You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Forty-four

Otash’s guesstimate was pretty good.

We watched TV until late and the phone never rang. First thing in the morning, though, Stanze called.

“Gianelli? I think you and your buddy better come to my office this morning.”

“What’s it about?”

“Don’t jerk my chain,” Stanze said. “Just be here, quick.”

I hung up and looked at Jerry, who had been getting ready to make something for breakfast.

“We’re eatin’ out.”

We went to the West Los Angeles Station first. Stanze had not been the dick-in both senses of the word-that Las Vegas Detective Hargrove had been when we dealt with him, so I had no reason to want to jerk his chain. I wanted to cooperate.

“Here we are,” I said, as an officer showed us in.

“That was quick,” he said grudgingly. “I appreciate it. Have a seat.”

We both sat down. He had an Italian takeout lunch in front of him and was using a plastic fork to eat it with.

“I hope you don’t mind if I keep eating.”

“Go ahead,” I said.

“Looks good,” Jerry said.

“It is,” Stanze said. “Comes from a place around the corner, and they make sure I never find a hair in it.”

“A hair?”

Stanze shivered. “Creeps me out.”

“I don’t blame ya,” Jerry said.

“You can look at dead bodies, but you can’t handle a hair in your food?”

Stanze glared at me and said, “It ain’t the same thing!”

“Okay,” I said, backing off.

He put the lid on his lunch and said, “Just talking about it creeps me out. I’ll eat this later.” He looked at us. “I understand you’ve retained Fred Otash.”

“That’s right,” I said. “We needed somebody more familiar with the city.”

Stanze looked directly at me. “I thought that was me.”

“We wanted a little more help.”

“What, specifically, did you ask Mr. Otash to do?”

“You must have asked him that.”

“Now I’m asking you.”

“I hired him to try and find Danny Bardini. What else am I here for?”

“You didn’t hire him to do anything for Marilyn Monroe?”

“No.”

“But she’s still out of town?”

“Yes.”

“And where were the two of you last night?” he asked.

“We were also out of town,” I said.

“I’m gonna need a little more than that, Eddie,” Stanze said.

“Are you telling me we need an alibi?”

“I’m working on a murder now,” Stanze said. “Yes, you both need alibis.”

Jerry looked at me and remained silent. He’d go along with anything I said.

“We stayed overnight at the home of Frank Sinatra,” I said.

Stanze stared at me. “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Marilyn Monroe and Frank Sinatra. You travel in fast circles, Eddie.”

“Part of my job.”

“Nice work, if you can get it.”

I remained silent.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “I’ve got a dead body, and I know you two have had contact with him. You think he had something to do with your friend’s disappearance. So you found him, started to question him, something went wrong and he ended up dead.” He pointed. “Maybe Big Jerry here doesn’t know his own strength.”

“Believe me, Detective,” I said, “if there’s anything Jerry knows it’s his own strength. He’d never kill anyone … by accident.”

“So then he meant to kill him.”

“He didn’t kill him at all,” I said, “and neither did I.”

“Then I’ll need your alibis confirmed by Mr. Sinatra,” Stanze said. “In person, no statements, or phone calls. The only statement I’ll accept is one made in front of me.”

“Mr. Sinatra is a very busy man,” I said.

“I know, he’s preparing for a visit from JFK,” Stanze said. “I read the papers.”

“Then you know he doesn’t need his name connected to this.”

“There’s no reason for his name to be linked to anything unpleasant,” Stanze said. “I just want him to come in and make his statement.”

“If he comes anywhere near here it’ll get in the papers,” I said.

“What do you suggest?”

“That you come to Palm Springs with us to take his statement.”

“Even if I go to Palm Springs,” Stanze said, “I’ll put your two asses in a cell to wait it out.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a detective,” I said, “but you’re not an asshole. You’d only do that to be a dick, because you’ve got no evidence to hold us on.”

“If I go to Palm Springs I’m giving Mr. Sinatra preferential treatment.”

“If he was a politician you’d be giving him preferential treatment,” I said. “If the president was already staying with him you’d give him preferential treatment.”

We were sitting with Stanze at his desk in the center of the squad room, not in his captain’s office. I guess his boss was in that day. Stanze looked around, as if to see if anyone was listening in.

“I’m also gonna need a statement from Miss Monroe,” he said.

“If you bring her in here it’ll be a circus,” I said. “She doesn’t need that.”

“Mr. Gianelli, I have a job to do. I can’t be worried who gets involved in a media circus and who doesn’t.”

“Bullshit,” I said, “it’s done in Hollywood all the time.”

“We’re not quite Hollywood here.”

“You’re close enough.”

He tapped his index finger on his desk while he did some thinking.

“I tell you what,” he said. “I’ll go to Palm Springs on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I get to interview both Frank Sinatra and Marilyn Monroe. Is she staying there with him?”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’ll make sure Marilyn is in Palm Springs at Frank’s house so you can take a statement from them both … if they agree.”

“That doesn’t tell me whether she’s staying with him or not.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He studied me for a long moment.

“Okay,” he said, “it’s a deal.”

“And I want you to do it,” I said, “don’t send those assholes from Palm Springs.”

“No,” he said, “I’ll be doing this myself, with my partner. Set it up, and do it soon so you can keep your ass, and his, out of a cell.”

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow.”

“Good.”

I stood up.

“Can we go?”

“No, no,” he said, waving at me, “we’re not done yet. Sit back down.”