Chapter 25 #2
Through his contacts in the world of speakeasies, Willy Maxwell had learned that Franklin and Loretta, notable figures in the movie business, had been customers at Blue Mood in San Diego on Saturday, September 6.
One of the performers that night was unconventional for the venue, a young freak who appeared onstage nearly naked.
Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild were said to have “bought out the freak’s contract” from her promotor, Captain Forest Farnam, and taken her away into the night.
Maxwell was sold that information by a Blue Mood employee on Sunday morning, September 7.
By that afternoon, he located Farnam and, without revealing what he had learned about the Fairchilds, he determined that Captain had never taken—and never allowed to be taken—photographs of the freakish girl, because no one would pay to see what they had already seen in one publication or another.
That was a calculation common to carnies who owned a ten-in-one or a hootchy-kootchy show.
Maxwell concluded, as would most men like him, that the Fairchild couple brought the freak into their lives for decadent purposes.
He became excited by the prospect of an unusually creepy scandal that would be highly profitable for an entrepreneur of his boldness—if only he could gain access to the girl.
Among his sources for stories was Connor Sizemore, who took a sawbuck or two in return for tipping off Maxwell where private parties in progress would present an opportunity to photograph a few celebrities who were inebriated or drugged past the point where they might make fools of themselves.
Of the contacts in the photographer’s black book, only Connor would be able to help Willy learn details about the layout of the Bram. His sister was on the household staff.
When Loretta had first sat on the library sofa, she’d plucked a small decorative pillow from it to give her more room.
She held the pillow on her lap during the story she and Franklin had to tell.
Now her hands tightened on it as if it were the throat of someone into whom she meant to choke some common sense.
“That Monday evening when you and I were still at the Beverly Hills Hotel, Maxwell and Connor were already badgering Anna May in her apartment, trying to persuade her to cooperate. They knew we were bringing you home. They wanted to develop a floor plan of the Bram so Maxwell could find his way to your room. They wanted to know how to get into the house at night with the least risk of being caught. Maxwell intended to come here with a woman as bad as he is, someone to overpower you, perhaps with chloroform, and keep you quiet while he . . . got his pictures.”
Loretta did not say that the woman would have stripped me out of my pajamas so that I could be photographed naked. However, I had no doubt that was the intention.
“Week after week,” Loretta continued, “month after month, they kept digging at Anna May. She wouldn’t give them what they wanted.
She insisted there was nothing different about you, you were just a kid like the other kids.
She thought they would give up on the idea sooner or later.
She didn’t tell us because she worried Connor’s drug running would come to light and he would go to prison. ”
“Connor had always been trouble,” Franklin said.
“He and Anna had never been as close as a brother and sister ought to be. But she felt she should be loyal to him, protect him from himself. Then a week ago, Connor and Maxwell said, ‘All right, okay, forget about it, maybe it was a screwy idea all along.’ Anna May believed they had given up on the scheme. Then on Thanksgiving Day, Mrs. Symington phoned each of her girls to wish them a happy holiday. In passing, she mentioned that Rafael escaped poisoning by some unknown vile person who had thrown contaminated meat over the estate wall. Anna May knew at once that Connor and Maxwell were going ahead with the operation if by one means or another they could eliminate the danger posed by Rafael.”
“Which means,” said Loretta, “somehow they got a floor plan and a way into the house.”
In those days, even the grandest mansions rarely had alarms. Those security systems available at the time were problematic and frustrating, issuing false alarms or ceasing to function without warning. Usually, little more was needed to guard against a home invasion than good deadbolt locks.
If Willy Maxwell and Connor Sizemore had developed a floor plan and other useful information about the Bram, there was one likely source. I said, “Imogene Blackthorn.”
Loretta grimaced. “We can’t know, but we know.”
“Have you called the police?”
“Not an option,” Franklin said. “They can’t make arrests on the basis of intentions that aren’t provable.
Besides, if this ends up in court, the trial becomes not about the criminals and the crime.
It becomes about you. The defense attorneys and the scummiest of the tabloids will see to that.
Sweetheart, we aren’t going to let you be dragged into this.
Never. Maxwell thinks we’re pigeons. We’re not. ”
“We can handle him,” Loretta said.
I didn’t doubt that they could handle Willy Maxwell. I just wondered, “How?”
And even if the current threat was dealt with effectively, Captain was still out there. If Maxwell had found me, so had Farnam—and with what intention?