Goodbye Natalie
Chapter Seven: Dark Passage
It was nearing three p.m. by the time Fallon Dawn Hunter finished interviewing Vivian Valentine at her dilapidated Hollywood Hills mansion regarding her missing son, Frankie. Fallon had looked through the son’s room for clues and within minutes discovered a worn leather bound address book hidden haphazardly between his mattresses along with about a half an ounce of weed and a couple of girlie magazines. There were also some Polaroid photos; it seemed young Frankie liked to keep a record of his conquests. It didn’t take an experienced investigator to uncover the hiding spot. Any kid growing up knows the go-to stash spot is the mattress. It also took no brilliant detective work to see that Frankie Valentine had a favorite type, he liked them young and pretty and yellow. Our boy had a serious case of yellow fever, which Fallon would make note of...maybe it would help in finding out where the missing son of a has-been movie star had gotten to.
In the back of the address book were some bank receipts, cancelled checks and business cards. Several checks, in varying amounts, were from an Emma Cuenca, four-four-two Alexandria Avenue. Fallon Dawn knew the street. The Ambassador Hotel, where Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated, was located at the intersection of Alexandria and Wilshire. The same corner where the old Brown Derby restaurant used to be, across from the towering Equitable Building. She had temped there when first coming to L.A. and knew the neighborhood a little. Wilshire Boulevard was between sixth and eighth streets, so four-four-two Alexandria would be about two or three blocks north.
Traffic was still tolerable between North Hollywood and mid-Wilshire that time of day. It was uncomfortably sunny and hot though and Fallon found a shady parking spot under some palms, a few yards up from four-four-two. There were no security gates or outer door, it was a modest twelve unit building, quiet and economical, no frills but comfortable one bedroom apartments for working class types, just two or so blocks from the office building district.
As Fallon Dawn made her way along the walkway on the second floor towards number seven, her danger senses were triggered. The door was standing slightly ajar and the molding had splintered away from the door handle and deadbolt area, someone had forced their way in and Fallon froze momentarily, listening intently to detect any noise or movement coming from within. She didn’t hear anything and cautiously peeked inside as she quietly unclipped her purse and rummaged for her little gun. Feeling its familiar weight and coolness made her a bit more confident, she wasn’t consciously thinking about her lack of experience or her inadequacies as an investigator at the moment...the fact that this was her first foray into the P.I. field wasn’t a part of her analysis. She was simply curious and concerned about the situation on the other side of the door and was going on pure instinct. It was dark inside and she slowly made her way through the door and into the living room. There was a direct view into the kitchen and off to the left was a doorway which she ascertained must lead to the bedroom. She soundlessly moved forward.
At the doorway she hesitated and listened again, gingerly, she crept toward the bedroom. On the right, in the small hallway, was a bathroom, she peered inside to make sure no one was there, then stepped into the bedroom. She was startled to see the bedroom window had been broken out, the shades were torn from the wall, shards of glass littered the bed and floor. More shocking however, was the naked body of the still pretty Emma Cuenca lying motionless at the foot of the bed. Her head was bent in an unnatural angle and she wasn’t breathing. Fallon Dawn’s eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled, she fought to remain conscious, this was no time for fainting. She dashed into the bathroom and fell over the toilet, ready to throw up. Nothing but dry heaves came and she righted herself and splashed water on her face. She steeled herself for what was to come, what she knew instinctively was needed to be done. She was going to have to check for a pulse. Fallon Dawn had never seen a dead body before, much less touch one. But what if the poor girl was still alive by some miracle? There was no choice in the matter, this had to be done. For a few moments, Fallon Dawn struggled with fear and doubt versus basic humanity. Quickly, she rationalized that there was no choice and stepped from the bathroom. As she inched toward the body on the floor, Fallon processed information, she knew that this was most likely Emma Cuenca, the woman whose name was on the checks, this was her address and all signs pointed to that assumption. She had short, nicely cut black hair, large oval dark eyes and a full, sexual mouth. Her skin was a bronze-gold, not an ounce of body fat and Fallon immediately hated that this girl’s life was ended. She was probably just under one-hundred pounds and whoever did this didn’t have much of an opponent. Could Frankie Valentine be a suspect? Well, according to her brief police-detective manual studies, he would be the prime suspect.
The body wasn’t cold yet, as Fallon touched fingers to neck, it was obvious the girl was gone. There was no heartbeat, no spirit, no life. This was just a body now, no longer a vibrant, living, loving human being. Fallon staggered back into the living room and tried to regain her senses. She picked up a book of matches from the coffee table and with great difficulty tried to light a cigarette with trembling hands. She spotted a desk phone on the table and felt the urge to dial nine-one-one. Her mind was racing and reason intermingled with panic and fear. An indistinct sound from the bedroom caused her heart to skip a beat. In that instant, she wondered if she and the dead girl were the only ones in the apartment or was it just a bird in the trees outside the broken bedroom window? She didn’t care to know. With adrenaline fed speed and dexterity, Fallon Dawn was out the door, down the steps and rounding the building corner within seconds. She was in for one more shock however, as she breached the corner, she ran headlong into the solid frame of a man in a suit. Her cigarette scattered flying embers, Alan’s hat (which she’d forgotten she was wearing) flew off and rolled down the driveway. She was seeing stars from the concussion of the unexpected collision. It turned out it was two men, one of whom retrieved her hat and the other gallantly held her from falling and asked if she was alright. He leaned her against the building wall on a row of tin mailboxes built into the stucco, and again inquired of her condition. The voice was familiar, and both she and Detective Nick Bonetti had the same look of recognition and confusion on their faces as they realized simultaneously who the other was. Bonetti had just questioned Fallon Dawn this morning regarding Alan Rassmussen’s suicide, and now, only six hours later, they meet again.
Fallon was noticeably flustered and Bonetti assumed it was due to the impact of the collision. He showed great concern and as she gained her composure Fallon Dawn managed to get some words out.
”What are you doing here?”
Bonetti said, ”We got a report from neighbors of a commotion. A possible break in, perhaps. We were the closest unit and thought we’d check it out. What brings you here?”
Fallon answered without thinking. She had no reason to lie to the police, at least not in this case, but the death of her boss so recently, the threat from the killer to keep quiet, the discovery of a dead body just now...Like a kid caught shoplifting, her first instinct was to lie.
”I was visiting a friend.”
Bonetti was eyeing the building over, taking in the lay-out. His partner, Harry Tong, brushed off Fallon’s hat and handed it to her.
”Nice hat.”
She sheepishly accepted it. ”Thank you.”
Bonetti spoke, ”You happen to see or hear anything unusual here?”
Fallon shook her head. ”No, nothing.”
Bonetti nodded, ”Well, we better check it out.”
Fallon Dawn sensed her imminent escape and turned to go. ”Alright then, goodbye.”
Before she could get away, Bonetti stopped her. ”Fallon, how long were you here?”
Her mind sped and she spat out the first thing that came into it. ”Only a minute or two, my friend wasn’t home.”
”Does your friend have a name?” Fallon smiled guiltily.
”Well, of course...” As she turned, her eyes scanned the row of mailboxes and settled on a name. ”Mirna Salguero.”
”Oh, a girlfriend then.”
”That’s right.” They both stood uncomfortably.
”Well, we better get to work, nice seeing you again Fallon. Remember, if you need anything...”
”I remember.” She fled the scene as if she was the murderer herself. A few blocks away, she pulled into a mini-mall on the corner of Sixth and Normandie and pounded her head into the steering wheel. What the hell was she doing!? She obviously should have told Bonetti why she was at Emma Cuenca’s building, she had nothing to hide. She was simply looking for Vivian Valentine’s son and had only taken on the case to help the old lady and to be able to pay her bills. This made the second time she’s lied to the police, and both times involved dead people that she had at least a secondary association with. She was quickly talking herself into rushing back to Alexandria and spilling her guts to Bonetti. She lit another cigarette and fiddled with the matchbook while thinking. If she told Bonetti about Alan’s killer, might it indeed put his kids in jeopardy? She tapped the matchbook against her head, trying to force reason through chaos. She idly read the cover, ”Dragon Lady Bar – Sixth and Normandie”. Looking out of her car window, directly across the street, a sign above an unmarked door read, ”Dragon Lady.”
Logic and reason melded into happenstance and cosmic intervention. Fallon Dawn was entranced with the coincidence. She wasn’t a particularly karmically or zenetically in-tune person, but some circumstances just can’t be ignored. She would straighten out her ”miscues” and ”misstatements” to Bonetti later, right now the siren call of the Dragon Lady beckoned. It was loud and insistent and undeniable. She locked the car and crossed the street.
This was the second darkened doorway through which Fallon Dawn had stepped today. What lie beyond, she had no way of knowing, what propelled her onward, was a mystery. Was she merely seeking answers to questions involving tragedy and peril in other people’s lives? Or in the scattered puzzle pieces were there clues to her own fears, dreams, desires and identity? What was a nice girl from Lonely, Kansas doing involved in such an enigmatic quest and where will it lead? Could she ever go back to that happy, carefree life. Or, was what beckoned through the dark passage too terrible or unforgettable to ever return from?
