His heels clicked on the vacant street. The water from the previous night's storm sluiced down the storm drain and a stray cat ran past him in the dark. The flashlights shone ahead to indicate his destination.
A young detective still seeking to earn the respect of his colleagues, he kept a stony exterior as he approached the scene. A young torch singer, early twenties, stabbed multiple times. Her left ring finger removed as well as her eyelids. A patrolman brushed past him and he heard retching resonating in the distance. The cameraman was snapping shot after shot. Calum circled the body and used his photographic memory to do the same.
"What do you reckon, Worthy? Is it the same killer?"
Chief of Police, James E. Davis stood in front of the body. Calum deferred to him out of respect for his rank but he had no respect for the man. He was a notorious communist chaser and single minded in that fact.
"It has all the earmarks of the Cotton Club killer. Right down to extraction of the ring finger and design in the nylons. Whoever it is certainly hates women." Calum mused.
The killer had come to be known as "The Cotton Club" killer because of the nylons found on the young women were those specifically purchased by the nightclub. A hexagon shape was always ripped through the flesh and nylon on their upper thighs. Three bodies, now four, had shown up at LAPD's doorstep in the last two months.
The scenes had all been dusted for fingerprints, blood spatter sampled and pictures taken. They had been able to narrow down the blood type but the fingerprinting was a long and arduous process that required a clerk to hand match prints.
"He probably met my wife a time or two." The Chief chuckled.
Calum was again reminded of why he disliked the man behind the badge.
After the body was sent to the morgue and the scene was secured, Calum hit the local all night diner for a cup of coffee and a think. The patrolman had interviewed multiple times the employees and patrons of the now legendary Cotton Club. And here they were, still in the same spot. Another dead girl and no more answers.
After his second cup of coffee, he had made up his mind to personally interview the whole of the Cotton Club if he had, too. As strong as he tried to portray himself to be outwardly, he had nightmares and insomnia. Dead eyes penetrating his soul. Fresh faced, young hopefuls reaching across to him from the shadowy void of death.
He pulled up to The Cotton Club in his 1930 Model A Ford Tudor Sedan. Even though it was seven years old, it was quite a pretty penny on his detective salary. He adjusted his dark brown fedora with tan band on his head and checked the buttons on his pinstripe coat of his similarly colored suit.
It was Friday at 10 pm and he gathered it wasn't quite time for the likes of Joan Crawford or Tyrone Power to come storming in. He scanned the place over. Patrons dressed to the nines. Cocktail glassed clinking and soft candle lit tables. Ever since the Volstead Act was repealed, maybe a little before, the Cotton Club and many nightclubs around town had enjoyed a flux of business for the warm, swirling sensation of forgetting life.
He approached the bar and made eye contact with the bartender.
"What'll it be?"
"Blood and Sand."
The bartender turned away to begin to prepare the drink. Calum heard the couple the next to him. They had apparently heard of the new murder.
"I can't believe Mary Anne is gone. You know she had a screen test next week for Louis B. Mayer. Three years on the nightclub circuit and her hard work finally paid off."
"Hard work?" Her companion snorted. "She just put her legs in the air for the right guy finally."
"Shut up, Bruno!" The woman shoved him away and made a beeline to the back of the club.
"Jenny! Angel! Come on. Okay, it was in bad taste." He mainlined his drink and gave chase.
The bartender placed his drink in front of him.
"Don't mind those two. They have a dust up about twice a week."
"She seemed pretty effected by that girl's death."
"They worked together here for a couple of years. Jenny dresses the girls."
Calum took a sip of his drink and composed his mental notes.
"You came on a good night, chum. We have a new girl debuting tonight. She's really something. Not the typical blonde Hollywood type. She's a shortie but she is the dark eyed dark hair type. Legs you wouldn't mind having wrapped your waist. If you get my drift."
Calum nodded and stated "That was pretty quick after the other girl just died."
"It's Hollywood. They move fast. Grab a table. The show starts in fifteen minutes."
He found a table three rows back from the stage. He sat his hat on the table and his drink beside it. In his peripheral vision, he saw the bartender whispering in Jenny's ear and she giggled and kissed his cheek. Bruno was nowhere to be seen.
His mental notepad was filling up quickly.
The lights dimmed to almost total blackness as two spotlight beams ignited the stage. The singer the bartender so colorfully described took the stage. He wouldn't necessarily have used his vulgar parlance but before she even opened her mouth, he knew that she was quite something.
"I am going to start the night off with a little song borrowed from George, Ira, and Fred."
The piano music began to effuse through the room. She grasped the microphone and her voice came out strong and powerful for her stature.
There are many, many crazy things that will keep me loving you. And with your permission, May I list a few?
The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea. The memory of all that- No, no- they can't take that away from me.
As she continued the song, Calum's heart began an unsteady thump. His palms began to sweat a little. The thought crossed his mind that he was in trouble and he might like it.
She finished the set and went back to her dressing room. Calum scribbled out a note to invite her for a drink. She walked out from the dressing rooms and skimmed past a table of male gawkers. One reached to grab her by the waist. She smiled serenely and reached for his drink. She leaned in as if to whisper to him and poured the drink on his lap. His friends howled with laughter as she walked away and he rubbed furiously at his pants with a napkin.
Calum pushed up to his feet quickly as she approached and stretched out his hand. He smelled a hint of orange blossoms and lilacs from her French perfume. The emerald green dress she wore skimmed her curves in an enticing way. The rings of dark curls framed her face as she reached out to offer her hand.
"Raini Rodriguez."
"Calum Worthy."
"What kind of a name is Calum?"
"What kind of a name is Raini?"
"Good point."
"Won't you have a seat? Would you like a drink?" Calum called the waitress over.
"I'll have a Sidecar please."
After the waitress headed to the bar, she gave him an appraising glance. "I don't normally drink with men I haven't been introduced to."
"I introduced myself."
"You know what I mean. A perfect stranger."
"I'm hardly perfect. You have a beautiful voice. You're not so bad looking either, kid."
"Stop. You'll get me all flustered."
"You sure you want to do that after what happened to the last one."
"She was living a different life than me."
"And what kind of life was that?"
"What is your angle, pal?" He bit his lip so as not to smile too hard at her sassy attitude.
"I'm a reporter."
"Oh, geez. You just want to talk about Mary Anne. That's a crumby, blood thirsty thing to do. Trying to wine and dine me for a story. "
Calum was a little taken aback but he had to play the part that he had created.
"Look, toots, don't get sore because I am not making a big play for you. I saw what you did to the last guy who tried." He motioned to the table with the drink sodden man.
"If that's what you think making a big play for someone is then I can tell you straight up that I can resist your charms." She shot up from the table and stormed off.
"Hey, what about your drink?"
"I've got another set to play and I would rather drink rat poison than accept a drink from you."
He stared open mouthed after her.
At 2:00 am after the last customer left, he sat playing the piano, waiting for her.
She stepped out in her street clothes. With the costume gone and some of the make-up wiped away, she looked like a little girl. One, he might have thought he needed to protect, had he not known otherwise.
"What are you doing here?"
"Just noodling on the piano. Waiting for you."
"You always noodle Chopin's nocturnes?"
"Only when I am trying to make an impression. Did it work?"
She licked her lips and stared up at him. "Nope."
He laughed.
"Can I offer you a ride?"
"I just live a few blocks away."
"Can I walk you home? It's not safe for you."
Her suspicious eyes were back again.
"Fine but just because there is a maniacal slasher roaming free not because I like you or anything."
"Of course not."