Chapter 14

July 29, 1996

Early morning

By Monday morning, there were a lot of loose ends. I poked my head into Lydia's office as soon as I got to The Freedom Agenda, and said, "Did you notice that one of the witness statements mentions a small yellow car stopping in front of the Michaels' house at eleven-thirty that morning and a young girl going inside?"

"Yes, of course."

"I interviewed a woman named Kelly Wallpole. She was in Sammy's same grade. She said that even though Sammy wasn't popular, kids used her to get to her parents' well-stocked bar and for rides in her yellow Chevy Vega."

"Circumstantial. I'll use it at trial if we get a new one. But it's not going help our petition."

She grew silent and thoughtful. After a moment, I asked, "What?"

"Nothing. I'm plotting. I'll let you know if I come up with an actual plan."

"Any idea when we'll have Harris in again?"

She rolled her eyes at me. I took that to mean the conversation was over. I went back to my makeshift desk. Waiting for me was the list of names I'd asked Karen to research. They were all people mentioned in Canyon Girl. There were phone numbers and addresses for most of the names. Three of the names were crossed out with the notation "DEAD" written next to them: Carmichael Crampton, Detective Schmidt and Betty Brooks.

Crampton was the kid who'd found Vera's body. To be honest, I couldn't think of anything he'd tell me that might have been useful. Betty Brooks was a friend of Vera's. She might have been useful. But I couldn't know how much. I folded up the note and put it in my pocket. I'd deal with it later.

Then, I called Edwin at exactly nine o'clock and arranged to have lunch with him and his brother. We had to haggle a bit before finally settling on Musso Frank at one o'clock. The main thing I liked about the place was that it was a few blocks away from the Hollywood Freeway, meaning that popping in and out for lunch meant I'd miss most of the really bad traffic.

I decided it was a good time to go to the county clerk's office and get the skinny on the house in Holmby Hills. They were located in Norwalk, so I drove there first. Believe it or not, they have records going back to before the Civil War. It took about an hour and a half, but I was able to establish that Ivan Melchor bought the Holmby Hills house in 1943. In 1965, Patrick Gill's name was added to the deed. Then in 1972, Ivan's name was removed due to his death. Patrick's was the only name associated with the property until last year when the house was sold.

When I got done it was only eleven. I had roughly two hours to get to Musso Frank, so I decided to try and squeeze in another errand. I drove downtown to the big library. I parked in a garage, paying through the nose for the privilege. Walking in the door, it was noon already. I was cutting it close since I'd need at least twenty minutes to drive to Hollywood. I walked around until I found the reference desk and I told the librarian I wanted to look at the white pages starting in 1945.

"We have all that on fiche," he said. "1945 until…"

"How about we do five years at a time. So, 1950." Then I changed my mind. "Wait. Give me every other year from 1945 until 1955."

A few minutes later, he brought out five boxes of rolled fiche. "It's two years per roll, so what you have is 1946 until 1955. If you want to go back another year?—"

"No, it's fine. I'll start with these."

"The fiche room is over there," he said, pointing behind me. I walked in that direction and into a long room with four fiche machines, two on each side of the room. They were all empty. I walked to the furthest one and set to work.

I've done this before, though it took a moment to remember how to correctly feed the rolls into the machine. It was quick work. I looked at 1946. I found Patrick Gill at a phone number with an address on Keystone Avenue in Culver City. He was at the same address in 1947, 1948, 1949 and 1950. Then in 1951 he had a new phone number and a new address: 410 Faring, Holmby Hills.

I looked up Ivan Melchor. He was listed at the same address, except he had a different phone number. They had separate phones. That made sense. Patrick was a lawyer. If his office called, he wouldn't want his lover answering the phone. Among other things, it was expensive to be in the closet. That was what I'd wanted to know. I returned the boxes of fiche and hurried out of the library.

Musso Frank is the kind of place where I feel like a real private eye. It's dark and smoky, even though it's been years since you could smoke in restaurants. Don't get me wrong, they're not breaking the rules, it's just that it somehow still seems smoky. They should hand out fedoras at the door.

I was twenty minutes late. When I found Edwin and Jan at a booth near the front, there was a nearly empty martini glass in front of Jan.

"I'm sorry I'm late."

"It's not professional," Jan snapped.

"It's also L.A. and I stopped to do some research on your uncle."

The waiter came over. He was old enough to be my father. "Can I get you a cocktail?" he asked.

"I'll have a ginger ale." Not what he was hoping for, but I'd had enough champagne over the weekend to last me six months.

"And you sir? Would you like another martini?"

"Yes, of course," Jan said in a tone that suggested anyone not having two martinis at lunch was an idiot.

Edwin waved the waiter away before he could ask if Edwin wanted a drink. He kept his eyes on me, saying, "Go ahead" as soon as the waiter was gone.

"Your uncle moved into the house on Faring Road sometime late in 1950 or early 1951. The house was owned at that time by Ivan Melchor. In 1965, your uncle's name was added to the deed. Ivan Melchor died in 1972, at which time your uncle became the sole owner of the property. There was a standing order to put flowers on Melchor's grave for years. Your uncle paid for that. I'm guessing your uncle Patrick is gay."

I decided to leave out the part about him feeling up the male nurses at his nursing home.

Edwin looked a bit surprised; Jan did not. He said, "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"Wait," Edwin said. "Is this why you were so set on Harmon and Coyne? You thought they'd cover this up for you?"

"They're discreet." He looked at me as though I'd just planted an item in the L.A. Times about his uncle's sexuality.

"Given that your uncle was gay, I think it's unlikely he killed his fiancée."

"Really?" Jan said. "I think that makes it more likely. She probably threatened to expose him."

I was tempted to say that my boyfriend had the same theory. Instead, I said, "Vera Korenko was brutally beaten and raped before she was strangled."

"You don't think a gay man could rape a woman?" Jan said. "Rape isn't about sex it's about violence. Isn't that what they say?"

"I still think it's very unlikely," I said.

"Gay men lack morals. It would be just one more taboo to break. That makes it very likely."

"John, cut it out," his brother said.

That left me an opening. "I went through everything you have in storage. It's pretty obvious that someone removed things. Your uncle had no photo albums? No framed personal photographs? No letters? No diaries? Not even an address book? Did you do it alone, Jan, or was it the two of you?"

"He did it alone," Edwin said. "I didn't know Uncle Patrick was gay and I wouldn't have been party to that."

"I did it for Mother. You know she thinks the world of him."

"She can still think the world of him," Edwin said, though it wasn't a confident statement. I'm sure he knew I was gay. There seemed to be things he didn't want to say in front of me. He shifted the topic. "Where does that leave us?"

"Would you like me to continue?"

"Of course, we want you to continue," Jan said. "Mother wants to know what to say to him when he says he killed that girl. Are you suggesting she tell him, ‘You couldn't have killed that girl because you're a fag?'"

"John, please?—"

"Do you still have the things you removed from the house?" I asked.

"Of course not. I destroyed them."

"You had no right to do that," Edwin said.

"I had every right, and you know it."

I was siding with Edwin, but that's just me. I said, "Well in that case you've made my job much harder."

"I think you're exaggerating. Are you trying to get more money?"

"It's important to know who his friends were during that period. Photographs could have helped, address books, diaries…"

"You'll have to work without those."

My ginger ale and Jan's martini arrived. The waiter asked if we'd like to order, but Jan gruffly sent him away. I wondered if they were going to buy lunch or was I about to be tossed out.

"What do you know about the book Canyon Girl?"

"That it's trash," Jan said.

"Your mother said your father threatened legal action if your uncle was mentioned in the book. Do you know anything about that?"

"Not really," Jan said. "That has to be twenty, twenty-five years ago. I wasn't a lawyer then. Edwin was still in grade school."

"Patrick was a lawyer himself. Why do you think he had your father handle it?"

Now Edwin answered. "Given what you're uncovering, I imagine the whole idea of the book was terrifying for Uncle Patrick. Any legal matter is better handled by someone with a level head."

Jan added, "Our father was a fixer. He handled problems for the rich and famous. Patrick couldn't have had a better lawyer for something like that."

"Why was it such a problem? Wouldn't it have been better to tell the writer he was Vera's fiancé?"

Of course, he might have dug a little further and exposed Patrick, I thought, answering my own question. Just as well. Jan ignored me, "Is this what you're doing for us? Reading a very dubious book?"

"I called the author. He hung up on me as soon as I mentioned your uncle."

Jan smiled, saying, "Father had that effect on people." That was probably true. He'd certainly scared the bejesus out of Wallace Philburn. "What do you plan to do next?"

"The book mentions a number of Vera's friends. I'd like to talk to any of them who are still alive. Ivan Melchor's papers are at some library. I'm going to see if there's anything there that might be helpful."

"I can't imagine there would be."

"What is it you think I should be doing that I'm not doing?"

"Can't you get the original case files from the Pasadena Police Department?"

"Yes and no. I can submit a written request. It's unlikely I'll get the complete file. What I'll get will be heavily redacted and likely not include much more than what's already publicly available. And it will take months." I took a long pause, then continued, "This is why I'm trying to talk to Wallace Philburn. He's done a lot of the leg work. If he"ll share the information, it will save a lot of time."

"You're doing fine," Edwin said. "Just keep going."

I could tell Jan wanted to argue, but he decided better of it and said, "Well. Thank you for coming."

From his tone, I knew I wasn't getting any lunch. I stood up and said good-bye. Next time, I'd meet them on a park bench.