Hard Case Crime: Shooting Star & Spiderweb Read Free

another time I might have been willing to take the chance of finding out, but right now I wanted to see those back issues.
    I gave her a list of dates, as near as I could recall.
    “Not again!” she said, checking them over on her pad.
    “Somebody else ask for them?”
    “This morning. Look, here’s the old sheet—same dates. I know, because I had to haul them out.”
    “Happen to know who it was?”
    “Why?”
    “Just curious.” I leaned over the counter. “Confidentially, I happen to be a writer. The reason I want those papers is to check up on a story I’m doing. And I wondered if somebody else might have the same idea and plans to beat me to it.”
    “Oh.” She smiled. “You know, the minute you walked in here I said to myself, he’s a writer!”
    “How could you tell?”
    “I just knew, that’s all. We get a lot of them in here.”
    “I’ll bet. And the person this morning?”
    She shook her head. “I didn’t see him. I just went and got the papers. Mae filled out the slip, but she’s too old to go hauling around in the files. Wait, I’ll go ask her.”
    My little feline friend padded off. Presently she returned.
    “Sorry. She says she can’t remember who it was.”
    “But if she tried...”
    “She did try.” The girl gestured toward the room. “Look, mister, we get a hundred people an hour in here, eight hours a day, six days a week. Who bothers to remember all those faces? Mae’s been here twelve years.”
    “Bully for her,” I said. “And thanks, anyway. Now, can I take a look?”
    The girl brought me the stack and I took them over to a table. I pulled out a pen and a notebook and went to work. For the next hour I was up to my neck in murder.
    The newspapers told it their own way—with headlines, with pictures, with feature stories, even with editorials. But gradually I got the facts sifted until I could tell it in my own way, to myself.
    Dick Ryan was a pretty boy. He had black, curly hair and clear blue eyes and stood six feet two in lounging pajamas. He had a great following among the youth of America; in the 6-to-12-year-old group with the boys, and the 16-to-36-year-old group with the girls. The boys thought he looked good on a horse. What the girls thought I really couldn’t say. (I could, but there are limits).
    Ryan had played in oaters for about five years before his death, working for two or three studios before he tied up with Abe Kolmar at Apex and starred in the Lucky Larry series. Although he didn’t sing, play the guitar or twirl a baton, his pictures were highly successful; particularly in the rural areas, where his protrusions of jaw and biceps were equated with manly cleancut heroism. He did not smoke, drink or indulge in amorous advances on the screen.
    But when the cameras stopped grinding on the evening of April 2nd, Dick Ryan held a little party in his private trailer. He was on location at Abe Kolmar’s ranch out in the San Fernando Valley, and he might easily have chosen to drive into town or stay at Kolmar’s place. But Ryan preferred his trailer, a handsome, custom-built job that accompanied him whenever he was shooting away from the studio. It had a built-in bar and a number of other conveniences which made it ideal for parties.
    This particular party started out in a small way, as a matter of fact with just Ryan and a bottle. But shortly after the dinner hour at the Kolmar ranch, the celebration grew. Polly Foster came in. This wasn’t unusual, because Polly Foster played opposite Dick Ryan on (and some said off ) the screen. Tom Trent, who did the villain in the series, accompanied her. Both of them were staying at Kolmar’s place overnight, as were most of the principals in the cast.
    According to their story, Ryan was already high when they arrived. He was cursing Joe Dean, and that wasn’t unusual either. Dean was his stooge, valet, chauffeur, masseur, and one-man audience. At the moment, Dean was driving Abe Kolmar into town for a preview. The