The Red 65. Grant Peake

in a questioning tone, “Can you remember what Billy was wearing that day, Mrs Femmer?”

      “Well, I think I can, yes.” came the lame reply. “He had on a blue shirt, from memory, and grey shorts and his sandals. That’s about all I can recall, Inspector. I was driving, you see and I only waved and glanced at him fleetingly. I did not really take too much notice of what Billy had on.” Mrs Femmer turned her gaze onto Marty with a look of despair.

      “But you can remember that Billy wore no hat, Mrs Femmer.” replied the enquiring Marty.

      “Oh yes, I can remember that. It was a hot day, as I said previously, and I did think how hot the sun would have been on his head. Billy did have a white fabric hat with a wide green border, he sometimes wore it when he came to our place. He said that his mother had made it for him. But on that day he was not wearing the hat.” came the rapid response from Mrs Femmer.

      “Did you know the couple that Billy was staying with Mrs Femmer?’ asked the inquisitive Marty.

      “Not very well. They lived at number 1811, on the other side of the street. They have both since passed away, I understand. Vladimir Nijinski was from Russia or some other Balkan country, I’m not sure on that. His partner, Olga Serenova fancied herself as a leftover from the Russian Royal family. Delighted in telling everyone that she was a grand niece of Czar Nicholas of all the Russias, if you can believe that! I only met them on a few occasions briefly. They had been involved with, or worked at Universal Studios or some such thing. I don’t know the full background. They were older than Max and I, and frankly appeared a little eccentric, I always thought. I do know that Olga’s daughter lives in the house now. I think her name is Anna, but I could be wrong. I don’t think that Anna was living there at the time. Anyway, they had the custody of Billy from the time he arrived in Hollywood, which was the March of ’65. How they could have not have loved him, I can’t understand.” said Mrs Femmer, looking down seriously and shaking her head. “I know we did ask Billy if he was being treated okay by the couple. He seemed to clam up and just shook his head and said, yes. Both Max and I had our doubts but there was little we could do. On one occasion, not long before Billy disappeared, we noticed some bruising on his arms and legs. When we asked him what had happened, Billy shrugged his shoulders and said that he had been naughty and was punished and had to stand in the corner cupboard, which was very dark. This incident had upset him a lot, so we did not press him for more answers. We just gave him love, Inspector. He craved for it, poor boy.” was Mrs Femmer’s answer. She gave Marty a pleading look of anxiousness tinged with helplessness.

      Marty felt he was achieving something here, and decided to plug on, while the going was good.

      “Tell me about this pathway that went down from North Beaumont onto Roy Rogers Avenue. Was it steep? How long would it take Billy to walk down the pathway, do you know, Mrs Femmer?” responded Marty, looking at this relic from a bygone age.

      Marty had noticed that the furnishings, whilst well cared for, were also certainly outdated by today’s standards. The straight lines of the ’50s and ’60s were apparent. The cushions on the sofa were looking a bit tattered in parts and the carpet was a bright orange with yellow flecks through it, and showed signs of going threadbare.

      Mrs Femmer paused before she answered Marty. Obviously thinking about her answer, she finally said, “Well Inspector, I would say that it would take about five to seven minutes to walk down the pathway, but in Billy’s case, it could have taken longer, being a much smaller person. I rarely used the pathway myself. It was fairly steep, especially coming up. There was a handrail for you to hold onto, but Billy might have been a bit short for that. I understand that the pathway was put there as a shortcut for pedestrians, rather than walk all the way to the end of North Beaumont and then have to backtrack along Roy Rogers Avenue. The pathway is not there anymore, it was all dug up some years ago. It wasn’t safe at all.”

      “I see.” came Marty’s reply. Changing the subject now, he asked Mrs Femmer, “Do you live alone Mrs Femmer?” Marty assumed that Max was no longer alive, but he had to be sure. She might have a star boarder living here now, but Marty knew he was barking up the wrong tree with this lady.

      Quietly, Mrs Femmer feebly said, “Yes, my husband Max died not long after Billy disappeared, the following year to be precise, 1966. Heart attack. He was only 53 but he smoked a lot and had a heart condition. But life goes on, so they say.” Tears had welled up in the poor woman’s eyes. Marty felt a bit of a prick asking the question, but he had to know.

      “I gather your husband was at work the day of Billy’s disappearance Mrs Femmer?” was Marty’s next tackling point. Did he notice a slight reluctance before Mrs Femmer replied? There was something she was holding back on.

      Marjorie Femmer rallied herself and said with a casual voice, “Yes Inspector, he was. He worked for Walt Disney you know. Max was an accomplished artist and the principal artist for Walt. His work was greatly appreciated by Walt Disney and his other work colleagues. Max loved to draw. Come with me, and I will show you his studio.”

      Marty got the impression that Mrs Femmer was trying to steer the conversation away from the day Billy disappeared. Especially in relation to her husband, Max Femmer.

      He helped Mrs Femmer to her pigeon toe feet, encased in tapestry slippers and they both walked out of the lounge room and down a dim passage to a doorway at the end. Marty noticed that Mrs Femmer walked like a crab, favouring the right side. Probably arthritis, thought Marty.

      Mrs Femmer opened the door with a key from around her skinny neck. She pushed open the pale blue wood door and went inside the room. She carefully walked over to the long windows and opened the drapes and did the same to another set on the other side of the large room.

      Marty saw a door in the far corner of the long room. I wonder where that door leads to, Marty thought.Could quite likely lead down to the garage I saw.

      It 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