Marilyn by the elbow and led her away. David tried to follow, calling out Marilyn’s name, but they lost him in the crowd.

CHAPTER •
29

After staking out Eric’s house for twenty-four hours, the police finally let themselves in, thinking he might have committed suicide. They didn’t find Eric, but there were enough clues in the cluttered upstairs rooms to link him to all the murders.

Anne had gotten word to Moriarty about the move, and he arrived on his ten-speed just as Gallagher was winding up the shakedown, standing at the base of the outside steps.

“I think we got ourselves a real whacko here,” Gallagher said.

“Captain, listen to me,” Moriarty said, “I want to talk with him if you get him. I can help him. You can’t just gun him down—”

“Who the hell said anything about gunning him down? Gallagher challenged. “And what do you mean, you can help him? The man runs around in a Dracula costume and a cowboy outfit killing people, but he’s okay, you can help him. What you gonna do, get him a job with Central Casting?”

Anne came down the steps to join them. She smiled at Moriarty faintly.

“Captain,” she said, “one room’s been completely cleared out, almost, so he may have made a run for it. Besides all the other things, we found these, too.” She produced a handful of Polaroid shapshots. “You can figure out they were taken only a few days ago.”

“May I see those, please?” Moriarty asked Anne, reaching for the photos.

Gallagher intervened, “What for? It’s police business.”

Moriarty looked anyway.

“They’re all film-related, right?” he said.

“Right,” Anne concurred. “There’s this, too.” Underneath the photos was the 99
RIVER STREET
sign Eric had placed at the corner.

“Anne, why don’t you bag these,” Gallagher said, “we’ll look at them later.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, looking sympathetically at Moriarty.

“Okay, let’s wrap it up here!” Gallagher shouted up the steps.

Once the captain was out of their range, Moriarty turned to Anne. “You have to help me, Anne. You know what this means to me.”

Anne nodded. “I’ve gotten it taken care of already, Jerry. I arranged it so I’m driving solo tonight. Gallagher’s got me on rover to chase down leads with Homicide. You can come with me.”

“Thanks, Anne. Damn it, you’re a doll.”

“Just a sucker for a pretty face,” she countered, smiling. “I won’t be able to start for a few hours, though.”

“That’ll work out fine, as a matter of fact,” Moriarty said, “Franco’s playing his first gig tonight over at Venice de Menice with his new band. I’d like to stop by and catch a set.”

“Fine. Want a ride there?” Anne noticed him looking at his bike indecisively. “Going once, going twice . . .”

“Okay, Anne,” Moriarty said, lifting his bike and taking it to her trunk. “Thanks. That will give me time to eat first, too.”

As Anne took Market down to Main Street and headed north, Moriarty fell silent. His mind wasn’t on Eric Binford so much as on his brother. He’d been thinking a lot about him the past few days. Every time he picked up his harmonica or heard music now, he could feel himself being tugged by his memories. A calling. He wondered if his endless attempts to come to terms with his brother’s death had been a mistake. Perhaps by trying to shoulder the responsibility for what had happened, he was clinging to a needless guilt, wearing it like an albatross around his neck.

Anne noticed him staring blankly out the windshield. Smiling, she raised a fist to her mouth and distorted her voice, talking through her nose.

“Jerry Moriarty. Jerry Moriarty. Please report to the candy counter, Jerry Moriarty.”

He turned and looked at her. She’d never seen that look before.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Jerry,” she apologized quickly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s okay,” he said, the muscles in his face relaxing. “You did me a favor, actually.”

“This is rougher on you than you thought it would be?” she asked.

He nodded. “You know, I haven’t looked at a picture of my brother for over ten years. It’s like he’s always there, but his face has just faded away. I try to visualize him now and all I see is Eric Binford biting at an eraser as he reads over a computer test.”

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so.” Moriarty ran his fingers through his hair, flustered. He finally added, “I’m thinking of giving up this job and—”

“Oh, Jerry, no,” Anne said, “Don’t say that. You’re just under a—”

“—lot of stress. I know. That’s the whole point. It’s not what I want. Remember that night I broke our date? I spent about two, maybe three hours on the beach, just playing the harmonica to myself. I did it a few other nights, too. Just playing . . . I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, Anne. I’m just torn between wanting to finish up this crusade I’ve been on for all these years and just calling it all off, taking a few steps back and trying another direction.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Anne asked.

“I didn’t think I could,” Moriarty said. “In fact, I’m a little surprised I did just now.”

“I think you’re still hung up on our first spat,” she said. “You don’t think I’m up to handling a relationship outside of the sack.”

“No, it’s not that, Anne, it’s just . . .” Moriarty forced out an awkward laugh. “Shit.”

“What was that all about?”

“Anne, when do you have some vacation time this year?”

“Well,” Anne said. “They usually want three weeks’ notice, but other than that, any time I want. Why?”

Moriarty shook his head.

“Just curious.”

They stopped for a light at Main and Vista. Moriarty got out of the car, saying, “I can walk it from here, Anne. Thanks. I’ll see you at the club around eight, eight-thirty.”

“I’d love to,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“Take a vacation with you,” Anne said, driving off when the light changed.

CHAPTER •
30

Stacey and Marilyn lost their way twice trying to find the studio, each time passing the shrouded, unlit driveway.

It was just before eight. The sun had set, leaving the driveway cloaked in a grim, dying twilight relieved only by a pair of spots lighting the driveway next to the building.

Stacey stopped the car and shifted into reverse.

“I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”

“No, wait!” Marilyn said. “We’ve come this far.”

“Marilyn, look at the place, would you?”

“It looks new and expensive. That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”

“But look, there’s only one car here, and that looks like it belongs in a museum, not on the road. I don’t like it at all.”

“Stacey, the man already explained he’s working overtime to get caught up in his work. It makes perfect sense to me.”

Stacey wasn’t convinced.

“I still don’t see how it is he knew about you in the first place. I think it’s a trick, probably something dreamed up by that Joey Madonna jerk.”

Marilyn shook her head.

“He said his daughter rented skates from me last Wednesday and knew I was what he was looking for. Why would he have bothered to tell me he had a kid if he was just out for some cheap thrills?”

Stacey sighed and shifted back into first, pulling up to the building and parking in front of the side entrance.

The door was open. They went in and turned down the first hallway.