April 14, 1945, 12:03 A.M. A pretty girl with blonde hair walks the short stretch of Hollywood Boulevard after work, to the small apartment she shares with her sister. She doesn’t make it.
April 14, 6 P.M. – Robbie looks at Jean who’s wearing a pained expression. Someone’s screeching at her on the phone, and she has to hold it away. Robbie laughs to himself, and Jean shoots him a look. Jean was good looking with wavy black hair and a husky voice. “She could have been an actress or a singer” Robbie thought to himself as he walked back over to his desk. Instead, she worked for the LAPD.
“That was awful,” Jean said, to no one in particular, but Robbie was the closest to her. He laughed again.
“What was?” He asked
“A girl reported her sister missing… yesterday. She wouldn’t listen when I told her she had to be gone for more than a day to be considered missing. I told her I felt for her and if she wasn’t home or hadn’t called by tomorrow to call back. She paused for thought. Robbie was handsome. Well kept dark brown hair, strong jaw. “He could have been a singer or an actor.” But, like her, he worked for the state. Funny how that works out.
It was already the end of the work day, and they were both at the end of the tether. She looked at the clock on the far wall.
“You wanna go for drinks?” She asked. He raised an eyebrow and obliged.
They had fun, the would be singers, and he asked her for drinks again sometime and she’d said “Any time,” And he was happy. Shortly after walking Jean home (much to her despair, she was an independent woman after all), he began his own walk home, not thinking about work, just Jean’s pretty hair. He was just about to turn off of Hollywood, but then, he stopped. He didn’t know why he stopped, but he did. Things were awfully quiet, but he could hear someone’s radio playing a slow Sinatra song somewhere up the street. Naturally, he was surprised when he heard a woman scream up ahead. He dashed up to the mouth of an alley where a young couple clutched each other in fear. He flashed his badge at the couple and then followed their gaze.
“Of course it’s a body” he muttered to himself, but the lovers either didn’t hear him or they ignored him. Slumped over in the corner was a pretty blonde girl with a cut throat. She looked awfully dirty and roughed up, but not dead long. He ran to a payphone nearby, called the LAPD, gave his credentials and explained to whoever was on duty, (it didn’t matter to Robbie) the situation at hand. Within minutes, the alleyway was packed full of people and camera flashes. He took the statements of the couple who’d discovered the body, who were, of course, just there to make out. He told them to go home and get some sleep. He could tell they were eager to leave. Robbie then had his own statement taken, and was told to go home as well and let the boys on duty handle it. He was tired, but that wasn’t what he wanted on his mind as he drifted off, but, before he knew it, he was in his bed with the lights out.
“Nancy Elle Davis” Captain Marsh had said as he dropped a thin case file onto Robbie’s desk to wake him up. He’d hardly gotten any sleep, but he pushed the thought aside as he opened up the folder. He listened to Jean while he read.
“That’s the sister of that girl who called yesterday,” she said, leaning on her desk. He nodded his head as he continued reading. He found it odd that she hadn’t been raped or even robbed. It looked like a random killing- a thought that would not make his job any easier.
For days, leads came pouring in and the case gained publicity. And then, the death threats started coming. For a straight week the precinct was up in arms over something new every day; unmarked boxes, strange phone calls that couldn’t be traced and notes with letters cut from a magazine. Robbie tended to ignore them. He figured it was just someone looking for attention in the midst of a big case. It didn’t occur to him that it could have been the killer himself, because these threats were all seemingly very generic.
The next Monday, after heaps of fruitless leads, Robbie and his partner, James, go to visit Nancy’s sister, Carol. She welcomes them in but something seems off. She explains that they caught her just in time, as she was just about to run errands. The men ask her the standard questions about her alibi; something she couldn’t provide. He observed the place. Neat kitchen…knife block…one missing. Probably just dirty.
“I was at home all night,” she sobbed. She knew that didn’t look good, but despite that, there was nothing the two detectives could do. Her answers are short but impassioned. “Did Nancy have a boyfriend or a jealous ex? Was she getting along with the girls at the restaurant?”
“No! Of course not!” She wailed. She informed them of her gut feeling that it had been a serial killer. Robbie didn’t have the heart to tell her that it looked like a crime of passion. They thanked her for her time and gave their condolences before leaving.
“Not right.” Finished James. The woman was too…all over the place. So theatrical. It didn’t strike either man as true grief. On their way back to the precinct, they stopped at Nancy’s old place of work, a small diner for answers and something to eat. None of the employees could tell them anything of value, but the food was good. They had a window seat, and something caught James’ eye. Walking down the opposite side of the street was Carol, carrying a bag. She threw it into the dumpster behind the bank, looked around, and quickly walked back to her apartment.
James and Robbie quickly paid for their food and dashed across the road to the dumpster. They grabbed the bag and headed back to the precinct. Inside it, they discovered a bloody jacket and paring knife. Suits were almost immediately back at the apartment on Hollywood. Carol put up a fight, but not much of one. By three in the afternoon, Carol Jane Davis sat in an interrogation room staring at the table. Robbie watched behind the glass as James played bad cop like he always did.
“Why’d you kill your sister, Carol?” He asked plainly.
She leaned forward on the table.
“She was still breathing when I left her,” she said smugly, all previous tears gone. James wasn’t fazed.
“Alright, why did you cut her throat and leave her for dead then, hm?” He asked, dripping with sarcasm.She sat back, surprise on her face.
“Because she would have told on me,” she said, batting her lashes. James tensed.
“The other bodies, of course.”
“Oh, just…people. People that obviously aren’t missed. People get in a huff when someone kills the pretty blonde girl, though.” She rested her hand on her head thoughtfully.
“Where are they?”
“Around. Here and there.”
“I can help you,” James said, as bait for information, but she was smart.
“Why? I’ll be locked up for the rest of my life as it is. Why add to it?” She mocked. James shook his head and left the room. Robbie watched through the glass. Jean came in and handed him some coffee. He thanked her.
“What is it? She asked, looking at Carol.
“I just don’t get it. The way she’s carried on, she could have been an actress,” but Jean just laughed and led him by the hand out of the room.