“Why?” she asked him. She was sweating, damp hair stuck to her forehead, hiding her glazed eyes.
“Not yet,” was all he said, holding out hope like a drug.
He thought of Bonnie Sherow. Would she think he was the devil for making such brilliant love to the woman he had widowed? And it was brilliant. How could it not be, if this was the last weekend he’d spend with a woman? Had a man ever been so selfless with a woman? Of course she loved him; who had ever been so generous? He wondered if he was making love like a woman. He could do things with his fingers, give each one a personality of its own, send a squadron of lovers to June. June understood momentum, she knew how to be slow. Bonnie always seemed to be somewhere else. Why did he still care about her, think about her?
Sunday they stayed at the hotel and ate a large breakfast from a buffet in the dining room. They ate papaya with lime, eggs with Mexican sausage, beans, toasted rolls, drank coffee mixed with chocolate and cinnamon. They went to the beach and rubbed lotion on each other and rented an umbrella and slept. The police came by a few times, but Griffin didn’t care about them anymore. He was in a cage, with an entrance in California, and the Mexican police couldn’t touch him, they could only observe. Let them, he thought.
They ordered lunch on the beach, soft, rolled tacos filled with broiled fish and avocado and lime. After a nap they went for a swim. They were in the water for an hour and a half, floating on their backs and bumping their legs together, paddling between buoys.
“What was the idea?” she asked him.
“What idea?”
“The idea you wanted to talk about with David.”
Was this the first volley of the interrogation? Had Susan Avery coached her? He could tell her he’d forgotten, but no one would believe that. “I wanted to talk about his Japan story.”
“I always liked that one,” she said. “I wish he’d written it.”
“Yes.” What else could he say?
They were both silent for a few minutes. A sailboat was close to the shore, and the people on board waved to them. June floated on her back and watched a tourist wearing a parachute tied to a speedboat get pulled around the bay, a few stories above the water.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed,” said June. “And I bet you haven’t, either.”
“Probably not.”
“How long will it last?”
“We leave in the morning.”
“No, I meant, how long before we lose this feeling?”
“As long as the tan lasts.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“I do, sort of.” He wanted to tell June some kind of truth.
“The one who couldn’t go to the ball.”
“Yes.”
“Does she know you’re here with me?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“In Los Angeles.”
“Why aren’t you with her?”
“I told her I was busy. We’re not as close as we used to be.”
“Will you see her Monday night?”
“I don’t think so. We keep making plans, but we never seem to get together.”
“So she’s not really your girlfriend.”
“Her friends would say I am. I suppose my friends would say the same thing.”
“Will you tell her about this weekend?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t sound like she’s really your girlfriend. You don’t love her, do you?”
“I thought I told you that I love you.”
“Men say lots of things they don’t really mean.”
“I meant it at the time.”
“Yes, that’s one of the things you hear men say, they say that one a lot.”
“I don’t love her.”
“Have you told her that you do?”
“Not in a while.”
“Has she told you that she loves you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s impossible. You don’t forget someone telling you that she loves you.”
“Yes, she once told me that she loved me. But we broke up after that. We’ve been speaking again.”
“But now you’ve met me.”
“Yes.” He thought of a few questions he could ask. What did she expect? And why wasn’t June married to Kahane? Was there a match between Griffin and June worth pursuing, because both had been wary of marriage? Were both of them the kind that didn’t trust? Weren’t her questions too pointed, wasn’t she taking something out on him? Would she prefer that he had lied? Or did some cell in her body know that he had killed Kahane; was she examining him in preparation for his trial? That was not a question he would ask. But the others, if he asked them, he would be saying, Good, let’s clear the air, let’s see how well we fight, let’s test this love. Maybe it was better to give her the lead. It was the least he could do.
He had to say something. “I think you’re disappointed with me because I’m not the saint you thought I was, because I kept something from you, or because I didn’t tell an old girlfriend that I’d be in Mexico with another woman. I’m just a guy. Maybe I have a big office and a fancy car, and I know how to wear a tuxedo and call for a limousine, so it looks like I have my life together, but love confuses everyone. I’m no exception.”
They had drifted a mile down the beach. June splashed the water aimlessly, like a bored kid waiting to be told to stop splashing. Had he chastised her? That was not his intent. She had been mad at him for concealing Bonnie from her, and her from Bonnie, and instead of fueling the anger, he had once more made himself the hero of reason. She swam to him and with strong arms pushed him backward, daring him to resist. Then she growled at him, because she was frustrated with him, with life, with her grief, and because she loved him, and then she kissed him.
“Let’s go in,” she said, leading him to the shore.
That night they went to bed, and again he played her with his hands. She reached for him, but he wouldn’t do what she wanted. This time she didn’t ask why.
When they checked out of the hotel in the morning, June did not know that the police car following them from the hotel to the airport was their official escort. After they cleared customs, the police waited with them in the lounge. Griffin led them to the duty-free shop, where he bought June some perfume, her favorite, Karl Lagerfeld. He wondered if he should buy some for Bonnie, but June stayed by his side. He could always get some at a department store. He could go from one to the other if they wore the same scent.
Then they were on the plane, and then they were back in Los Angeles.
Seventeen
If Susan Avery or anyone else from the Pasadena Police Department watched their arrival in Los Angeles, they were invisible to Griffin. He missed the Mexican police. He should have said good-bye to them. Would they be told when he was arrested, sent a formal letter thanking them for their cooperation? Griffin idly wondered if the State Department involved itself in every international manhunt. Then he wondered why it mattered to him, and he knew it was because he wanted to feel important.
A limousine driver holding a cardboard sign that read MILL took their bags after they left the terminal.
As soon as they were in the car, Griffin called Jan. “I’m back,” he said.
“How was Mexico?” she asked.
“Did Dick Mellen call?”
“Yes, and your old friend Susan Avery. She wants you to call her immediately. I asked if they had a break in the case, and she said she was superstitious and didn’t want to jinx anything.”
Griffin didn’t want to call Susan Avery with June in the car. “If she calls back, tell her I’ll call her when I’m in the office. I should be there in forty-five minutes.”
He called his lawyer. His secretary put him through after it took her just enough time to in
terrupt another call with Griffin’s name.
“Mr. Griffin Mill,” said Dick Mellen, who didn’t want to contain his happiness at bearing some kind of good news.
“What’s the word?” asked Griffin, playing along with him.
“How’d you like to run a production company?”
“A studio?”
“No. An office, a few assistants, someone to handle business affairs, and sixty million dollars to play with.”
“That’s all? How many movies can you make for sixty million dollars?”
“You can make four or five a year.”
“And who’s the distributor?”
“Tri-Star or MGM. That hasn’t been worked out.”
“I don’t think so, I don’t know. Let me think about it. How much will they pay me?”
“That’s the good news. They want you. And for the next two years they’ll pay you eight hundred thousand, plus stock, plus a piece of each picture. They know all about you. They like you. You’ll like them.”
“Let me think about it.”
“They want to know by tomorrow. Someone else is interested, but your name came up and they asked me if you were available. I would have said no two weeks ago, but Larry Levy is no one to laugh at. To be honest with you, there’s a cloud over you at the studio right now.”
“And your friends still want me?”
“And my friends still want you.”
“You think I should take this job?”
“It’s a risk. You can fail. It might be hard to get back to a big job with a major studio if you bomb. But you’re not going to bomb, you’re going to be a massive success, and you’ll make a lot of money and have a lot of fun.”
They said good-bye.
“Good news?” asked June.
“I don’t know. I’ve been on a certain track for a while, and someone is offering me a chance to get off it, but it’s not the most prestigious job in town. People will think I’ve been demoted if I take it. It’s a small production company looking for a leader.”
“That’s exciting.”
“I once turned down an offer to run Columbia for a million dollars a year.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to run the company I work for.”
“But Levison runs the company you work for.”
“Yeah, well, I thought he was leaving.”
They were driving up Outpost; her house was around the next two curves.
“It was a great weekend,” she said. “It was too short.”
After a subdued last kiss they shook hands. She tapped him on the arm with a fist. “Thank you,” she said. The driver carried her bags to her house, and she waved from the door after she opened it. Maybe she won’t be arrested right away, he thought.
He called Susan Avery as the car drove toward Burbank. She answered the phone.
“You called?” he said. Of course, she’d been following the news from the Mexican police; she probably knew about the hug on the balcony and the kiss in the ocean.
“Hello, Griffin, how are you?” She was too friendly, and he knew he was in the snare of technique.
“Wonderful. I just got back from a weekend in Mexico. I should have stayed a month.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I’m always afraid if I’m gone too long, they’ll change the lock on my office.”
“Where were you?”
“Puerto Vallarta.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Susan, what’s up?”
“Well, Griffin, I know we’ve taken a lot of your time already, and I promise you that after this last request I don’t think we’ll need to bother you again.”
“Has there been a break in the case?”
“We don’t know. Listen, Griffin, this is sort of difficult for me because I like you, but I was wondering if maybe you’d get in touch with a lawyer today and both of you come down to the station. You can come alone, but as a friend, I’m telling you, bring a lawyer.”
“Is somebody accusing me of the murder?” Better to take this head-on, not act as though I don’t know what’s coming.
“I told the captain that you’d come without a subpoena, but if you want to be served while you’re at the studio, be my guest.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.” He hung up. He told the limousine driver to stay on the long boulevard that passed the studio and follow it all the way to Pasadena.
If he didn’t call a lawyer, wouldn’t he look like the guilty person trying to look innocent? But he was scared of calling a lawyer. To get a criminal lawyer he’d have to go through Mellen, whose motto was: “Trust everybody, trust nobody.” Griffin didn’t want Hollywood to know he’d been suspected of a murder if he wasn’t arrested. And there was still some hope. But he needed a lawyer; obviously there was a witness, or a fingerprint, something real. He called Mellen. His secretary said he was in a meeting.
“Look, I need some help on something right away, we’re stuck on a story problem. Who does he recommend for criminal work?”
“Phil Brophy.”
“Good, what’s his number?”
She gave it to him. Griffin called him. He used Mellen’s name with the secretary and said it was an emergency. She told him Brophy was in court. Griffin asked to speak to another lawyer, anyone. She put him through to Jeff Beckett. Beckett had a clear, high voice.
“My name is Griffin Mill. I’m a client of Richard Mellen at Mellen, Ottoway and Green.”
“Aha. So you’re in show business.”
“Very much so. Mr. Beckett, I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but I’ve been asked to bring a lawyer with me to the Pasadena police station. I’ll explain it in person. I need some help immediately, and I can pay any fee.”
“Have you been arrested?”
“No, but I’m being subpoenaed.”
“What’s the charge?”
“Can you come?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Yes, at this point even an innocent man would bring an expensive lawyer to the station to intimidate the police.
When the limousine pulled into the station parking lot, Griffin told the driver that he wanted to wait a while. The car phone rang. It was Levison.
“Where are you?”
“I’m stuck in traffic.”
“You’re missing a staff meeting.”
“Just a second. You gave me permission to take a vacation.”
“Yes, but you were supposed to be back this morning.”
“I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“This is quite annoying.”
Griffin hung up. The driver knocked on the glass partition. Griffin lowered it.
“Do you know how long we’re going to be here? I have to call the office. I’m supposed to make a pickup in Beverly Hills in twenty-five minutes. I’m going to be late.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be here for a while. This is a really stupid thing, but the company I lease my car from is charging me with theft.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re assholes, that’s why. Because they wouldn’t give me a new car when mine kept breaking down, and they wouldn’t do repairs, and I finally stopped sending them money.”
“What kind of car?”
“Guess.”
“Porsche.”
“You got it.”
“Why don’t you pay?”
“That’s what I’ll probably do right now. I’ll fight for my principles, but hey, I don’t want to get booked and fingerprinted over this, you know what I mean? It’s not the battle of my life.”
“I hear you,” said the driver.
“Time to go in,” said Griffin.
“Let me just call the office,” said the driver. The office told him to stay with Griffin.
As Griffin opened the door, the driver rushed to open it for him. Griffin told him not to, and the driver understood that Griffin didn’t want to make a display of himself in a police-station parking lot, or any more of
a display than the limousine presented.
Susan Avery met him in the lobby. “I appreciate this,” she said. What if she knew everything? he wondered. What if she knew about the postcards and why I really killed Kahane? Would she treat me with caution, knowing that I’d probably get off on a defense of insanity? Should I start acting insane?
“My lawyer is on his way. I thought it would be best to have one here. I don’t know what you’re cooking up, but this is a hell of a way to do business.”
“Business?”
“Everything is business.”
“We want you to take part in a lineup.”
“I told you, I didn’t see anyone.” This was a mistake, he shouldn’t have been flip.
“Griffin, we want you to be in the lineup.”
“Not until my lawyer arrives.” This was not time to say something easy, like, “Give me a break.”
She brought Griffin to a waiting room. Jeff Beckett came in half an hour later. He was in his forties, with curly dark hair. He leaned forward as he walked, and he had a strong handshake. Griffin supposed he played squash. You could see the eager high-school boy, the debate-team champ, the mother’s hero. Griffin liked him.
“So, what do they want you for?” he asked.
“I think they want me for murder.”
“How come they haven’t arrested you yet?”
“Don’t you want to know if I’m guilty?”
“That’s up to a jury, and I wouldn’t ask you in here, anyway.” He indicated the room with his hand.
“They want me to be in a lineup. I was one of the last people to see someone before he was murdered. About a month ago. It was in Pasadena. I barely knew the guy.”
“I can’t really keep you out of a lineup without making a big stink, and that never looks good.”
“But what if the witness thinks I’m the one? What if I’m picked?”
“Then I guess you get arrested. We’ll bail you out and fight like hell.”
Griffin was silent.
“Look,” said Beckett, “this is serious stuff, and it has to follow a certain procedure. I’ll be with you all the way.”
They left the room. Susan Avery met them in the hall. She took Griffin up a flight of stairs, around a few corners, and down another staircase. She opened a door and let him into a small room with five men. Griffin recognized one as a policeman he’d seen at the station when he first visited. He didn’t know the others. Three were Griffin’s general size and color, a little overweight, light brown hair. Of the others, one was taller, two were shorter, one of them was fat.
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