Abduction at Griffith Observatory

By Christopher Geoffrey McPherson

James Murray is a young man with a dream -- he wants to be a writer just like his idol, Dashiell Hammett. He pens his first novel while working as a clerk at a swank downtown department store. He writes his second while working at a famous movie studio turning his first novel into a screenplay. Now, moderately successful, James is hard at work creating his newest adventure.

And his life is perfect -- or nearly so: he’s living with the girl he loves, planning to get married, and enjoying a life he once could only dream about. But an innocent outing to Los Angeles’s new Griffith Observatory changes all that when a commotion during a presentation leads to a kidnapping. James, witness to the abduction, feels compelled to find out the truth behind it. Why was this person kidnapped? Who was behind it? Why were the abductors speaking in German? And what does Gina Corvi have to do with it?

“Abduction at Griffith Observatory” -- like its predecessors "Sabotage at RKO Studio" and "Murder at Eastern Columbia" -- is unlike any other book you've read: Not a single novel, it's two parallel novels, featuring two heroes, working two mysteries in two different versions of 1930s Los Angeles. Join James and his alter ego as they each try to find the missing person. His hard-boiled alter ego -- neither a private detective nor a police officer: just someone "who wants to help" -- needs to find out why his life is being threatened because of a piece of paper with some numbers on it. Two men in two stories work their way through 1930s Los Angeles following clews, interviewing people who might know something, going from location to location, with one goal in mind: find the person who was kidnapped.

Along the way, they encounter a rich cast of characters including a hate-filled landlady who doesn’t like anyone different than she, the nervous director of the observatory, the mysterious black woman who was exiled from the country of her birth, the young page working at the observatory, a gentle cleaning woman who has suffered since the death of her husband, the scientist with a deadly secret, and the girl in the blue pumps who tries to hide the scar on her face like she tries to hide so many other things about herself.

“Abduction at Griffith Observatory” is filled with twists, turns and a final showdown aboard a rusty old freighter moored to a dock at San Pedro harbor.

Come along for the ride in this, the third James Murray mystery: the story of a young man who dreams of something better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Geoffrey McPherson
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311062406

Christopher Geoffrey McPherson

In more than three decades as a professional writer/journalist, Christopher has covered myriad subjects and interviewed thousands of people from the famous to the unknown. He brings these years of experience to each of his novels.In his career, his work has appeared in daily newspapers, monthly magazines, extensively on radio and the occasional dalliance with television. He has written advertising copy and radio commercials – and continues to write.Prior to this new novel, "Sincerely, Dina Lamont," Christopher wrote novels about the most famous cat in ancient Japan who had special powers in “A Cat in Time,” and “22: The Biography of a Gun,” a tale set in the near future where guns are strictly controlled yet where one manages to make its way into the hands of those who want it. Previously, Christopher spent more than five years creating a series of novels that take place in 1930s Los Angeles called “The James Murray Mysteries.” Books in the series are "Murder at Eastern Columbia," “Sabotage at RKO Studio,” “Abduction at Griffith Observatory,” “Blackmail at Wrigley Field,” and “Haunting at Ocean House.”Other writing featuring his byline includes "The Babi Makers" – a science fiction tale about a world where the most important resource is babies; "Sarah & Gerald" – a novel about Paris in the 1920s; "Forever - and other stories" – a collection of short stories; "The Life Line" – the novel of the big one that levels San Francisco; "News on the Home Front" – a novel of two friends during World War Two; and "Mama Cat" – a book for children. Also, several short plays, a few radio plays and a boatload of radio documentaries.

Book preview

Chapter One

I opened my eyes.

It was dark. I waited a second or two for my vision to focus. I was lying there, somewhere, staring up into the darkness at the most beautiful night sky in the world. I smiled. For a moment, I flashed back to when I was a kid, growing up on Central Avenue, downtown Los Angeles.

A lot of nights I couldn’t sleep. I was kept awake by the sound of my father slapping my mother around. I would sneak out my bedroom window and up the fire escape, up to the top of our old apartment building. I would lie there, on the roof, staring up into the night sky. Some nights it was easier to see the stars than others -- sometimes clouds, sometimes a full moon; but sometimes the moon was new and the sky was dark and clear and you could look up and see stars shoot across your field of view. I learned to recognize a lot of constellations that way. My favorite time of the year, though, was summer. Then, I would sneak up to the roof, even if my dad wasn’t wailing on my mom, to see the Perseids: the meteors that streak through the sky after midnight. I loved lying there, on the roof, my young mind stretched out into the infinity of the night sky watching, waiting, for their trails to start and fade out. It was a magical time.

And this is the familiar constellation for Leo, the Lion, I heard a voice say.

How strange that I would be lying here, tonight, having the evening sky narrated for me.

I looked for the constellation of Leo and found it, although it took me a little while. For some reason, my head was hurting, like someone maybe had socked it or something. My vision would go in and out of focus every so often, making it a little hard to see.

"It comprises many large stars, including Regulus, Beta Leonis and Gamma Leonis," the voice continued.

I knew those stars, but it was so odd having my mind speak them aloud. I sought out each star as the voice mentioned it, and found them all, with little effort. I put both of my hands behind my head and interlaced the fingers to give me a soft pillow to rest against. I tried, for a moment, to understand the ground I was lying on, but couldn’t. It wasn’t grass. It wasn’t dirt. If I had to guess, I would guess fabric of some kind, perhaps a towel or the floor of a tent.

This next constellation is that of Gemini, the voice said, "comprised of many stars, the brightest of which are Castor and Pollux."

It was kinda strange, but as I was looking for the constellation of Gemini in the sky, I saw two spots flare brighter. They were Castor and Pollux, I knew, but why were they pulsing? Clearly, something was not right here. I moved my hands from behind my head and placed them on the ground next to my hips. I tried to lift my body, but my head was pounding too hard.

Quickly, I laid back down.

I was too familiar with the symptoms to miss the fact that someone had knocked me out, cold. Again. This time, apparently, in the middle of nowhere, far enough away from the city that I could see all these wonderful stars.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

I opened my eyes. It was bright as day. I looked up and, instead of stars or blue sky, there was a sea of faces looking down at me. Young boys and girls staring down at me.

One freckle-faced boy was chewing gum. He blew a bubble. It popped, showering my face with spit.

Great, I thought. Kids are nothing but giant germ factories and here I just got a taste of the latest shipment.

You all right, Mister? the gum-chomping kid spoke.

Where am I? I said to no one in particular.

The chomping boy turned his head and hollered.

He’s not dead!

What a relief it was to know I wasn’t dead.

Oh, thank the gods, another, nervous, voice said. The ambulance just arrived.

Ambulance? I muttered, mostly to myself. Who’s hurt?

After a moment, two young, strapping, burly men parted the crowd and proceeded to haul me up and onto a squeaky stretcher. One covered me with a blanket while the other strapped me in.

Hey! I protested, with no luck. What’s going on?

You’ve been injured, Mister. Just lie back, one of the burly guys said.

Again, I tried to lean forward; this time the straps held me tight. I turned my head from side to side as the ambulance guys wheeled me out of somewhere and toward somewhere else.

As my head whipped around, I caught the tail edge of a sign.

It said:

Planetarium

Soon enough, I was wheeled outside, into the real world under a real sky. The sun was blazing hot, shining right into my eyes. I felt the stretcher stop and heard the sound of car doors opening. I looked up and saw one burly guy at my head, the other at my feet.

Hey! I tried again. Let me go. There’s nothing wrong with me. You can’t take me to the hospital against my will.

Just then I saw a man approach. It was the same man from inside.

We have to protect ourselves, you know. It won’t look good for one of our patrons to be hit on the head during one of our shows. It’ll give the observatory a bad name.

I turned to him. I smiled.

Look, Friend, I said, calmly. I won’t sic the lawyers on you. Just let me go and we’ll forget all about it.

The man, who looked like he was naturally nervous, looked even more nervous.

Well, if you insist you’re not hurt, he said, and you promise you won’t sue, then I guess it’ll be all right.

I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.

Is it okeh with you, gentlemen? the nervous guy asked the ambulance guys.

Sure, Bub, one of the burly guys said. Makes no nevermind to me. If the guy says he’s well and doesn’t want to go to the hospital, ain’t nothing we can do about it.

Fine, I said. It’s settled then. Please unstrap me and help me off this thing.

In short order, I was standing in the parking lot, waving goodbye to the two burly guys who had tried to kidnap me. I turned to speak with the nervous guy and was surprised to discover he was gone. I tilted my head. How was that even possible? I asked myself.

I turned my head a little farther and saw him: walking toward the main entrance of the huge new observatory. I had read about it in the newspapers: a new observatory at the top of Mount Hollywood, in the Santa Monica mountain range, with the land and money donated by somebody named Griffith to build an observatory accessible to everyday people.

But, it wasn’t open, yet. It wasn’t supposed to open until May 15th, and this was only --

Hey, Mister, I yelled after the nervous guy before he made it to the building.

The nervous guy turned to me.

Hold up. I want to ask you something.

The nervous guy started looking a little more nervous, as if he thought I would take a swing at him or something.

We slowly walked toward each other, him over the well-manicured grounds and me over the gravel of the parking lot. We met at a towering obelisk I later found out was the Astronomer’s Monument.

Hey, listen, I said, starting the conversation on a friendly note. I didn’t thank you properly, Mister -- Mister --

He gave me his name. I shook his hand.

I’m the museum director, he said.

Well, thank you. I appreciate you getting the medical boys out here to make sure I was okeh.

Certainly, the nervous man said, slightly less nervous.

I thought this place wasn’t opened yet, I said, finally getting to my real point.

Why, of course we’re opened, the museum director added. We had the dedication on Tuesday, and officially opened to the public on Wednesday.

I thought about this for a moment. That can’t be right, I figured.

What’s today’s date? I asked, not wanting to sound too crazy.

What’s today’s date? he repeated.

Yes, what is today’s date?

Why, it’s the seventeenth, he said. Friday, May seventeenth.

I looked at him. I reached up to push back my hat on my head with my thumb and realized I had lost it somewhere along the way. May seventeenth? That’s not possible.

Are you sure of the date?

Yes, I am. Say, are you all right? Should I call the ambulance back again?

No, I said, my mind racing. I don’t need an ambulance. But I do need to find out what happened.

Happened? he asked.

Yeh, I said. Last thing I remember it was Tuesday, the fourteenth of May. Somehow, along the way, I lost three days of my life.

Oh, dear, the nervous man said, getting more nervous again.

The young man stopped typing.

Chapter Two

The young man stopped typing.

James, the young girl asked. Why aren’t you answering my question?

James turned and looked at the young girl standing there, naked, covered only by a bath towel.

I’m sorry, Melody. What did you ask me?

I asked you what today’s date was. Of course, in the time it took you to answer, I could have taken the streetcar downtown to the main library, found a calendar, looked it up myself, and taken another streetcar back home. Geez! When you get lost in your writing, you really get lost.

James pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and walked toward his pouting girlfriend.

Listen, Honey. You’ll probably remember, a long time ago, when I said it was never a good idea to interrupt me when I was writing. I really do get lost in it. My mind’s in the story. I’m my alter ego, thinking and living like him. I’m here in body, but certainly not in spirit.

They kissed.

Melody reached up and undid the edge of the towel. It slipped away from her freshly bathed body. She leaned in closer to James and kissed him even more deeply.

James stood there, felt her small, firm breasts pressed up again his chest through his undershirt. He felt the familiar rumbling in his boxer shorts. He reached around and took her ass in one hand, pressed her hips firmly against his.

You really are unfair, he whispered to her, between kisses. I’ve got a deadline. These novels don’t write themselves, you know.

I know, Baby, Melody said, as she turned her head, her light-brown, wet hair cascading away from her face. But I miss you. I don’t have to be to work for an hour. Can’t you tear yourself away from your boyfriend long enough to spend some time with your girlfriend?

Boyfriend? James repeated with surprise.

Yeh, that investigator guy in your novels. I swear you spend more time with him than you do me. I’m going to file for divorce, naming him co-respondent, and claim alienation of affection.

You can’t divorce me, Melody. We’re not even married, James added.

Tell that to the judge, she whispered as she reached her hand into James’s boxer shorts. She squeezed, hard, feeling the hot warmth. You can explain this to the judge, too, if you want.

James rested on the bed, naked, partially covered by a bed sheet, while Melody finished dressing for work. He liked being able to make love to the girl he loved whenever he wanted, without worrying about what other people might say; but this girl that he loved was a constant distraction to him. At least, when he was still living at home, his parents understood to leave him alone when he told them he was writing. With Melody, it was sex -- all the time. All the time. She just didn’t seem to understand he had to write, not only to get money to pay for their apartment and expenses, but because he was nothing unless he was writing. When he was writing, whether with a pencil or pen or using a typewriter, he was somebody, doing something. When he wasn’t, he was nobody, just a warm body not achieving anything. He didn’t want to be a nobody and the only way around that was to keep writing.

I wish we could take some time off, go away, Melody said, sitting on the edge of the bed, partially dressed, her back to James. Button the top, please, she said.

I know, Dear. So do I, he said, reaching up and fastening a button. But, I have a deadline for my next novel. I have to be on call to consult with the guy turning my last novel into a movie for Warner Brothers. I have research to do, interviews to give. There’s a lot to being a writer, you know. It isn’t all glamorous, like you might imagine.

I know, James, Melody said, pouting. But, I work hard, too. I deserve to take some time off, to have someone take me some place fun and exciting. We used to go out, and now we don’t any more. Our life stopped being fun, James. I think that’s sad.

I know you don’t mean that, Melody, James said, hurt. We have lots of fun.

Oh, I know, she said, turning on the bed to face him. "We do have lots of fun; but lately, everything we’ve done has been related to your work: parties with your director, weekends at Lake Arrowhead with the screenwriter for your novel, that Hollywood Bowl concert with your agent. We do things, James; but we don’t do things, together, just the two of us."

James pulled a couple pillows behind his head and sat against the headboard, facing her. He reached out and took her hand.

You’re right, of course, Melody, James said, sincerely. I’ve been busy and I’ve been neglecting you. Well, that stops right now. Look: tomorrow’s Saturday. What say you and I go to that new observatory that just opened a few days ago, the Griffith, in the Hollywood hills. I hear they’ve got a huge planetarium there and exhibits of all kinds of neato space stuff. Then, we can go to the zoo. It’s right there, next to the observatory. Remember? That was one of our first dates. We haven’t been there in ages. After all that excitement, we’ll go to lunch -- anywhere you say. It’ll be just the two of us, together, without anybody else around.

Melody smiled.

Thank you, James, she said. That sounds like it would be a lot of fun.

She leaned in and kissed him, then grabbed her purse, hat and gloves and headed toward the door. At the door, she turned and blew him a little kiss.

See in you a few hours, she said.

The rest of the day flew by, as James sat at his small work desk, his fingers practically glued to the Corona typewriter he always used. Every hour or so he would have to stop and gently massage his left arm, the one that was broken in the explosion two years ago at RKO. The doctor said an operation wasn’t needed; but, although the bones had healed, James could see a slight jag in the middle of his forearm where the two halves fused together slightly out of alignment. He didn’t think anyone else could see it, but it’s the exact place where he would get a searing pain whenever he over-exerted himself. One day I’m gonna have to have this reset, the thought to himself.

He rose from the desk, padded into the small bathroom and pulled a bottle of aspirin out of the medicine cabinet. He downed two with a big glass of water, and returned to his desk and his new novel.

That night, Melody made a special dinner for her special man. She loved to cook and was especially happy now that she could cook for someone other than her parents or two siblings. She liked simple foods but grew up in a house filled with domestic help -- including a cook from Germany. She didn’t like European dishes with all the creams and sauces and fat. She preferred down-home, American cooking. Tonight it was fried chicken, fresh-picked green beans, and a cherry pie she made from scratch using cherries that a friend of hers had canned last season. She knew cherry pie was James’s favorite and made it whenever she could get cherries -- fresh or canned. She whipped up the dinner with a flourish.

The two of them sat in their modest apartment at The Andalusia in West Hollywood, and ate with abandon.

This is really amazing, James said, honestly, as he finished a last bite of pie. I don’t know when I’ve ever tasted better! You should think about opening a little shop. You can make pies and sell them to local restaurants. I doubt any of them have pies this good.

And you can write a novel about a poor woman who opens a pie shop and sells them to local restaurants. I’m sure it would be a big hit! Melody replied, jokingly.

Everyone loves pie. And I know for a fact everyone would love this pie.

I bake only for the people I love, Melody said, rising to clear the dishes. My family and you.

No, I’m serious, Honey, you --

I’m serious, too, James, Melody said, dropping her plate onto the table to emphasize the point. "I am not going to stay home and bake all day. We’ve already had this discussion, too many times. Besides, I love my job at Daily Variety. So what if I’m just a photographer’s assistant? That’s now. One day I’ll be one of the designers in the art department. That’s what I want and you know it. I don’t want to spend my day covered with flour and butter and baking soda!"

At that, she turned away from James and started to cry.

She was right: they had had this conversation, or variations on the theme, many times before. James wanted to do whatever it took to make Melody happy, but he also wanted the kind of wife his father had: someone who would stay home, take care of the house, cook great meals and, perhaps, take care of their children. He knew this was not the life Melody envisioned, and it was a source of contention between the two of them -- often.

James rose. He walked over to the woman he loved and put his arm around her.

I never meant that you should give up the job you love, Melody. I was just observing how it was a shame that your great cooking is not enjoyed by more people. I don’t want you to quit what you’re doing. I want you to do what you want. I will never, ever, tell you not to do whatever you want with your life -- even if what you want takes you away from me. As long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy, even if it means I have to be happy from a distance.

Melody turned and draped her arms over the shoulders of the most important person in her life. She wept for a little while.

James stood there, happy to provide her whatever comfort he could. He meant what he said: even if her dreams took her away from him, he’d be happy -- as long as she was happy.

James, she said, between sniffles. I never imagined I would meet a man as caring and supportive as you. My father’s always been supportive of my mother, as she has of him. I just never thought that could happen again -- and yet, here you are.

It’s because I love you, Silly. You always want the best for the person you love.

Melody looked up at him, her eyes seeking out his.

Do you really love me? she asked, quietly.

Of course I do.

Then, will you help me clear the dinner dishes?

With pleasure!

Dishes cleared, James and Melody sat in the living room: he reading the newspaper, and she listening to music on the radio.

You know, Melody started. I could always pack us a lunch for tomorrow, if you’d like. There are plenty of places to eat a picnic around the zoo grounds.

That would be nice, James said, somewhat distracted by an article in the newspaper.

What would you like me to pack?

Don’t need to pack anything, James said, never looking up. We’re only going for the day.

Melody cocked her head a little at James’s incongruous reply.

I have to pack something if we’re taking a lunch.

"Then just pack a