'Why did I assume?' Jeremy raised his voice over the sound of Shelly's dental machine, set to chip away plaque and enamel. 'Because they did not wait for you, though I said you would probably be in shortly.'
'Thanks,' I said. 'Do me a favor, Jeremy. Look at these.'
I turned the poem, card, and message toward him.
'May I sit?' he asked.
'Please.'
He sat, removed a pair of half glasses from his pocket, put them on, and read.
'She's making lots of dough, working for Kokomo,' Shelly belted out beyond the closed door.
Jeremy read slowly and then read a second time.
'The ides is the fifteenth of the month,' said Jeremy, looking up and removing his glasses. 'The ides of March was the day that Julius Caesar was assassinated. He was told to beware the ides of March, but he did not heed the warning.'
'What about the ides of February?'
'No significance that I am aware of,' he said. 'Who are Charles Larkin and Al Ramone? And Lionel Varney?'
'The first two are dead. Murdered by our poet. I don't know about Varney. I think they were all extras in Gone With the Wind,' I said. And then I told Jeremy what had happened last night, including my meeting with Clark Gable and Captain Price.
'I see,' said Jeremy, putting his glasses back on and looking again.
'I've got a nut here, Jeremy,' I said, trying to ignore Shelly's attempt to simulate the sound of a riveting machine as he sang 'Rosie the Riveter.'
'A nut who likes to play with words,' he said. 'I like to play with words. If I may copy…'
'Take them, keep them safe, work on them,' I said. 'With my gratitude and blessing.'
Jeremy took the material and placed it gently into his pocket. He nodded. 'You see that each of his messages ends with a word broken into letters. S.i.g.n. T.h.a.t. D.o.i.n.g.'
'I see,' I said, seeing but not understanding.
'He wants to be caught, Toby,' Jeremy said. 'He leaves puzzles. Tells too much. Taunts. Challenges. This is a man to be wary of. Urges you to follow, leaving small crumbs on the trail. At the end of the trail, you may well find that he has lured you deeply into the woods.'
'I'll be careful, Jeremy. Thanks.'
Jeremy rose and so did 1.1 had done a good ten-minute office day and I had work to do. I'd see Captain Phil Pevsner after I'd gotten more answers from my client.
'One more thing,' Jeremy said, pausing in the door. 'Your murderer is willing to make too many sacrifices. Meter, rhyme, and the proper word give way to his passion to perpetrate the puzzle, to perplex. He has no real interest in poetry.'
'Sorry to hear that, Jeremy,' I said as Jeremy stepped into Shelly's office. I followed, closing the door behind me.
'Almost done,' Shelly said to his patient. 'Keep the mouth open wide.'
He stepped back, retrieved his cigar from the nearby stand, put it in his mouth, and examined his handiwork. The young man in the chair had closed his eyes. His mouth was dutifully wide.
'I'll show these to Alice,' Jeremy said, tapping the clues in his pocket. 'She has a beautiful sensitivity to the written word.'
Alice Pallis had been a pornography publisher in the Far-raday before she heard the muse and married Jeremy. Alice's primary qualification as a pornography publisher had been her ability to pick up the two-hundred- pound printing press and escape with it out the window when the cops came. For almost two years now, Alice had turned her interests to her husband, child, and the publishing of poetry.
'Thanks, Jeremy,' I said.
He left and I turned to Sheldon, who was back in his patient's mouth.
'Good teeth,' he was telling the victim. 'An energetic cleaning was all you needed.'
I went back into my office and made two phone calls. The first was to Mame Stoltz at M-G-M. She answered after the fifth ring with 'Stoltz, Publicity.'
'Peters, Trouble,' I said.
'I'm busy, Peters Trouble,' she said in her hoarse efficient voice.
'I'll make it fast.'
'We've got interviews lined up on Madame Curie,' she said, sighing. 'I'm not gonna tell you how much we're sinking into publicity on this one, but I'll give you a hint. You could probably find a cure for measles with what we've got budgeted.'
'You know Gunther Wherthman?' I asked.
'Composer, R.K.O.?' she asked, and I could tell that she was leaning back to light a Camel.
'No, munchkin from The Wizard of Oz. Friend of mine. Working with me on a case. Mind if he comes over and looks through the Gone With the Wind records?'
'That's Selznick stuff,' she said. 'We store some of it over in-'
'I'm talking about payroll lists. And a security report. Night of Saturday, December 10, 1938. Maybe accidental death of an extra.'
'Atlanta burning,' she said immediately. 'We've got payroll and I'll see what I can do about security records, but I don't remember anybody getting killed that night… what's going on?'
'Dinner on me. Saturday. Sunday. Even Friday.'
I'm no beauty, but I knew that Mame had a hard spot in her anatomy for mush-nosed cops, present and former. She had gone with a sergeant named Rashkow out of the Wilshire before he got drafted. Mame was no beauty, but she had something that could pass for class. She was too skinny for my taste, an efficiency copy of Ida Lupino with too much makeup. She did have a pouty mouth like Lupino, but there was nothing soft about Mame. I like soft. I also like doing what I get paid for, and Mame knew more about M-G-M and Selznick International than Mayer himself.
'I'll make dinner,' she said. 'Saturday. You know how to get to my place?'
'I remember,' I said, recalling clearly my escape from Mame's little cottage in Culver City a year or so ago.
'Send the little man,' she said. 'I'll see what I can do.'
I outlined what I needed for her and she listened, probably taking notes.
'When you have something, call me at this number,' I said, giving her Clark Gable's phone.
'I know that number, Toby,' she said. 'I've called it hundreds of times. What are you up to?'
'Making a living,' I said. 'Mame, go along with me on this, please.'
'You've been keeping up at the Y.M.C.A.?' she asked hi a whisper.
'When I can,' I said.
'We'll see Saturday,' Mame said.
And she hung up. I called Gunther and asked him to get over to M-G-M to see Mame as fast as he could, to get his hands on whatever he could find about the dead extra, and to track down Lionel Varney. He agreed and I hung up.
'I'm leaving, Shel,' I said, going back into the outer office.
He didn't answer.
'I'll call in or be back.'
'Right,' he said over his shoulder. 'Where you goin'?'
'To see the king,' I said.
Chapter 6
Sunset to Beverly Glen and west along 101 following the Los Angeles River into the wilderness of Encino. It took almost an hour and I got a headache from the hot wind blowing from the east through the open window and
