The Hollywood Spy by Susan Elia MacNeal

Author:Susan Elia MacNeal [MacNeal, Susan Elia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2021-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

When John and Maggie entered the dim, cool lobby of the Chateau Marmont, Babbu Singh was waiting for them. “Dr. Singh!” Maggie exclaimed. “I was waiting for a telephone message—we didn’t expect you to hand-deliver the results!”

“Still not a Ph.D., alas, but soon,” he said as he stood. “Professor Pauling insisted I bring you everything in person.” He handed over a folder of clipped papers. “The water’s clean and clear, with only salt used for purifying,” he told them, pushing up his glasses. “Probably the cleanest pool water in all of Los Angeles.”

“What about the scarf?” Maggie asked.

“Ah, now, the scarf’s a different story—and why he wanted me to return it directly to you. It tested positive for human fecal matter and blood.” He handed Maggie the bag.

She took it, feeling numb. Fecal matter and blood? Maggie and John exchanged a look. “What type of blood?” she asked.

“B-negative.”

Maggie swallowed. “According to the police report, Gloria Hutton’s blood type was B-negative.” My God, Gloria really was murdered. The shock made her momentarily light-headed. Come on, Hope, she told herself. You have to focus.

“Of course, it doesn’t mean the pool water was clean the night she died,” Bob said. “But with something like poop—excuse me, Miss Hope—excrement—there would most likely still be traces unless they drained the entire pool, scrubbed it down, and refilled it with fresh water.”

“I found the scarf in Gloria Hutton’s bathroom,” Maggie said. “If she was actually…drowned…in the toilet, wearing the scarf—” She suppressed a shudder. “We’ll be able to match the curved injury on her skull with the rim of the toilet seat.” Bob nodded.

“And so it was murder,” John said. “This evidence proves it.”

“Yes, we can prove Gloria was murdered in her bathroom—and her body was moved to the pool as part of a cover-up.” She looked to John. “But there’s still the question of who would want her dead. And why?”

“That,” Bob replied, “I’m afraid the laboratory can’t tell you.”

“Thank you for running the tests, writing them up, and then driving all this way,” Maggie told the graduate student, aware he probably hadn’t slept much, if at all. “We’ll be calling the police immediately.”

Bob touched a hand to his turban in farewell. “Good luck to both of you,” he said. “I hope you find the monster who did it.”

When he left, John turned to Maggie. “It’s been quite a day,” he said. “Are you still up for the Cocoanut Grove at the Ambassador Hotel tonight? With Sarah?”

“We can’t do any work on a Sunday night anyway,” Maggie said, still flustered by the confirmation that Gloria’s death was indeed murder.

“But is it too much?” he pressed, concerned. “On top of everything today?”

“What would Gloria say?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, she’d definitely tell us to go out and cut a rug in her honor.”

“Well, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll just call the police station and then freshen up.”

“Why don’t I leave you to it? I’ll pick you and Sarah up at seven-thirty?”

“Sounds good,” Maggie said, still distracted.

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