The Last Embrace Page 34

  “Gotcha,” the bandaged man said, holding her in a vise-like grip.

  Lily let herself go limp as they hustled her back to the parking lot, where a car pulled up, the driver shrouded in shadow, his face hidden behind a hat. Above them the pier was alive with echoing cries, police sirens, lights. Why hadn’t it been that way fifteen minutes ago? She wanted to weep.

  They shoved her into the backseat and got in, one on either side, a gun pressed against her ribs. The driver took off. She studied the men from the corners of her eyes, memorizing their features in the flicker of the streetlights so she’d be able to pick them out of a lineup. If she lived. The big one on the left with the bashed-in nose, a black eye that was healing purple and yellow. The one on the right fleshy and rugged, almost handsome, like a bit actor. No wonder she’d fallen for his cop impersonation. Again it nagged at her. Impersonators. Actors. Movies. Studios. She remembered the artist she’d glimpsed painting a landscape in the RKO special effects hangar the night she’d met Max. His curious interest. She was almost sure it was the same guy. Was this Roy DiCicco? But Harry had said he was a stuntman, not a prop guy. Could he be both? Were these Dragna’s men?

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “Stupid bitch,” the prop painter muttered, hand at his crotch. “I oughta kill you right now.”

  Lily sat very still. What did they have in store, then?

  “Are you Roy DiCicco?” she asked.

  “We’re God’s avenging angels,” said the painter. “Putting the world to rights.”

  Again, she thought of the men who’d killed Max. They must be connected with these thugs, somehow. Which meant…mobsters?

  “Why did you kill Max Vranizan?” she asked.

  There was a low chuckle from the front. The driver spoke for the first time. She still couldn’t see his face. His voice was familiar, but in the utter blankness of her terror, she couldn’t place it.

  “There’s animation, and there’s puppetry,” the voice said. “We prefer invisible strings. And actors like Rhett Taylor with great tragic timing.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Ocean Park Pier was a melee of police and lights and people running madly when Pico screeched to a halt. Magruder was briefing two uniforms.

  “He got her,” the older cop said as Pico raced up. “Some guy flashing a badge, pretending he was Carlson. I pleaded with her, but she wouldn’t come with me. They had a getaway car down below in the parking lot, and one of my men got a description of the car and a partial plate. We’ve radioed—”

  “You scumbag piece of shit,” screamed Pico. “I should have listened to my instincts. I swear to God, Magruder, if anything’s happened to her, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Get a grip, Stephen. Didn’t you hear what I just said? We’re on the same side. I want her found safe and alive as much as you do and I’ve got an APB out and all prowlers in the area on red alert. She didn’t trust me. I’m sorry, Stephen.”

  The older cop placed a hand on Pico’s arm, but he threw it off.

  “What have you ever done in your entire sorry life that should make anyone trust you?”

  Even now, Pico wasn’t sure whether Magruder was telling him the truth. But the other policeman nodded in solemn agreement. And the prowlers would be on the lookout…

  “Which way did they go?” Pico asked.

  “They peeled out of the lot and one of our guys chased the car but lost it six blocks inland. Far as we know, though, she was alive.”

  Pico stood still, forcing his brain to work. They hadn’t killed her yet. Where were they taking her? He put himself in the killers’ mind-set. And then it hit him.

  “Get in the car, Magruder, and pray we’re on time. I know where they’ll be.”

  When the car carrying Lily reached Hollywood, it turned north toward the hills.

  “Where are you taking me?” Lily repeated, beginning to fear that she knew.

  “Up to the Hollywood sign,” the RKO prop painter said. “It’s a popular place these days.”

  An evil chorus of laughter ricocheted around the car.

  “You’re going to kill me and dump my body. To make it look like it’s connected to the other murders.”

  “It is connected. We should have stopped you a long time ago. We thought we had, but Taunton steered us wrong about the coat.”

  “Louise,” Lily cried. “You thought she was me.”

  “That’s right. And the Kwitney gal, she was just to throw everyone off the track. Now the Hollywood Strangler claims his fourth victim.”

  “I’ve got sand in my hair. In my shoes. They’ll know you abducted me from the beach.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kessler. Louie, take off one of her shoes.” He gave a sadistic smile as the thug with the smashed face bent down to unstrap it. “Bye-bye, Black Sandal.”

  Lily noticed a scabrous model of Mighty Joe Young shoved halfway under the seat. It looked like someone had yanked off a patch of fur.

  “It’ll never work,” Lily said. “Magruder was there. He saw what happened.”

  “Magruder will be taken care of,” the man up front said. “He and his men will recall nothing. Magruder loves his son, and has hefty medical bills.”

  Lily fell silent, wondering when she might have a chance to escape. The odds weren’t good. An idea came to her. But she’d have to plan carefully. Timing was crucial.

  She turned to the prop painter. “You raped Kitty Hayden,” she said.

  “I didn’t rape anybody,” he said angrily. “I get all the girls I want, giving it away.”

  “You stole Roy DiCicco’s car off the lot and used it to abduct Kitty. But Rhett Taylor saw you. He gave police a detailed description of you and your pal”—she glanced at the man with the bandaged nose—“who chased her through Hollywood.”

  The RKO painter smirked. “She almost got away too. But not quite. My stepfather was very relieved.”

  “Who’s your stepfather?”

  The gun jabbed her ribs painfully. “None of your business.”

  They wound through the Hollywood Hills, the lights of the city sparkling like jewels on black velvet. The car pulled over. The driver turned around. He wore a gloating smile. Lily saw the face of RKO Security Chief Frank Rhodes.

  And then she understood.

  “It was you…behind everything. You’re the one who raped her.”

  The expression on Rhodes’s face grew pinched and mean. “Why should the stars and the moguls be the only ones to enjoy the spoils of Hollywood?”

  “How did you learn about her and Kirk?”

  “Mrs. Potter told us. So I called up my old friend Bernie Jones at Warner’s and warned him that his golden boy was about to get hit by a major scandal. I owed him a favor, so I promised him I’d take care of it. So what if things got a little out of hand? She should have just shut up about it and done as I told her.”

  Joseph’s words echoed in Lily’s head: She’s absolutely fearless, and she hates like hell to see people get pushed around.

  “But Kitty defied you,” Lily said. “She fought back and took her complaint to the police. And when they sat on it she went to Bernard Keck. So you killed her. And you sent your stepson to steal her diary. It might have ended there, but Bernard Keck was an honest man and he’d started asking questions. So you had to kill him too. Then you killed two more girls to make it look like there was a Hollywood Strangler killing girls at random.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Frank Rhodes said. “Did I, Stanley?” His eyes went to the fleshy, handsome prop painter who held a gun to Lily’s side.

  “You’re disgusting,” Lily said. “Forcing your stepson to do your dirty work.”

  “He’s well paid for his troubles.”

  “I hope everything’s ready in TJ,” Stanley said.

  “Five hours from now you’ll be in the penthouse suite of the Tijuana Palace Hotel with a bottle of tequila, two hookers, and a twenty-thousand-dollar stake at the casino,�
� Rhodes said.

  “No, he won’t, because Detective Pico knows all about you,” Lily lied in desperation. “He’ll be here any moment.”

  Rhodes laughed. “Your Detective Pico was born in thrall to us. He’s second-generation. His father was one of the best bagmen in the business.”

  “Stephen is different.”

  “Don’t delude yourself.”

  Rhodes handed his stepson a pen and a cocktail napkin with the word Largo inscribed in fancy script.

  “Write HELP on the napkin,” Rhodes ordered Lily.

  “Why?”

  “You want to die now or later?”

  Lily wrote, the letters coming out shaky, the napkin tearing.

  “Perfect,” Frank Rhodes said. “Stuff it in her purse, Stanley. A little mash note for the detectives.”

  “What’s Largo?” Lily asked.

  “Jack Dragna’s nightclub,” Frank Rhodes said.

  “You’re trying to set them up for my murder,” Lily said. “To make it look like one of their guys is the Hollywood Strangler. But it won’t work.”

  “Shut up,” said Stanley.

  Frank Rhodes reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of wire.

  “It’s time for you to join your gal pals on the sacrificial altar of Hollywood,” he said. “Get her out of the car,” he told Stanley, “and keep that gun on her.”

  Lily prayed a car would drive by, but the hillside was deserted, no one around for miles. It would be useless to scream.

  They hustled her out so fast that her purse tumbled into the dirt.

  Rhodes approached, smiling and pulling the wire taut. It made a little metallic ping that jangled her bones.

  “We gonna do it right here?” Stanley asked.

  “I don’t see any reason to wait,” his stepfather snapped.

  “And we dump her by the side of the road?”

  “It should be like the others. Below the Hollywood sign.”

  Stanley shuffled, then squinted at the giant white letters rising high above them.

  “How are we gonna get her up there?”

  Rhodes sighed in exasperation. “You and Louie are going to carry her.”

  “Dead bodies are dead weight,” Louie said.

  “Couldn’t we kill her when we get up there?” Stanley whined.

  Rhodes drew closer, still holding his wire. Lily stood between the thugs, unable to move, a gun jammed into her ribs. The security chief’s eyes flickered over her, as if assessing her weight versus the likelihood of her somehow making a break for it and running away.

  “Give me the gun,” he told his stepson.

  When Stanley handed it over, he belted her in the jaw with it. Lily staggered and fell to her knees.

  “All right, we’ll walk,” he said, hiking off. “But no funny stuff.”

  And then she was stumbling uphill in the dark, the men surrounding her. At least she’d been able to grab her purse. The sign loomed above them, the letters huge and white and monstrous in the moonlight. She heard the scuttling of small nocturnal animals, the faraway screech of a hunting owl. Stanley Rhodes lobbed her high-heeled sandal far into the canyon. It cartwheeled and disappeared, landing in a ravine and startling some unseen animal that crashed through the undergrowth and was gone.

  Then they were below the letter D, in a spot darker and colder, where even the moonlight didn’t reach. It felt like she was already in the grave. Lily stopped.

  “How about a smoke, Stanley?” she said. “Even condemned prisoners get one final request.”

  Without thinking, Stanley reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack. A cold breeze whipped at their clothes. Above them, where Frank Rhodes waited impatiently, the scaffolding swayed and creaked. Lily took the cigarette Stanley offered, stuck it between her lips, and waved away the match he offered. “My father gave me a lighter years ago,” she said. “I’d like to use it, for old times’ sake.”

  “What’s she doing?” Frank Rhodes asked above her, his voice full of suspicion, the gun still covering her. He started down.

  Lily rummaged in her purse, pulled out Bob’s lighter.

  “Here it is. Oops, I dropped it.”

  Pretending to hunt in her purse, she found the stick of dynamite.

  “Dang,” she said, flicking the lighter several times inside her purse. “Must be low on fuel. Wait a minute, here we go.” The fuse caught, began to sizzle. Frank Rhodes had almost reached them. The men’s faces narrowed with puzzlement at the sound, then with suspicion. One, two, three…

  Screaming, “Catch!” she flung her purse at the security chief. Just then the dynamite exploded.

  Rhodes shrieked and fell down.

  Running helter-skelter down the hill, Lily didn’t dare turn around to see if he was dead. She heard them crashing behind her. She ran at an awkward gait, with one shoe on. Her remaining heel caught on the root of a bush and she went flying head over heels, her arms plowing a furrow in the earth. Skidding to a stop, she jumped back onto her feet, only to feel a large hand clamp down on her shoulder.

  “Got you,” Stanley gloated.

  “Bring her up here,” screamed Frank Rhodes, staggering to his feet. By the light of the moon, Lily saw that the side of his face was bleeding, the skin and hair singed black. But he was still alive. And he was enraged.

  When she refused to stand, Stanley and Louie dragged her back uphill to the sign.

  “Stand her on that promontory. Good. Step away from the edge now, boys, I don’t want to shoot you by mistake,” the RKO security chief said

  “I thought we were going to strangle her,” Stanley said.

  “Change of plans.”

  There were three of them and only one of her. If she ran, she’d be dead before she took two steps. If only she could create a distraction.

  Just then they heard the whine of a car moving uphill. Headlights raked the hillside and they heard shouts. From her vantage point, Lily saw that the car was still a good distance below, but on that silent, dark hill, it sounded a lot closer.

  “Someone’s coming, boss,” said Louie, moving closer to the precipice to look down.

  Lily edged toward him. Then, looking past Frank Rhodes and up the hillside, she waved her arms ecstatically and cried, “Pico, Magruder, over here. Watch out, he’s got a gun.”

  Startled, Rhodes turned to look behind him.

  At that moment, Lily body-slammed Louie. For a moment, he teetered, trying vainly to right himself. Lily planted her foot on his bottom and pushed hard. The man tilted and fell. Gravity did the rest. With a banshee wail, he plummeted down.

  Rhodes turned, firing blindly. Lily ducked, zigging and zagging as she made for the opposite end of the sign, hoping the metal letters would offer some protection.

  “Get her!” Rhodes cried. Stanley advanced, but Rhodes kept firing. Two bullets whizzed past Lily’s head. The third hit Stanley Rhodes just as he reached her. The prop painter dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. In the confusion, Lily retreated behind the scaffolding and tried to shrink into the shadows. Rhodes still had the gun, and she was trapped here with him.

  “Stanley! No!” Rhodes shouted, reaching his stepson. He probed the wound with one hand, holding his gun with the other, scanning for her, screaming that he would kill her.

  From below came shouts, and words she couldn’t make out as uniformed men crashed through the underbrush. Lights played over the hillside, the beams illuminating Rhodes and his injured stepson. The security chief had no way of knowing how far away his pursuers were.

  “Stop right there or we’ll shoot the girl,” Rhodes shouted into the night. “There are three of us and we’re all armed. And after we kill her, we’ll pick you sorry bastards off one by one as you come over the hill.”

  Lily wanted to yell down that it wasn’t true, but knew her voice would tell Rhodes exactly where to aim. The RKO security chief waited, gun at the ready. Stanley pressed his hands against his belly, trying to stanch the flow of blood, his hands s
ticky with it.

  There were more shouted commands from below. The cops continued their ascent. “I’ll give you till the count of three,” Rhodes shouted. “One…two…”

  The crashing sounds stopped. Lily heard Pico’s voice, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Don’t hurt her,” he shouted up. “We’re doing what you asked. But I want to hear her voice. Lily, are you all right?”

  Just then they heard movement to the right and a lumbering shape appeared. Lily recognized Magruder, creeping along, trying to get close enough for a shot. Rhodes saw him too. He aimed and fired.

  From the shadows came a scream, then something crashing down.

  “Magruder,” came Pico’s anguished cry, then a string of curses.

  “I warned you that we’re armed,” Rhodes screamed. “Try that again and the girl dies.”

  Pico’s voice, heavy with desperation, floated up. “You’ll never get away with it. Every prowl car for miles is on its way up here.”

  “Call them off,” Rhodes said. “Go back to your car and radio them that the suspect has fled up Pacific Coast Highway. Do it, or I swear to you, I’ll kill the girl.”

  No, Stephen, don’t do it! thought Lily. You’re my only hope. If you retreat now, I’m finished. He’ll run me to ground like a fox. But if I call out, he’ll know where I’m hiding and I’ll die all the faster.

  Breathing shallowly, Lily looked around for a weapon. Spotting a rock the size of a grapefruit, she picked it up. Then, knowing she’d only get one chance, she aimed and heaved it at Rhodes’s head. It flew through the air and hit his temple. Rhodes fell backward. Lily saw the glint of metal as the gun fell from his hand. She sprinted for it, scooping it up, finding the trigger, and spinning around, hands clasped and extended like she’d been taught, aiming right for the security chief’s chest.

  “Freeze,” she screamed. But Rhodes wasn’t moving. Next to him, Stanley moaned as blood soaked through his shirt and seeped into the ground.

  Lily swallowed.

  From below she heard a shout.

  “What’s going on?” came Pico’s voice, bouncing up the canyon. “I swear to God, if she’s…”