High Risk 7.3

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[Continuing chapter seven]

With no other flying on the schedule, and little that could be shifted into the gap left by the broken valve, Casey ended up spending the rest of the day working as an overpaid mechanic. He helped Mitch drain the petrol and oil from the Tommy—a job that made him more than a little nervous, pilots having a healthy respect for even a potential fire. His sore ribs wouldn’t let him push the Tommy back into the hangar, or remove the damaged rotary from its mounting—Tillman and Hamilton were dragooned into doing that—but Hogan charged him with helping Mitch go over the wreckage of the other Tommy, analyzing the engine and their chances of either repairing or getting a working valve from it.

When Desiree turned up at the hangar in late afternoon, Mitch rolled his eyes and groaned. “First Eve Adams,” he said to Casey. “Now Desiree Farrell. What have you got that I haven’t got?”

“The answer to that question,” Desiree said, “would take more time than remains before Judgment Day. Come on, Casey. Clean yourself up and let’s get going.”


Casey suppressed a groan. It wasn’t that Desiree wasn’t attractive, or interesting. But there was something about her that hinted very strongly that any activity in which she was involved quickly altered until it was focused on her and she was in full control. He’d had enough of letting other people run his life.

On the other hand, with the Monarch truck he’d been given still in the L.A. Police lock-up while the detectives tried to find—or possibly invent—evidence against him, Casey was trapped in Glendale unless he could persuade someone to give him a lift back to Hollywood. And Desiree was certainly going that way.

“Think I can sneak away a bit early, Mitch?”

“Oh, don’t think twice about it, Casey. A man in your position has to strike while the iron’s hot.”

Casey wasn’t aware of any fire, much less having any irons heating up in it. There wasn’t any point in saying that to Mitch, who would continue to believe that Casey was the second coming of Ronald Colman or some such. So he washed himself as best he could, then walked with Desiree to her car.

As they were careering along Riverside Drive he said, “I’ve been wondering about this talkie revolution you were going on about the other day. What about Lily Cross? How do you think she fit into it?” he asked.

“You think her death has something to do with talking pictures?” Desiree smiled at him, calculation in her eyes. “That’s a very unusual question. Are you sure you haven’t studied detecting before?”

“I’m sure. But it seems a logical enough question to me. Lily Cross was an extra, right? Suddenly she’s got a speaking part in the picture. Everybody’s uncertain of themselves because talking pictures are so new. There might be a connection.”

“Let’s find out,” she said, wheeling sharply west onto Sunset. “I had the same thought you did. While I was driving home after dropping you at the hotel. I wondered why it was that Lily Cross would suddenly be offered a contract. She had a nice enough voice, sure. And she was new enough that she probably hadn’t developed a lot of bad habits. But why her? And why now?”

“Where do we start? I’m inclined to think we ask at the place she lived.”

“I think we should start at the studio,” Desiree said. “We need to know as much as we can about her before we start asking questions of anyone else. If she signed a contract, there’ll be a file on her. Let’s go look at that file.”

Casey looked away from her so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face. Already she was starting to take over. Still, he had to admit hers was a good idea, if only because the file would have her address. Casey settled back and tried to enjoy the ride. He hoped Desiree wouldn’t see that his right hand gripped the door as though it was the only thing preventing him from being thrown to his death. Which it probably was.

Next     Prologue    Chapter One    Chapter Two    Chapter Three    Chapter Four    Chapter Five
Chapter Six    Chapter Seven