Hard Case Crime: Shooting Star & Spiderweb (22 page)

“Mr. Rickert gave me your name and address. You remember, I was in his office this afternoon. You wouldn’t talk to me, but I went there for just that reason. I was looking for you, Mr. Haines.”

“But why?”

“I heard your voice on an audition record. That is what so interested me.”

“Are you in radio, Professor?”

“No. But I am interested in voices. I have something in mind which may also interest you.”

He had already interested me. Anybody who shoved hundred-dollar bills under my door interested me a lot. I’m funny that way.

I was sobering up. I started to withdraw my right hand from my pocket and nicked my finger on the straight edge of the razor. I forced a grin as I swabbed at the blood with a handkerchief.

“Afraid I must apologize to you,” I said. “You see, I was shaving when you rang. Came out in such a hurry I was still carrying my razor, and I stuck it in my pocket. Forgot all about it just now and cut myself a little.”

Professor Hermann nodded gravely. “I see there are some things I will have to teach you. Such as learning how to tell a lie.”

“What do you mean by that crack?”

“My dear young man! You’ll find it’s no use trying to deceive me. I happen to know you weren’t shaving. You were getting ready to cut your throat.”

I gaped at him and he chuckled. “And that would have been very stupid of you, my friend. Very, very stupid. Because you and I are going to make a million dollars— together.”

“When? Where? How?”

“I’ll tell you all about it at dinner,” he promised.

And that’s why I put on my coat and went out with him. That’s why we sat in the little restaurant until almost nine, eating and talking.

I did most of the talking, at first. The Professor didn’t say much, beyond encouraging me to tell about myself. I was perfectly willing to do so, as long as I could feel the crispness of that hundred-dollar bill in my pocket.

He sat there, nodding and smiling and shaking his head on cue. It wasn’t until I had several jolts of coffee inside of me that I came out of my talking jag. Maybe I was foolish in letting him pump me without knowing what he really wanted.

I lit a cigarette and pushed my cup away.

“Seems to me as though I’m doing a lot of talking.”

His bald head wobbled. “Go ahead. I like to listen to you. You have a wonderful voice.”

“Tell that to the radio and TV executives. They won’t listen to me.”

“Executives!” I caught the familiar wave of the hand, the glittering arc of the diamond swirling through space. “Your voice is too fine an instrument to be wasted on selling gasoline and laxatives.”

“Then what interests you?” I asked.

“I’ve already told you. It’s your voice. I’ve spent weeks now, listening to voices. Auditioning records and transcriptions with talent agents. I heard your voice by accident the other day in an advertising office. Mr. Rickert must have sent them a record.

“Right then I knew I had found what I was looking for. Because you do have a very fine voice, Mr. Haines. I’m not speaking of diction or phrasing. I’m talking about pitch and timbre. You have a persuasive voice. You sound sincere and convincing. Women like your voice, don’t they, Mr. Haines?”

What was the matter with this guy? I stared at him—a fat, ugly, bald-headed little stranger who tossed around hundred-dollar bills and talked about voices.

He smiled. “You don’t understand, of course. But you will. I’m sure of that. I like your inquisitive attitude. I like your self-confidence. The way you tried to stare me down in the office this afternoon. I often amuse myself by observing the reactions of strangers. And I’ve made up my mind that with proper training you will go far. You have the voice, the appearance, the youth and the background. It was no accident that brought us together. It was Destiny.”

Professor Hermann wasn’t smiling now. He hunched forward over the table and his eyes were glittering to match that big diamond.

“Cut the violin music,” I said. “What’s your proposition?”

He glanced at the restaurant clock and stood up, quickly. “We haven’t time to discuss that now,” he said. “It’s getting late. We’re due at the meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“Come and see. It’s important that you arrive before the testimony starts.”

“Wait a minute. I want to know what I’m getting into here. After all, I can’t afford to waste my time—”

He grinned. “You don’t trust me? Then I suggest you give me back that hundred-dollar bill and call it quits. I’ll go to the meeting, and you—you run along back home and cut your throat.”

I stared at him for a long second, and then it struck me. I began to laugh. I was still laughing as I followed him out of the restaurant and down the street.

“So you’ve decided to come along?”

“Right,” I said. “But I still wish I knew where I was going.”

“All you need to know,” Professor Hermann told me, “is that tonight we take the first step. The first step in the direction of a million dollars.”

The professor led me down the street for about half a block and halted before my idea of a beautiful animal—a handsome new black Jaguar.

“Climb in,” he said.

“But we didn’t come in a car—”

He gave that grin again as he jangled a set of keys before my eyes. “Correct. I parked here before I went to see you. I had everything arranged.”

I matched his grin with a shrug and opened the door. I was relieved to know I wasn’t getting mixed up with a car thief, but at the same time I didn’t quite like the idea of his being so sure of me in advance. A smart apple, the Professor—a smart little bald-headed apple.

We pulled away, headed down the boulevard, then went northwest toward Beverly Hills. Neither of us said anything for a while and the Jaguar just purred.

The Professor glanced at the dashboard clock. “Right on time,” he said. “We’ll pick her up and then go to the meeting.”

“Her?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention that we’re bringing a guest. You will probably like her—I don’t suppose you’ve ever met a movie star before.”

“Movie star?”

“Well, a featured player. Seven hundred and fifty dollars a week. Lorna Lewis. You know the name?”

Lorna Lewis, the gal with the glamorous gams. The censor’s delight. I’d heard of her, all right. This was going to be interesting, after all.

“The movie colony is particularly impressionable,” remarked Professor Hermann. “I expect great results from them in our future work. For example, consider their interest in astrology. I can name you dozens of stars, producers, executives who won’t make a move unless the signs are right.

“I always think of one top name out here—she’s been in pictures ever since the original Lassie was a pup—who lives according to a carefully plotted horoscope based on her date of birth. The only thing is, as she gets older she keeps moving her birthdate forward. She’s changed her age four times now, and each time she gets a new astrologer and a new horoscope. But she won’t so much as sleep with an assistant producer without consulting the stars.”

The car climbed a hill. Poinsettias pressed myriad bleeding mouths to a garden wall.

“About this Lorna Lewis,” I said. “Is she gone on astrology too?”

Professor Hermann shook his head. “No. Spiritualism.”

I blinked and sat up. “Mean to tell me that’s what you have in mind for us—some kind of spook racket?”

“Far from it. My dear boy, don’t underestimate me. You and I are above such vulgar fakery. Our paths lead to higher things. But we’ll speak of all that at another time. Right now your cue is to observe—and be silent.”

We entered the driveway on a hillside. Past the palm-bordered path rose a rambling neo-Spanish
hacienda.
I caught a glimpse of a side terrace and a swimming pool in the back. Then we drew up before broad stone steps. The motor whimpered in death.

Professor Hermann led me to the door. The usual buzzer produced the usual chimes. We waited until the door opened.

“Come in,” said a voice. I recognized it immediately. I recognized the black jungle of curls, the almost Negroid lips, the slim sweep of the perfectly proportioned legs. Lorna Lewis, in person.

“Be with you in a minute.” She waved us to a love seat in the hall alcove and then dashed up the stairs, treating us to a profile and rear view of one of the finest pairs of peach-colored slacks I’d ever seen.

“Don’t stare!” hissed the Professor. “And from now on, remember, take your cues from me.” He produced his monocle and bent forward to polish it with a handkerchief as though it were a rare scientific lens.

“Remember, now, not a word. Let me do the talking.”

“But—”

She was running down the stairs again, still wearing the peach-colored slacks and a green blouse. I hadn’t appreciated the blouse before, but it was even better than the slacks.

“Ready? Let’s go, then. Our appointment’s for nine-thirty and we mustn’t be late.” Suddenly she seemed to notice me. She paused and blinked rapidly, just to show me she could do it without knocking any of the mascara off her eyelashes. “Who’s he?” she asked.

“Miss Lewis, this is Judson Roberts.”

This was me, apparently. I rose and started to open my mouth, but the Professor coughed.

“Mr. Roberts cannot answer you. He is committed to silence until midnight.”

This time her blink was genuine. “Oh—a vow or something?”

“Certainly not, my dear child! Mr. Roberts is no fake mystic. He’s a scientist. As such, he is engaged in an experiment of psychological conditioning. He has just arrived from the University of Lima and plans to collaborate with me in my work. I’d like to have him tell you about it some time— I’m sure you would be interested.”

“I know I will.” She gave me a long look and I found out she could do other tricks with her eyes besides the blinking act.

“I’ve invited Mr. Roberts to accompany us as an observer this evening.” The Professor hesitated. “If you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine with me. But I don’t know if Mrs. Hubbard will approve. I hear she’s very particular about strangers.”

“More than likely.” The Professor led us outside and slid behind the wheel of the car. Lorna Lewis followed and I edged into the front seat beside her. The peach-colored slacks pressed against my thigh. I pressed back. Maybe I wasn’t allowed to talk, but I managed to make an impression.

The Professor was doing most of the talking as he nosed the Jaguar south, then east. “Your Mrs. Hubbard probably doesn’t care for outsiders a bit. I wouldn’t, either, if I was working a nice soft racket—preying on motion picture people with phony spiritualism.”

Lorna Lewis tossed her head. Jungle-storm.

“You’ll see! Mrs. Hubbard is different. She doesn’t try to fool anyone with tricks or hocus-pocus.”

“No ectoplasm or apparitions? What about rope escapes and raps? Does she produce apports?”

“You’re making fun of me.” Her fingers caressed a silver cigarette case. “Mr. Roberts?”

“Mr. Roberts does not smoke,” snapped the Professor.

That was news to me. I wondered if I also did not drink. Probably I fasted a lot, too. Certainly I had nothing to do with women. Eyeing Lorna Lewis, I decided
that
was one rule which would be changed in a hurry.

“My dear Miss Lewis,” purred the Professor, “I am by nature a skeptic and by profession a psychologist. As such I have devoted much time to the investigation of so-called psychic phenomena. I am sorry to report that I have never seen a genuine medium.”

“But Mrs. Hubbard doesn’t put on a show,” the girl protested. “Why, I’ve only been there once before, and it was just like sitting down for a visit. The lights were on and everything. But the things she told me, the things she knew about me, it was simply uncanny!

“She knew my name—my real name, that is—and my age, and where I lived, and who my folks were, and what my next picture would be and who would direct it. She even told me I’d get Lester Vance opposite me, and I didn’t hear about it from the studio until three days later!”

The Professor chuckled. “You’re in pictures, my child. Such information is virtually public property.”

“But my real name, and my real age—”

“It’s all listed somewhere. Your birth certificate is surely available by mail. And certainly an unscrupulous woman would be willing to spend a few dollars on investigation. She probably has a line into the studio, paying someone to feed her advance tips on activities. She hopes to make you a regular client and attract others. Didn’t you say your hairdresser told you to go there in the first place? It’s all very obvious.”

I realized, suddenly, that he was talking to me more than he was to her—trying to tell me the angles. I listened carefully.

“If you are gullible enough, I predict that sooner or later your little ten-dollar readings won’t satisfy Mrs. Hubbard. She’ll give you some good advice about the future, and some even more intimate information about yourself; feed it to you bit by bit, just to keep you coming back for more. Sooner or later she will find out that you too have mystic powers, that you’re clairvoyant, clairaudient, a natural medium. She’ll give you slate-writing and then the old psychic force routine.”

“Psychic force?”

“Moving inanimate objects without touching them. Waving her hand over fruit, walnuts, coins. They’ll obey her, move and follow her hand. Psychic force. I’ll show you how it’s done, sometime.”

“Tell me.”

“Simple. She wears a magnetized ring. There’s another magnet planted inside the walnut or fruit or fake coin. Naturally, it moves. By varying the weight of the object she can produce anything from a stir to a jump. It sounds simple and stupid and obvious, but wait until she gives you the buildup—in the dim, quiet room with her voice pitched low and the spirits abroad.”

Lorna Lewis shook her head. “Mrs. Hubbard isn’t like that at all. You’ll see.”

“Very well. But remember, I’m here to protect you. Just introduce us as friends. I promise not to interfere in any way, but I want to observe what happens.”

“That’s right, Professor,” said Lorna Lewis, with the roguish smile that endeared her to millions. “Just hold your water.”