OFF TOPIC

From Confessions of a Hollywood P.I. by Hollywood Private investigator, Don Crutchfield:

I didn’t expect Joanna to confess, but I could tell I had gotten to her. When she walked out of Griffin’s house that day, Joanna knew I wasn’t bluffing and hounding her until I got what I was after. The only remaining question was what she would do about it. I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.

The day after my meeting with Joanna, a mysterious call came into the Screen Actors Guild. A woman claimed that her son had stolen Tatum O’Neal’s car. She wasn’t willing to give her name, but wanted to help Tatum get back the car. SAG called Tatum’s business manager, and someone from his office contacted me. It wasn’t hard to figure that Joanna was behind this little scheme.

The mystery caller referred to the missing vehicles as Tatum O’Neal’s car-even though the car was registered in Joanna Moore’s name. I found the Mazda unlocked, exactly where they mystery caller had said it would be. The rear seat was folded down, providing access to the trunk. There I found the Cartier bag, full of jewelry. A few hundred-dollar bills were scattered around the trunk. The Louis Vuitton bag wasn’t there. Neither were the $15 thousand or the passports.

As I drove away from the scene, a dark thought crossed my mind. Joanna had left the car unlocked. Anybody could have come along and stolen those jewels. If that happened, I would have been the prime suspect. Now I was fuming. This drug-crazed thief had tried to set me up, and she nearly succeeded. I‘d worked too long and hard to have my reputation ruined by a stunt like that. It took me almost half an hour to cool off.

Finally I felt composed enough to call Tatum on the car phone. “Any progress?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I answered. “I’ll be at your place in about ten minutes with some of your goods.” Tatum was glad to recover the jewelry, even though most of the cash was still missing. I stepped out of the room for a minute. When I returned, Tatum was sniffing one of the crumpled hundred-dollar bills I’d found in the Mazda.

“That’s my mother’s scent,” she announced.

Tatum’s investigative technique was a little weird, but she was convinced. “These bills have been in my mother’s possession,” she repeated. I couldn’t very well dispute my client’s conclusion, especially since I believed she was right.

At this point Tatum seemed satisfied. She was ready to let the matter go, but I wasn’t. After all, she was still missing her Louis Vuiton bag, the passports, and most of the cash. “Just tell your mother I want to talk to her again,” I advised, “though I seriously doubt that she’ll be willing to go through another encounter with me.”

Tatum heeded my advice, and Joanna made it clear that the last thing she was wanted was to face me again. Eventually, Joanna confessed to Tatum and returned $12,000, of the money plus the missing passports. She also agreed to get help with her drug problem. At that point, my involvement in the case was officially over-although the family’s problems have apparently not abated.