Hammered: A Jewel to Die For

I thought about it but shook my head. The victim didn't look particularly like anyone in the suspect pool in any of my old cases or in those we'd gotten since Vaughan had joined me. Therefore, I was hoping this would be a false alarm and Vaughan and I would soon be on our way back to our homes and our beds.

Miller bent over the body and peeled the left side of the shirt back, exposing the upper part of the dead man's chest and shoulder. The bright red lipstick was a little smeared but we could still make it out.

Written across a lipstick heart were the words "Dyna Myte," with the impression of a kiss on his collar bone just above them.

My knees went weak when I saw it and I muttered a single, harsh curse word.

Had my past come back to haunt me?

***

"You want to tell me what the hell 'Dyna Myte' means, Sarge?" asked George as we headed back to the car. "Other than that somebody can't spell worth a crap?"

I looked at him in the darkness as we made our way back down the alley, not sure how much I should say. George was 32, had just been promoted to detective a couple of weeks earlier, and had been assigned as my new partner the next day. I was white, he was black, and there had been a sense of distrust between us from the start. I wasn't sure how much that had to do with our vastly different backgrounds and how much was that we were still in that introductory period where trust is built or, in some cases, destroyed.

When we made it to the sidewalk at the end of the alley, the streetlights were a welcome sight, as if we were stepping into a different world.

"Well?" he demanded.

Trust is a two-way street; sometimes you've just got to take that first step.

"George, it's Les when we're together. Catch," I said, tossing him the car keys. "Your turn to drive. The precinct. Let's go."

His eyebrow shot up and he caught the keys in the air with a grin; this was the first time I'd used his given name and tried to make things more informal between us. It was also the first time I'd given him the keys to our unmarked sedan. I'd get his set of keys out of my desk when we got back to the station.

Following department regs, we buckled up before George pulled out. His attitude, for the first time, seemed a bit more relaxed. Trust, it seems, does work both ways.

"So, what gives, Sar—Les?" I think he grinned a bit as he said it, enjoying the informality. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost back there, almost as white as that Jones kid."

George was definitely smiling as he said the last part, his white teeth looking even brighter offset against the darkness of his skin. There'd been a lot of talk over the past few years about the city's push to better integrate the force and give everyone the chance to advance, but that generated a lot of distrust throughout the department. From what I'd heard though, George Vaughan had made it on merit rather than affirmative action, and his observations and insights so far had borne that out.

Lieutenant Otis Crosley, our immediate supervisor, had assigned me to show George the ropes and to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't screw up like I almost had when I switched from the uniform to a suit.

"I'm not sure," I said. "When I was first starting out as a beat cop, barely out of the academy, I came across a lady who went by that moniker."

"Lady? You mean as in lady of the evening? A streetwalker?"

I breathed out, slow and long. "Maybe at one time. It's said she'd been in town for years but she first showed up on the police blotter shortly after the war ended, late '46 or early '47, picked up for acting as a madam for a string of girls—call girls, not streetwalkers. She was in her early 30s and was almost a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe, without the mole, of course, but she didn't have a rap sheet at the time, so she smiled at the judge and he dismissed the charges."

"Must have been a really pretty smile, even if she did look like Marilyn."

"Oh, it was, believe me, but rumor had it that it was the judge who was smiling later that night."

"Ah, got it. How long before she was arrested again?"

"Last time I checked, shortly after I made detective, her sheet was still clean."

"Really? That was, what? Sixty-two, right? And she hadn't been in trouble again?"

"Yeah, back in '62, and no, no more trouble on the books. I made a notation in the records then to be contacted if she showed up again, but there's been nothing, not even a peep, since then."

"So how do you know all of this? And why the hell would you be checking her sheet and requesting the nod? And, Les, pardon my French, but what the fuck does it have to do with this case?"

I sighed again. "It's, well, complicated. My four years were up so I got out of the army in '52 and went into the police academy about a month later. I'd done some MP training in the army and was supposed to be sent off to Germany but they were pretty woefully unprepared for the mess in Korea so I got rerouted there, where the German my granny taught me wasn't worth squat."

"Yeah, it's about worth that NYC these days, too," George agreed with a laugh.

"Yeah. Tell me about it. And the bit of Korean I picked up means even less."

He laughed again.

"Anyway, it was just a few weeks after graduation when my first partner, Joey Maroni, and I got an assignment to guard this madam, Dinah, Dyna Myte, who ran a call-girl operation. She'd been a witness to a murder and she had the goods on a gangster named Red Hornaday. He sent some of his goons after her and I had to run away with her for a time to keep her safe. One officer gave his life and Joey and another officer were wounded giving me time to get her away."

"Oooh, I'm sorry. To brothers in blue." He gave a little salute in their honor.

"Yeah, to brothers," I agreed, still feeling the pain of Chip's death all the years later. Rhett, who'd been badly injured, had recovered eventually before transferring to a department in Indiana or Idaho or somewhere like that, and Joey Maroni, my old partner, made detective some years later and was now assigned to the 37th precinct, where Chip and Rhett had worked at the time. I suspected that he'd been the one who had them put in the call to me.

"Anyway, they gave us the time to get away and we ran, we stayed hidden, and then we came back a few weeks later so Dinah could testify. When she did, Red Hornaday was convicted and sent off to Attica where the bastard died in prison."

"Not in the riot?"

"Oh, no, that was, what? Two years ago? No, Red was killed a number of years earlier. I don't know if they ever caught the guy who stabbed him, but considering it probably helped the guards, I'm not sure they looked all that hard for the guy that did it."

George drove in silence for a bit but he appeared to be reflecting on our discussion. He turned to me at a light and said, "Les...maybe I'm misreading this, but you cared about this Dyna Myte, didn't you? At least a little?"

I nodded. "Yeah. A lot."

He gave a single nod as my statement made part of the situation clearer to him. "Wait...you said you were looking up her rap sheet. Then you didn't know what happened to her?"

I sighed. "Nope. She disappeared and I don't know where she went. If I'd ever known, I'd probably be there now instead of here."

And I hated that.

Rumor had it that Dinah Myatt had left town for good soon after testifying but I had no way of knowing for sure and she never attempted to contact me. As time passed, the heartache I felt over her absence lessened, at least a little, and I eventually took some night classes so I could make detective. I met Patricia in 1959 and we hit it off well, marrying in the fall of 1960. Things were good for the first couple of years, but between my work and her attitude, the situation between us eventually went downhill. After nearly eight childless years, we divorced, with her remarrying soon thereafter and moving out west to California or somewhere. I never saw her again but never really cared either.

George turned off the car and handed me the keys when we reached the precinct. "I'm sorry," he said. "Let's go find her."

***

A search of rap sheets, drivers' licenses, and the state department of motor vehicles turned up nothing on Dinah Myatt. It was a local matter and she wasn't even a suspect so we didn't bother trying the Feds, knowing how that would be a waste of time.

In fact, I suspected that this had nothing to do with her at all, that another streetwalker had come up with or perhaps happened on the name and had taken it as her own. After all, a lot of girls used a moniker or even an alias when dealing with their johns to help protect some small part of their privacy.

Finding nothing by 8 in the morning, we took off to go home to get a little rest before continuing when our shift started in the late afternoon.

"You rested?" asked George when he arrived.

"A bit. You?"

"Not enough. Let's try to avoid going into overtime tonight, okay?"

"Deal," I laughed. I gave him some calls to make and some additional research to do while I made some calls on my own, including one to my former boss, Jack Stevens. He'd retired as a captain a few years earlier and moved out a little way where his wife could have a garden and he could go out to fish in the Sound, just a few miles away, whenever he wanted.

He sounded happy to hear from me when I called and we chatted for a couple of minutes to catch up before I told him the real reason for the call.

"Really, Les? Not over the phone. Come on out to the house, I'll have Martha make us lemonade or we can have beer if you want to stay for a while, and we'll talk. You still working evenings and nights? How about seven tomorrow? Will that work for you?"

George and I had some leads to track down on other cases later in the evening and we called it quits at midnight. Needing rest a lot more than I needed another bout with Annie, I was very quiet when I got home and unlocked my door slowly to avoid her hearing me.

It's true that I liked Annie a lot but I suspected that she was starting to see our arrangement as more of a relationship than we'd originally agreed and more than I still wanted. After the years with Patricia and seeing what a mess they and the divorce had made of my life, I wasn't interested in relationships anymore, particularly those involving rings or joint bank accounts.

I was about to pour a drink when I looked at the bottle and shook my head. As tired as I was this night, I shouldn't need anything, either a broad or booze, to help me sleep.

***

George and I drove out to Syosset on Long Island the next evening as planned. At two minutes to seven, we pulled into the driveway of a neatly kempt bungalow-style home that was the current address of Jack and Martha Stevens.

Jack opened the front door and we shook hands as I made introductions. He led us out back where Mrs. Stevens had a big jar of lemonade and some cookies waiting on us.

"Got beer, too, if you'd prefer," said Jack.

"No thanks, this looks good to me," said George, and I agreed.

We chatted for a few minutes with Jack catching up with me and getting to know George. When we paused to sip our ade, I took the opportunity to move to our reason for coming.

"Captain—"

"It's Jack now, Les. Those days are over for me."

"Thanks, Jack," I replied, barely biting off the "sir" instead of Jack. "The boys in blue found something at a crime scene that suggests Dinah Myatt may have returned to the city, if she was ever really gone. She'd be almost 60 now, so I'm not sure if...what?"

Jack was shaking his head. "Les, it's not Dinah. Let it go, okay?"

"Jack, I can't. It's too important."

He shook his head again and I thought I saw a tear roll down his cheek. "It's...it's not her. It's not Dinah."

"Sir," I said, falling back into old ways, "if you know something, you need to tell me."

His face was painted with a pained expression but he finally nodded. "Les, I, ah, I'm sorry to have to tell you this because I know she meant something to you at one time, but...Dinah died nearly two years ago. She'd left a letter with her attorney to send to me when she passed."

"What...what happened?" I asked in disbelief. "And why'd she send it to you instead of me?"

"One question at a time, okay? What happened? Breast cancer. They didn't catch it until it was too late. She was out in a little town in Colorado, had been for years, ever since she left town, I think. I confirmed everything with the local sheriff and what passes for an ME out there because I didn't believe it either at first."

I think he added that last part because I was shaking my head in denial just like he had been. She was too young to be gone, but Jack picked up a folder out of the side of his seat that I hadn't noticed earlier.

It was a newspaper clipping with her picture, older than I recalled but it was her and she was still beautiful. Her name was shown as Dinah Woodall rather than Myatt, but it was definitely her. The obituary said she'd lived in the community for almost 18 years and had run a little flower shop and even been president of the local PTA.

"What? PTA?"

"Keep reading," instructed Jack.

"Mrs. Woodall is survived by her daughter, Diamond Rose, age 17. She had no other known living relatives.

I collapsed back in the chair. "Jack, she had a daughter? What the hell?"

"That gets back to your other question. Before...before you two went on the run, Dyna Myte was said to have fucked anybody and everybody necessary to stay out of trouble and to have kept proof to keep it that way. Les...don't tell Martha, I beg you."

"Fuck," I breathed, the situation becoming clearer. "You and Dinah?"

George's eyes were like saucers as he listened to the two of us, and Jack's voice was as small as George's eyes were big. "Yeah, off and on for several years. It was causing trouble between Martha and me, so we'd broken it off shortly before you two went on the run, but we were still really close. When I thought you'd been the one to betray her and take her away, I swore to myself that I was going to personally kill you if you hurt her. Then she told me that you were on her side and the only thing keeping her alive...well, I was confused after that and was shocked when you got her into the courtroom to testify."

I chuckled at that recollection, the first bit of levity regarding the entire situation, but then the anger swept back over me. I'd loved Dinah and she'd said she loved me...but she communicated with Jack, her ex-lover rather than me?

"So you two stayed in contact even though she couldn't—or wouldn't?—stay in touch with me?

He shook his head. "No, Les, I helped her escape and received a few touristy-type postcards from various locations, probably vacations, over the years, but didn't know where she'd settled until the letter and the obituary. I had no way to get back in touch with her and she didn't want me to tell you since she hoped you'd forget about her and move on. She made that quite clear to me before she left. That was the way she wanted it. I'm sorry."

I was pretty shaken up, so we shook hands with Jack and then thanked Martha for the cookies and lemonade as we went back through the house on our way out.

When we reached the front door, I said, "George, I'll be out in a second," before turning back to Jack.

"One other thing: did we ever determine who gave up the location of that safehouse?"

Jack's face hardened as he recalled the events of twenty years earlier. Guadanni dead, Bhutel forced to take a less stressful job due to his injuries, and Joey Maroni out of work for a while as he recovered. Jack shook his head. "I never found the sonuvabitch and it may be too late now...but if I ever do, he'll pay."

"You're retired so let it go, Jack. It's on me now."

We shook hands again, firmer this time, each with our face set in determination, before I went out to the car. George was behind the wheel and he turned to me after we were out on the road heading back toward the city.

"The girl, this Diamond Rose. Is she yours?"

My mouth fell open at the idea, something I hadn't even thought about until he suggested it. I quickly did the math in mind, figuring our time together and the girl's age at the time of her mother's death.

"Fuck!"

"So, you do think there's a chance she could be yours, don't you?"

I nodded, a slow bob, wondering if it could really be true, questioning whether I could be a father without ever having known it. Dinah was always so...fastidious...when it came to the rubbers we'd used. Unless....

"I don't know, but, yeah, it's possible."

I swear the bastard almost cracked a smile, but he resisted and said, "If so, I hope you find her someday and can have a relationship with her. I have a daughter at home; she's almost three. I can't imagine not being there to see her grow, even with the hours we keep."

"Thanks," I muttered, as so many thoughts swarmed through my head. Then what he said really struck me. "Your daughter? Tell me about her."

***

Once back at the precinct, we left a message for the homicide detectives handling the John Doe murder case before heading out on the streets for the rest of the evening and part of the night.

With the time difference, I contacted the local sheriff's department in Colorado the next afternoon before reporting for work. As far as anyone knew, Diamond Rose Woodall had left town around a year before, just a few months after graduating from high school. No one knew where she'd gone.

There was also a message for us at the precinct when we arrived to go on duty that evening. The homicide crew had nothing and didn't expect to ever have anything unless they got lucky. George and I prowled the streets again that evening, talking to our informants and any number of known pros to see if anyone knew of someone going by "Dyna Myte."

Once again, we drew blanks all around and I was getting discouraged that we'd ever find the person or be able to establish a connection to the John Doe.

***

This was the pattern for several days, with George and me continuing to search for the mysterious Dyna Myte, for word on the dead John Doe, and what we could discover on a number of our other cases. To our disappointment, we didn't seem to be making much progress on any of them.

Working Vice Squad requires a flexible schedule, evenings, nights, mornings, afternoons, and all-too-often several of those in rapid succession. Sleep whenever I can get it is quite important so you can imagine my displeasure when my phone sounded early in the morning after George and I had pulled a 14-hour shift.

"Pardee. What?" I muttered through my half-awake stupor.

It was a woman's voice, seemingly young, with a bit of a quaver. "Mr. Pardee, you don't know me but I need your help. My mom said if I ever got in trouble in the city that I should contact you."

I sat up in the bed, now wide awake. "Who the hell is this?"

"Sir, my name is Diamond, Diamond Rose Woodall. My mom—you knew her as Dinah Myatt—said you were her friend and that you might be able to help me if I needed it. I'm in trouble, Mr. Pardee, and I really could use help. Someone's been following me and they tried to grab me last night. I got away but I don't know what to do or where to go. I'm scared and I'm afraid to go home."

My heart was pounding. Dinah. Diamond, the name from the obituary. Dinah's daughter. My daughter? Could Diamond really be my girl? Could she be going around as Dyna Myte?

Nervous as a cat, I asked, "Where are you, Diamond?" as I started throwing on my clothes.

She told me and I said, "Stay put and stay out of sight. There's a park right across the street. I'll be there at the fountain in thirty minutes. You come out in thirty-two minutes, cross with the light at the corner with a bunch of people—don't cross by yourself, even if you have to wait another cycle. Enter the park and go straight to the fountain, okay?" If she really was in trouble and someone was after her, crossing in a group should keep her safe and, hopefully, prevent her from being nabbed or run down.