I don’t do police stations. You would think that
wouldn’t be a problem since I was a ex-marine and
knew how to take orders and knew how the chain of
command worked. But I was in the private sector
now and didn’t want to deal with somebody telling
me what to do. That’s why I’m a private detective,
and probably why I’m alone. I do have some friends.
One being Ed Wood Jr. he saved my life during the
war and since I’ve been out, I’ve been pulling him
out of one mess or another. Today was a really big
Today it was murder.
I walked up the steps of the Hollywood jail but
found Woody sitting on the concrete steps in front.
I found that rather odd. His shoulders were
slumped and he wasn’t wearing any hat and in this
heat. His hair was plastered to his forehead with
sweat and his clothes looked as if he had slept in
them – which he probably had.
“Hey, Woody?” I tossed him a wry smile. “Heard
you were locked up, buddy?”
He brightened up when he saw me. A smile spread
across his pale face.
“They let me go,” he said, pushing to his feet.
“Lack of evidence and they were pissed because I
wouldn’t confess. Thank God, I wasn’t wearing
those lace panties I had on earlier. They searched me
I winced. I didn’t want to hear about his private
life as a closet cross dresser. “Let’s go, the Nash is
parked up the street. Kathy is waiting for you, up to
her neck in tears.”
“How’s the new office,” he asked changing the
subject. I had done the landlord of the Bridgewood
Building a favor and he let me have a small nook of
an office on the fourth floor. Best news was I got it
rent free for at least three months or so.
“Small but quit changing the subject.”
Woody nodded sadly. “I’ve put Kathy through so
much and now this.” He turned and dropped in step
with me as we headed for the car.
“So what’s next?” I asked him.
“I go back to work. We have a shoot tomorrow. I
rented the ass end space of Truman Studio and I
want to shoot as much as I can before time is up.”
“What are you shooting this time?”
His eyes widened. He loved talking about his work.
“Studio rental is only $700 for three days and I need
close to four sets built. It’s called,” he held his hands
up as if he was unveiling the marquee. “The Night
the Banshee Cried.”
I jabbed my hands deep into my jacket pockets
and said, “Oh a comedy, huh?”
He gave me a half hug with one arm. “I’ve missed
We made it to the Nash, climbed in and I pulled
quickly out into the traffic. It was starting to get thick
now, any since it was afternoon, and a nice day,
everyone and their brother was out in about and I
swear, they all had cars.”
Hate to pull you down from your nice fluffy cloud,
Woody but I need to know what the police were
asking you,” I said.
Woody fumbled in his grey suit pocket, pulled out
a pack of rumpled cigarettes, took one out and lit it.
He rolled the window down and blew the smoke into
He finally said, “What’s the point? It’s over now.”
He sucked on his smoke and didn’t say another
word for three blocks.
I said, “Why did they haul you in?”
“Because some asshole . . . told them . . . and I
know you hate it when I talk about it . . . that I . . .
wore . . . wear…women’s clothes, occasionally.” He
stammered through his answer as if he had a mouth
full of glass.
“Relax, I asked you,” I said trying to put him at
ease. “Any clue who might have spilled the beans
about your hobby.”
He laughed when I called it a hobby. “That’s a
good one. No, I have no idea. I don’t go around
announcing to a room full of people.”
I remembered his film Glen or Glenda, and the
fact he played the lead, but I kept my trap shut.
Woody just kept shaking his head. “So it seems some
producer, whom I didn’t know I might add, was
brutally murdered last night, had his throat slashed,
arms slashed, and belly cut open. Some eagle-eyed
witness said a woman ran away from the crime
scene, but when he got a closer look at the face he
said it was a mustached man, not a woman at all.”
“Then they got a call about you. That’s about the
skinny of it?”
He just nodded a few more times than needed.
I said, “Sounds like the killer himself called in to
put the finger on you, bud.”
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