Breakdown, p.25
Breakdown, page 25
A wisp of breeze caused red-brown strands to flutter away from his skull. “Long-term capital gain is a benefit of being a dinosaur. One of the few.”
I said, “So Averell bought the estate with his own money.”
“Did I say or imply that? What I said was it didn’t take that much for anyone with decent cash flow to get a place like that. I could’ve bought an even bigger property than he did, nine acres on Bellagio. Forget it, too much maintenance.”
We continued walking.
Cohen said, “What I heard but can’t confirm is that Enid chipped in big-time, or maybe paid for the whole caboodle. She came from big money in the Midwest. The family made tractors or something.”
“Cleveland. Machine parts.”
“So you know. So what do you expect to learn from me?”
“What do you think of Enid?”
“What do you think of her?”
“Only met her once,” I said. “Despite a dead body in her garden, she seemed pretty cool and collected.”
“You’re seriously considering she had something to do with it.”
“You consider that unlikely?”
Cohen’s hair flew up again. He made no effort to suppress it. “What haven’t you told me, Doctor? If that little précis you gave me is ‘complicated,’ my foreskin’s going to grow back.”
“This needs to stay between us.”
“I am the soul of discretion.” Cohen laughed. “You’re thinking that’s a hoot, last we spoke I spilled more beans than a drunken chuckwagon cook. I explained at the time: I wanted to die in a burst of altruism. Now that I realize I’m going to live forever, I’m back to keeping my mouth shut.”
“The woman who died on Enid’s property claimed she was the daughter of Zina Rutherford, Enid’s half sister.”
“Claimed?” he said. “You think she was raving?”
I’d said nothing about mental illness.
Rather than waiting for an answer, he went on. “You know better than me, Doctor. People claim they see little green men. Pink elephants.” Going on too long, his voice losing conviction.
No sense challenging him. I said, “She was mentally ill but that doesn’t mean there was no truth to her claim.”
“Zina’s daughter,” he said. “Never met Zina, let alone her daughter.”
“What was Enid like?”
“The first time I saw her was at Scandia, they had a lattice gazebo at the back of the main room, a bunch of us were dining there and Averell entered with a woman and everyone noticed her. Was she gorgeous? If you like Bette Davis. Tall, blond, nice shoulders, great haunches—she wore a blood-red dress, designed to show off what she had.”
His hands formed an hourglass.
I said, “Making a statement.”
“A classy statement, those days every woman of means projected class. So did the fellows, we wore suits and ties to the Rose Bowl.”
“Bette Davis,” I said. “A little hard around the edges?”
“More like strength of character—her, Joan Crawford, Barbara Stanwyck, Ida Lupino. Some fellows go for that, my taste runs to pillowy and emotionally vulnerable—Monroe. I met her, such a fragile gal.”
He laughed. “Not that I ended up with vulnerable. My wife’s Japanese, I thought I’d be getting a geisha and woke up with a samurai. Though she has remained gorgeous. What does Enid look like nowadays?”
“Keeps herself up, elegant. She has a boyfriend.”
“Really. Who?”
“J. Yarmuth Loach.”
“Him? He’s younger than her.”
I waited.
Cohen said, “Got to be what, ten years younger?”
“Three.”
“I would’ve thought more. Back then, he seemed like a kid.”
“How’d you know him?”
“He worked for Av. I thought of him as a kid but I guess he had to be late twenties. Yarmie and Enid, huh? Guess it makes sense, he imitated everything Av did—four-in-hand tie knot, same phraseology. If Av wore an ascot, a few days later you’d see one on Yarmie. Av used to joke about it, I’m Pete, he’s Repeat. Not in a nasty way, I think he enjoyed being emulated. Being held up as the standard of Wasp savoir faire.”
“Loach didn’t share that background.”
“With his name, you’d have thought so,” said Cohen. “J. Yarmuth, don’t recall what the J stood for…I know he didn’t come from money because during the Pete and Repeat conversation Av said look how far a Bakersfield hick can go with good tailoring. I remember that because it made me wonder what Av really thought of me. My parents never owned a house, I went to Bronx High School of Science, got into Harvard on a scholarship and caught plenty of bigotry there. I resolved to keep my own name and not pretend I was someone else. That’s why I moved here. L.A. was wide open for anyone with brains and drive. Where are you from?”
“Missouri.”
“Come from money?”
“Not even close.”
“And look at you, a man of sophistication, a healer of minds. And a self-styled Sherlock.”
“What did Loach do for Av?”
“He was also a lawyer but didn’t want to be. Instead of clerking or joining a firm, he took a low-paying apprenticeship at Av’s company. What that entailed, I couldn’t tell you.”
He shook his head. “Young Yarmie consorting with Enid, go know.”
“He’s practicing law now.”
“Where?”
“Revelle, Winters, Loach, Russo.”
“He’s a named partner? Bakersfield made it big,” said Cohen. “Don’t know the firm, never had dealings with them. Must be downtown, not the Westside.”
“Seventh Street.”
“As downtown as you can get. What’s Yarmie’s specialty?”
“Estates and trusts.”
“For that, training with Av would be an asset.”
I said, “He doesn’t seem to work much, could be a rainmaker.”
Cohen looked at me. “You’ve been researching him, too? You suspect both of them are up to something? Are you saying this insane woman really was the sister’s offspring and put the screws on Enid for serious moolah and Yarmie overstepped trying to defend his honey?”
I stared at him.
He said, “Been deducing for a long time.” He looked away. Even old lawyers give up tells.
I said, “That’s all it is, deduction?”
“What else would it be?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Cohen, that’s a helluva lot of information to pull out of the air. I also find your remark about raving interesting since I never mentioned mental illness.”
He took a second to answer. “I don’t have a crystal ball, Doctor, deduction is all it is—logic. You said she was homeless and broke into Enid’s place. To me that sounds crazy.”
Plausible, but no conviction at all in his voice.
Is anyone else involved?
“Mr. Cohen, I get the feeling I’m not the first person asking you these questions.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You asked me if anyone else besides Lieutenant Sturgis was involved. And despite your explanation, that question about raving was a significant conceptual leap.”
“Homeless? The majority of them aren’t seriously disturbed?”
I smiled.
He faced me. “Who do you think I talked to?”
“All I can do is guess, Mr. Cohen. Someone also interested in ‘psychological’ issues. Maybe a psychiatrist named Lou Sherman?”
He stopped short, pitched forward scuffing dirt, held his hands out for balance.
I reached out to brace him; he shook me off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. So what is this, a game? You know the answers but you’re testing me? The way cops do with suspects—what I do when I cross-examine? When I passed the bar, I said no more tests. Got that?”
“Just trying to get to the truth, Mr. Cohen.”
He puffed his lips. Above us, a cloud passed over the sun, leaving a glare that turned his dyed hair the hue of bloody cotton. For an instant, he looked like a battered man. Then another cloud arrived and restored him to mere cosmetic pretense.
I said, “Lou Sherman would want you to talk to me. We were friends and colleagues, he’s the one who got me involved with Zelda. That’s her name, by the way. Zelda Chase. But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Then have Dr. Sherman release me from confidentiality.”
“Unfortunately, he’s passed on.”
Cohen flinched.
I said, “Not everyone benefits from spare parts—”
“I get it,” snapped Cohen. He resumed walking. “If you’re playing on my survivor guilt, you’re succeeding. When did he die?”
“A little over two years ago. When did he come to see you?”
Cohen sighed. “Good man, Dr. Sherman. He impressed me as a shrink who actually cared about his patients, you don’t see that often.”
He paused again, pivoted sharply but managed to maintain his balance, eyes narrow and acute. “You really were colleagues?”
“If you’d like I can send you his chart on Zelda. My name’s in there, that’s how I reconnected with her.”
“No, no, I believe you. He came to me around four years ago. What was your involvement?”
“Lou asked me to evaluate Zelda’s son. To see how he was functioning and to find out if Zelda was competent to care for him. At the time, she was. The boy’s eleven, Mr. Cohen. If he’s alive. He hasn’t been seen since Zelda began living on the streets. I’m trying to find out if he’s okay.”
“And if he’s not?” said Earl Cohen. “That’ll be tough to hear.”
“Better than not knowing.”
“So now you toss in guilt over a child’s welfare, wonderful. You understand my reluctance. You’ve already seen me relax my ethical standards and I’m not sure I want to repeat it. For some reason I seem to care what you think of me.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Yadda yadda yadda, as Lenny Bruce would say. Met him, too. All doped up, tragic kid. But people forget how funny he was…so Sherman’s gone. Pity.”
The remaining yoga beauty leashed her dog and left. Cohen said, “Let’s take a load off,” and made his way to the fountain. He sank down precisely where her posterior had rested and I settled next to him.
“All right,” he said. “Since he’s dead, I see an opening. Sherman came to me because he’d already begun his own research and like you, thought I could help him. Why? Because newspaper archives on Enid and Av also contained my name. Social stuff—tennis finals, fundraisers. Like I said, we were chums.”
Wide grin. “Not that mine was the only name but everyone else Sherman looked up was dead. I told him I didn’t know whether to feel flattered or worried. He laughed—he had a hearty laugh. He wasn’t like other shrinks I’ve met, most of them come across like they didn’t get laid much in college. Not you, I’ll bet you had plenty of fun.”
I smiled.
“Enigmatic?” said Cohen. “Monte Lisa?” He crossed a leg, examined a scrawny ankle. “Sherman enjoyed a good single malt. We drank together in the Four Seasons bar and he ponied up for a bottle of Oban. He told me he was looking into Enid and Av due to a personal matter that required professional confidentiality. He insisted on giving me a retainer, though I assured him none was necessary. The basic story was that he had a patient whose veracity couldn’t be taken at face value due to mental health issues. She’d convinced herself she was the child of a movie star who’d disappeared and he wanted to know if there was truth to it, so he could treat her appropriately. I was impressed, Dr. Delaware. His going the extra mile.”
He turned, placed a hand on my shoulder. “I can see why the two of you would get along.”
“Thank you.”
“It is a compliment. I don’t give them out like Halloween candy.”
His hand returned to his lap. “He asked me if I was aware of any vanishing movie stars and I said I wasn’t. He said he hadn’t come up with anything, either, the closest was a wannabe named Zina Rutherford and looking into her led him to the DePauws, apparently he found some out-of-town documents.”
Taking the same steps Milo and I had. Great minds. Suddenly, I missed Lou. Could imagine what it felt like to be Cohen, last man on the mountain.
He said, “Unlike your situation, there was no suggestion of foul play, all Dr. Sherman was trying to verify was a family link between Zina and Enid, which I gave him. That was it. Whether or not he proved to his own satisfaction that his patient—the Zelda woman—was accurate or delusional, I haven’t a clue.”
“You knew Zina.”
“I knew of her. Enid’s much younger, even better-looking sister. In fact, it came up that first night when Enid walked into Scandia with that red dress. Someone gave a low whistle and said Av had snagged himself a looker. Someone else—don’t ask, I have no idea—said, ‘You think she’s something, you should check out her baby sister, Av sure did. Guess he likes them more mature now.’ ”
“Av dated both of them?”
“What I heard was that both girls came to L.A. trying to break into the industry. Enid thought she could buy herself in with her money and did manage to get a few no-dialogue walk-ons that were basically vanity things—crowd scenes, that kind of thing. The harsh truth was, being in her thirties put her over the hill. And there was already one Bette Davis.”
He shook his head. “According to the wags I was with, there was also the matter of talent. Enid had none. Zina was younger, prettier, and at least marginally competent. She landed some small parts in cheapies. But her career also went nowhere.”
Zelda had topped both of them. Had she thrown that in Enid’s face? Probably not, too broken down to muster up a complex thought.
“Failed actresses, they should build a monument to them,” said Cohen. “Like the poor girl who jumped off the Hollywood sign. At least those two had dough to fall back on.”
“They also had an interest in the same man. Who Enid ended up with.”
Cohen nodded. “Spiteful. You’re thinking spite stuck in her soul and was directed at Zelda.”
“I think Zelda might have threatened her directly by declaring herself an heir.”
Cohen smiled. “Look at us. I go psychological, you go financial.”
“It’s all related.”
“Yes, it is, son. Do I believe Enid capable of murder? Can’t say, I spoke to her at parties and such, that’s the extent of it. I recall her as a frosty dame. You’re the one with the license to analyze.”
“Did your dinner companions at Scandia have anything more to say about Zina?”
“They did but it’s…unchivalrous, Doctor. More than that. Rude.”
I said, “Something about her sexual talents?”
Cohen cleared his throat. “The term I believe I heard was ‘crazy sexy.’ Then someone else said, ‘Crazy and sexy is the perfect combination, you can do what you want with one of those.’ And the rest of us laughed. What can I say? Times were different.”
“Any idea what happened to Zina after Enid poached her boyfriend?”
“Dr. Sherman said she’d spiraled downward before disappearing.”
“Did Dr. Sherman say anything about who raised her daughter?”
“He wasn’t certain Zelda was her daughter. He did say Zelda was adopted, had embarked on one of those journeys to discover her roots only to be disappointed because she couldn’t have a reunion with a woman who’d vanished.”
“Who adopted her?”
“He didn’t get into details, just told me they were also deceased and not…what’s the word he used…‘ideal.’ The implication was the girl had it rough.”
Cohen threw up his hands. “Nice man, paid for the entire bottle. Now he’s gone. It keeps happening to me, son. I call someone to have lunch and learn they keeled over. Guess I’m the only one cursed with immortality.”
CHAPTER
35
Refusing my offer of a ride, the old lawyer shuffled back home.
As I reached the Seville, a homeless couple wheeled his-and-her supermarket carts toward the dry fountain. Two humans camouflaged as shags of filthy cloth, bruised feet barely covered by tattered sneakers. The man’s lips moved. The women’s mouth hung open.
Outpatient mental health in the twenty-first century. The twentieth had been a combination of incarceration and occasional nurturance.
I pictured Zelda, her show canceled, her agent ill, trying to make her way in a city that prized looks and availability.
Crazy and sexy. You can do what you want with one of those.
Learning about her mother’s maltreatment at the hands of her sibs would’ve changed her quest. No more search for her roots, time for payback. As her own mind disintegrated, she’d have struggled to hold on, terrified by suggestions of damaged lineage.
She hadn’t become an ace detective. She’d learned everything from her beyond-the-call-of-duty therapist.
Well-meaning, caring Lou had no idea where his compassion would lead.
—
I phoned Milo. “I found out how Zelda learned about her family.”
“I found out there’s no chance for a goddamn warrant.”
“John wasn’t impressed.”
“Hell,” he said, “as I was laying it out, I wasn’t impressed. Bottom line: Without a solid reason to enter the premises, I couldn’t even stroll in if the gates were open.”
“What defines solid grounds?”
“A moldering corpse would work nicely, but ‘obvious evidence of wrongdoing’ is the operative criterion. Like I needed John to tell me that. I got too caught up, amigo. Too bad we didn’t spot Enid growing cannabis that night.”
“You could hire a bird to drop seeds.”
“Crows R Us, there you go. So how’d Zelda become a detective?”
“Lou Sherman detected for her. He was trying to figure out if her story about her mother was real or not.”
