You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Kills You (9 page)

Marilyn looked from me to Jerry and dropped her hand from my arm.

“All right, Eddie,” she said, in a little girl’s voice. “Whatever you say.”

“Jerry, let’s get your suitcase from the car.”

“Okay, Mr. G.”

It wasn’t a two-man job, but he knew I wanted to talk to him outside.

At the car I said, “I’m gonna go and talk to the local cops.”

“And you don’t want me along?”

“I know you don’t think the cops do any good, Jerry, but I’ve got to find out if anything happened to Danny. He could be in jail, or …”

“Or the morgue.”

“Right.”

“Okay, Mr. G.,” he said, “but you call if you need me.”

“Let’s go back inside. I’ll take down Marilyn’s number, and we’ll see if the guesthouse has a phone. Also, you can take a look around the grounds, see if it looks like anyone’s been here.”

“Okay, Mr. G.”

“Jerry,” I asked, “didn’t we talk about you callin’ me Eddie?”

“Yeah, Mr. G.,” he said, “we talked about it.”

I
PRESENTED MYSELF
at the West Los Angeles Station of the L.A. Police Department.

“You want to talk to a detective?” the desk sergeant asked. His name tag said his name was Clemmons.

“That’s right.”

“Do you want to report a crime?”

“Not a crime, exactly.”

“Then what?”

“Well … maybe a missing person.”

“Who’s missin’?”

“A friend of mine.”

“We only take missing persons reports from family members,” the sergeant said. “Are you a family member?”

“Uh, I—look, I just need to talk to som—”

“Can you produce a family member?”

“I—no, look—um, I’m the closest thing to a family member.”

“What’s your relation?”

“Cousin—second cousin.”

He stared at me.

“Is that not close enough? Should I have just stuck with cousin?”

“Sir—”

“Can I give you his name and find out if he’s been arrested? Hospitalized? Killed?”

“You think he might’ve been killed?”

“I hope not. Look, I can’t find him, I’m just tryin’ to decide how worried to get. If you guys have him in a cell, I’d prefer that to the morgue.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Sergeant Clemmons said. “Let me have his name, your name and I’ll check. Have a seat.”

I sat for half an hour when a tall, dark-haired, very slender man wearing a suit approached me. I stood up slowly, not liking the look on his face.

“Mr. Gianelli?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Detective Robert Stanze. I understand you’re looking for a man named Daniel Bardini?”

“That’s right. Have you—” I almost said “found him,” but the words stuck in my throat.

“We have two unidentified males in our morgue,” he said.

“T-two?”

“Well, we have more than that,” Stanze said, “but two match the description of your—of Daniel Bardini. At least, the description you’ve given us.”

“I see.”

“Would you be willing to take a look and see if … ?”

I felt my eyes burning, the foyer we were standing in closed in on me.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“I—” I cleared my throat. “I am, yes. And yes, I’ll take a look.”

“Come with me, please.”

The morgue was cold. I had been to a morgue in Vegas once. It hadn’t felt this cold.

Two bodies, covered by sheets on separate tables.

“Ready?” Stanze asked.

“Is anybody ever ready for this?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay,” I said, “then I’m ready.”

The attendant grasped the sheet on the first body and rolled it down to the dead man’s waist.

“No,” I said, “that’s not him.”

“Good,” Stanze said.

I guess we were both glad I had been able to dodge that bullet. The attendant covered the poor guy up and we moved to the next table. True to my Vegas background I was wondering what the odds were that man number two was Danny Bardini.

We positioned ourselves at the table, Stanze and me on one side, the attendant on the other.

“Ready for this one?” Stanze asked.

I thought he was incredibly sensitive for a detective. The Vegas dicks I’d dealt with wouldn’t have cared if I was ready or not. In fact, I knew one who would have taken real pleasure in peeling the sheet down and showing me Danny’s body.

I felt nauseous.

“Mr. Gianelli?”

I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d vomit, so instead I just nodded.

“Okay,” Stanze said to the attendant.

The man nodded, grasped the top of the sheet and pulled it down.

D
ETECTIVE STANZE TOOK ME
INTO AN OFFICE
.

“This is my lieutenant’s office, but he’s not in today,” he said, seating himself behind the man’s desk. He looked uncomfortable.

“Okay, neither body was that of your, uh, cousin, Danny Bardini,” he said, sitting back in the chair. It slipped and he righted himself before he could fall. Further proof that he wasn’t used to sitting there. “You want to tell me about him and what he was doing when he went missing?”

I had been giving this some thought ever since I saw the face of the second dead man and realized it wasn’t Danny. How much to tell the detective? And then I thought, why not tell him everything—except about Jerry.

“Okay,” I said, “I work in Las Vegas at the Sands Hotel and Casino. I’m a pit boss there, but sometimes I’m called on to do special favors for our celebrity customers.”

“You mean like get them tickets to shows, or girls? Like that?”

“Not quite.”

“Go on.”

“You can check this out with a simple phone call to my boss, Jack Entratter,” I said. “I can give you the phone number—”

“If I want to check it out I won’t call any number you give me, Mr. Gianelli,” he said, cutting me off. “I can look up the number for the Sands and call myself. But for now, why don’t you just continue with your story?”

“I was asked by Dean Martin to try to help a friend of his who was having some trouble.”

“What friend?”

I hesitated, then said, “Marilyn Monroe.”

“Dean Martin and Marilyn Monroe,” he repeated.

“That’s right.”

He stared at me for a moment, then said, “Okay, go on.”

I told him how Marilyn felt she was being watched and followed. How I’d asked Danny to keep an eye on her, and then was called away to New York for a funeral. In my absence Danny had followed Marilyn all the way home to make sure she was all right.

“He called his secretary, told her what motel he was staying in, and now he’s missing and she hasn’t been able to locate him.”

“Have you gone to his motel?”

“Yes.”

“And he wasn’t there?”

“No,” I said, “but I talked with the desk clerk and he did check in.”

“And when did the clerk see him last?”

“When he checked in,” I said. “He suggested the night man or girl might have seen him later. I was going to go back later and ask.”

“Where are you staying?” he asked. “At that same motel?”

I hadn’t gotten myself a room anywhere.

“At Miss Monroe’s.”

“In her house?”

“No, she has a guesthouse.”

He drummed his fingers on the desktop.

“Detective, why would I lie about things that can be checked out?”

“Okay,” he said, “sit here a while. Don’t get impatient. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

He left. I knew he was going to check up on me, I just didn’t know how much checking he was going to do. I tried to follow his advice, but it was easier said than done.

Detective Stanze returned in half an hour.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Out to the Starshine Motor Court.”

“Did you check—”

“I called the Sands Hotel,” he said. “It’s only because that checked out that we’re driving out to the motel to check on the rest of it. Come on, you and me. Let’s go.”

In the hallway I said, “I have my car.”

“Good,” Stanze said. “I’ll follow you.”

“Just the two of us?”

“That’s what I said, pal,” he replied. “Just you and me.”

Apparently, he wasn’t going to assign any other men to the job until he knew for sure what the hell was going on.

I was hoping we’d both know that pretty damn soon.

W
HEN WE ARRIVED AT
the motel I pulled up in front. Stanze parked his unmarked car behind me. We went inside and found the same clerk behind the desk.

“Hey,” I said.

He looked at me and asked, “Can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Stanze, LAPD,” Stanze said, showing his badge. “Do you know this gentleman?”

The clerk looked at me and said, “Nope. Should I?”

“You should,” I said. “I talked to you this morning about one of your guests. Danny Bardini?”

“You talked to me?” he asked. “Come on, pal, how much did you have to drink last night?”

Stanze looked at me.

“What are you tryin’ to pull?” I demanded. “We talked about my buddy, Danny Bardini. He was staying in room two-one-five.”

“Two-one-five?”

“Would you check and see if you have anyone by that name in room two-one-five?” Stanze asked.

“Sure thing.” The clerk checked his register, then shook his head. “That room’s empty.”

“When was it last occupied?”

“About two days ago.”

“By a Danny Bardini?”

“Nope,” the clerk said. “A woman.”

“What the hell—” I said.

Stanze put his hand on my arm.

“No.”

“What is your name?” he asked the clerk.

“Max.”

“Well, Max, I’d like to see room two-one-five.”

“I’ll take you up there,” the clerk said. “Do I gotta take him, too?”

“Just give me your key.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“Come on, Max,” Stanze said. “I don’t have all day.
Comprende?”

Max shrugged and said, “Okay, okay.”

He turned to grab his passkey, looked around, seemed lost for a minute, then found it and handed it over.

“Somebody’s always movin’ it, the damn thing.”

“Thanks.”

Stanze and I left the office and walked up a flight. He unlocked the door and we went in.

“Clean,” he said.

“It was clean when I came in,” I said.

“The clerk let you in here?”

“No, one of the maids.”

“And it was like this?”

“Yeah,” I said, “like she had just finished, except …”

I went into the bathroom. The counter was cleared off.

“There was a toothbrush and a bottle of Hai Karate here.” I sniffed the air. “You can still smell it.”

He sniffed.

“Lots of people wear Hai Karate.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Your partner.”

“No.”

“You work with anybody who does?”

He thought a moment, then said, “Okay, I get it.”

“The towels were dry, and so was the bottom of the tub. Danny takes a shower every day, so he wasn’t in here last night.”

“No luggage?”

“He might not have had any,” I said. “He was following Marilyn, so he didn’t have much time to pack. He would have picked stuff up when he landed.”

“Like a toothbrush and cologne.”

“Right.”

Stanze nodded, put his hands on his hips and looked around.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Wait,” I said, “that clerk is lying, Detective.”

“I know.”

“You … you what?”

“I know he’s lying,” he said. “I’ve been a detective for more than five minutes, Mr. Gianelli. I saw how he didn’t know where the key was. And if he was a longtime desk clerk he would’ve come up here and let us in. He never would’ve given up the key that easily.”

“Really? You think clerks are that efficient?”

“This is a hot sheet motel,” he said. “The last thing they want is a cop snooping around on his own.”

“Then you do believe me,” I said with relief.

“I believe something is going on.”

“So you’ll take that guy Max in?”

“No,” Stanze said. “You and me are going to make him think
that I believe him and not you, and then I’m going to watch him and this place. I also want to talk to Miss Monroe.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“Good. Then let’s go downstairs and put on a show for our friend.”

W
E PULLED UP IN
Marilyn’s driveway. Stanze allowed me to go in first and prepare her. He had heard that she was “fragile.”

I went to the door and rang the bell.

“Eddie—” she said when she opened it, but I grabbed her shoulders, pushed her inside and closed the door behind us.

“Marilyn, where’s Jerry?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” she said, eyes wide. “He made me these fantastic grilled cheese sandwiches. He’s a great cook—”

“Let’s go in the kitchen.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Tell you in a minute.”

“Hey, Mr. G.,” Jerry said when we walked in. “You want something to eat?”

“No, Jerry. Listen up. I’ve got a cop outside. A detective. I checked with the LAPD and they have no record of arresting Danny. Also, he’s not in the morgue. This detective is being very helpful, and he believes what I’m tellin’ him.”

“Why wouldn’t he, Mr. G.?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “Right now I think you should go
out the back to the guesthouse and stay there. We’ll keep you being here to ourselves, as insurance.”

The doorbell rang.

“We need insurance, Mr. G.?” Jerry asked.

“We might, Jerry. Somethin’s goin’ on. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay, Mr. G., whatever you say.”

Jerry went out the back door.

“Should I let the detective in, Eddie?” Marilyn asked.

“I’ll get it, Marilyn,” I said. “Listen, you can tell this man the truth, just don’t mention Jerry, okay?”

“I understand, Eddie. How do I look?”

“Like a dream.”

“Oh, Eddie …”

I went to answer the door.

Stanze didn’t want it to show, but Marilyn had the same effect on him that she had on all men, especially in person.

“Miss Monroe, I just need to verify a few things that Mr. Gianelli has told me, and then ask you a few other questions. All right?”