was just like walking into a time warp. There were some unfinished drawings on the desk, strewn with other completed works. Pencils and coloured crayons littered the desk. Some easels had cartoon character sketches in the process of being completed. A heavy crystal ash tray with an abundance of yellowing cigarette stubs lay on the desk. A lighter and two packets of Camel filters were randomly positioned next to them. There was a framed drawing of Pinocchio hanging on a pale yellow wall. In fact, there were cartoon drawings and sketches hung all over the walls. The room had a stale mustiness about it, as though it had never seen the light of day since Max Femmer had died.
Mrs Femmer noticed Marty looking at the framed drawing of a character that had an uncanny resemblance to Pinocchio, and said with some happiness in her voice, “That was one of Max’s drawings for the 1937 film of Pinocchio. Walt thought it was wonderful. Walt adapted it into Pinnochio. He was a good boss to work for and encouraged Max to do some marvellous drawings. See that one over there of Bambi, and the one of Snow White next to it. Max also did the drawing of Red White, over there on the far wall. Walt Disney was going to incorporate the two characters into a film, but never got around to it. Max spent a lot of time in here Inspector, creating his work. Max was originally from Hungary, a Jew by birth, and had gone to live in Germany. His parents had shifted there for work reasons, his father was an artist for the German film industry. But alas, they had to flee Germany when the Nazi uprising began in 1933, and they came to America. Max got a job eventually with Walt Disney and the rest is history. Sadly, Max’s life was cut short and I was left. We had some happy years together, and I have those memories. I can’t get rid of his drawings, they mean so much to me and to Max’s memory.” Marjorie Femmer dropped her head and touched carefully a sketch laying on the desk.
Without thinking, Marty picked up a brass plaque sitting on the desk. The desk was quite long, one half was flat and the other half was on a slant, probably for Max to draw at. There was a stool placed at the slanted end of the desk and a ragged looking dark Brown rug, which Marty was now standing on. The plaque had the wording “Secundus Nilli” engraved on it in black Gothic lettering. Marty knew what the Latin words meant, it had been his high school’s motto; “Second to none”.
Max Femmer must have been very proud to have a motto like this to display. An ego to boot, no doubt, thought Marty.
There was a sharp intake of breath from the direction of Mrs Femmer, who ejaculated, “Put that down at once!” in a sharp command, glaring at Marty with a look of “How dare you!”
Marty placed the plaque back onto the dusty desk and apologised.
Mrs Femmer realised her manner had been brusque and quickly said in a quieter voice, “It’s alright Inspector. It’s just that Max would not like anything to be disturbed. He was very particular about his studio and did not like me entering the room. I think we had better leave.”
The woman now appeared to be eager for Marty to leave the room, and was standing at the doorway with a gesture of her trembling hand. There was certainly a creepy feeling about this room, thought the intrepid Marty.
Why the sudden exit, and change in demeanour from this lady? Interesting, there is more to this room than meets the eye, thought the observant Marty Hislop.
He had noticed that there were no photographs in the house, nothing on the walls or a table. That struck Marty as being acutely odd. If Marjorie was so devoted to her beloved Max, why wasn’t there a photo somewhere? He also wondered how Mrs Femmer kept the place going, assuming that she didn’t work at her age now – unless there was a private income. Marty would have La Paz check her finances out, wouldn’t hurt.
“Just one last thing before I forget, Mrs Femmer. Would you by any chance have a photo of Billy? Perhaps on one of your outings with Billy, you took a snap of him?” suggested the expectant Marty.
“No, I do not have any photos of Billy. We were not photography minded, Inspector,” was the quick and cool response from Mrs Femmer.
Yeah, sure lady. Pigs might fly too! I bet you have something, you thought too much of Billy, concluded Marty.
Marty decided he had better make his exit, he had got all he wanted for now. Mrs Femmer had been helpful to a point, but there was an underlying current. Marty detected that Mrs Femmer was concealing some vital information. But that could wait, give her time to think about it all.
Marty thanked Mrs Femmer for her time and said farewell – for the moment anyway.
CHAPTER four
Marty was walking to the car when his mobile sounded. He could see the call was from La Paz.
“Yeah, La Paz,” was Marty’s blunt response.
“Hi Boss, are you still in the vicinity of North Beaumont? You might like to hear this. There is a lady who lives at 1817 North Beaumont, called Peggy Cavallaro. She was living there when Billy Parsons went missing. Apparently she knew the couple where Billy was staying and is a wealth of information about the old days of Hollywood. I got this info from Universal Studios. Apparently the couple Billy Parsons was staying with are now deceased. Might still be worth talking to this lady, Boss,” was La Paz’s suggestion.
“Okay, will do. Good work, La Paz. I’m going to pay a visit to number 1811 North Beaumont right now. That is where Billy Parsons was staying. A daughter of the dame who looked after Billy, lives there now. Called Anna, according to Mrs Femmer. Didn’t get the family name, assume it is Serenova, after her mother. So when I have done that, I will pay a visit to this Peggy Cavallaro. We can get together when I get back La Paz, bye for now,” was Marty’s parting comment.
So that was good, kill two birds with one stone, just doors apart too, thought Marty. As he got into the car he looked over to a window of the Femmer home and noticed that a curtain had been parted open but was now quickly closed. A figure had moved away from the window. So, Mrs Femmer was having a looksee, thought Marty as he chuckled to himself. Something to hide, definitely. Mrs Marjorie Femmer was a frail person really and the only comfort she had now, was her craving for drink.
Marty left the Femmer residence and drove out of the driveway. Good idea that was, with the semi circular driveway. Easy to get out onto the street. Up the street Marty went and slowed down to check street numbers. Number 1811 came up quicker than he imagined.
Pulling into the neglected driveway, he thought the whole scene before him was just like the house from the TV series The Addams Family. The large three storey wood home was in desperate need of repair. The paintwork had peeled off considerably and there were signs of rot in the timber. The grounds, whilst quite large, were overgrown with thorn bushes and clambering roses. A rust bucket Ford F250 stood languishing in a corner of the block under a makeshift carport.
Marty got out of the car and carefully negotiated his way up the path to the once black double front door. The entrance was littered with rubbish and weeds grew out of the crevices in the wood planks. Lifting the well worn brass knocker, it almost came off in his hand. Marty knocked with his hand instead and expected a grim faced butler to open the door and say in a deep flat voice, “Yes”. Instead, the door creaked open to reveal a hag.
Well, she looks the part, thought Marty.
Her face was dirty and displayed a disdainful expression. She smelt of stale urine and nicotine and some other aroma. Marty could not place it, but he had smelt it before during his time with the force. The creature before him wore a long purple caftan with gold embroidery running through it. No shoes on the feet and a long thin cigar was stuck in the surly lips. Black lipstick had been smothered
