by Bill Moody
He’s sprawled on the bed, his shirt torn open, a wide Nikon camera strap tightly wrapped around his neck. There’s a look of surprise on his face. Coop comes up behind me. “This is a crime scene now. Don’t touch anything.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Fifteen minutes later, three police cruisers arrive. I watch from across the street, leaning against Coop’s car, and light a cigarette. A group of curious neighbors, roused from their TVs, venture out gradually as a yellow police tape is wrapped across the driveway and trailer. Law and Order right in their neighborhood. Two of the uniform cops shoo the curious back while Coop talks with the other uniforms.
Five minutes later an unmarked car arrives with two guys in suits. Coop meets them. They shake hands and I catch snatches of conversation as Coop explains what he’s doing there and why he was looking for Jerry Fuller.
“No shit. Ryan Stiles,” one of them says. As Coop talks, they glance my way a couple of times, then go inside the trailer with Coop.
Ten minutes later, Coop comes out of the trailer and over to me. “New ball game now.”
I’d been so focused on Jerry Fuller, I hadn’t noticed what Coop tells me about inside the trailer. “There are clippings all over the walls of McElroy’s death, photos of Ryan, Melanie, even a couple of you.”
“Me?”
“Yep, two on the beach, you talking with Ryan, and two of Ryan posing friendly, like they knew each other pretty well.” He nods toward the trailer. “They’re going to want a statement from you. I’ll go in with you if I can. I know one of them. Just tell them about your encounter with Fuller at the beach road.”
“Nothing else to tell. How was he killed?
“Strangled with the camera strap after he was hit on the head. The killer was probably waiting for him, knocked him unconscious, then used the camera strap to finish him off. Probably happened sometime last night.”
“You think he made the phone calls, sent the e-mails?”
“They’ll know after they check his computer and phone records. They’ll turn the trailer upside down.”
We both turn as a black station wagon with LOS ANGELES COUNTY MEDICAL EXAMINER pulls up. Coop points to the trailer. “Come on, I’ll drop you back at your hotel.”
The story of Jerry Fuller’s murder is all over local TV news when I get to my room. Fuller is described as a freelance photographer, and as usual, the reporter is careful to say “police suspect foul play. Fuller’s body was discovered by Lieutenant Dan Cooper of the Santa Monica Police, who is also a security consultant for Ryan Stiles’ new film. The star actor is also mentioned as a person of interest.”
There are a couple of shots of the trailer park, Fuller’s trailer, and a photo of Ryan that fills the screen. “Also present at the scene was pianist-composer Evan Horne, who is scoring the Stiles’ new film, Murder in Blue, now in production.”
Ten seconds later, my room phone and cell ring simultaneously. I answer the cell first. It’s Grant Robbins. “Hang on a second,” I tell him. On the room phone, it’s a reporter from the Los Angeles Times. “I’m sorry, I have no comment,” I tell him, and hang up.
On my cell, Robbins sounds panicked. “What’s going on, Evan?”
I catch Robbins up and he listens without interrupting. “The police are going to interview Ryan.”
“Why? Why is Ryan a person of interest? We both know that’s just another way of saying he’s a suspect.”
“Fuller had a lot of pictures and clippings of Ryan and stories about McElroy’s death. Did Ryan know Fuller?”
Robbins hesitates just a fraction but I catch it. “I don’t know,” he says. “I haven’t talked to him yet.”
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to prepare him. They’re going to ask him a lot of questions about Fuller, and where he was last night.”
“I’d be surprised if they didn’t, but last night is easy. Ryan and Melanie had dinner with me. Is that when it happened? How was Fuller killed?”
“Strangled with a camera strap.”
“Jesus. And you were there?”
“Yeah, Fuller was Coop’s lead I told you about. I went along to see if he was the same guy who stopped me near Ryan’s house in Malibu.”
“When was that?” Robbins sounds genuinely surprised.
“Way back, when I first started tutoring Ryan. When you’re done with the police, tell Ryan I want to talk to him too.”
“I’ll do that.” He pauses again. “Do they know if it was Fuller who made the calls?”
“I don’t think they know anything yet.”
“Evan, I’m sorry you had to be involved in this.”
“I’m not involved.”
“No, of course you’re not. I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
“I have to go,” Robbins says. “I’ve got Sandy Simmons on the other line. He’s going to go ballistic over this. If you hear anything more, please let me know.”
I close my phone then call the front desk and tell them not to put through any calls.
I stretch out on the bed, thinking about Robbins’ phone call. A man had died, been murdered. Someone had crushed his skull, then wrapped a camera strap around his neck and pulled and twisted it tightly until all the air had been cut off.
Yet Grant Robbins, except for the one brief utterance as I’d told him about finding Jerry Fuller, had been more concerned about Ryan Stiles, and Sandy Simmons going ballistic, and ultimately, the movie.
I didn’t know Jerry Fuller. I knew nothing about him. I’d only talked to him once on Broad Beach Road, but he was somebody’s son, maybe the boyfriend of a woman who was yet to discover he was gone. The investigation would lead to his background, survivors, family, financial records, his whole life revealed in his death.
Who wanted or needed Jerry Fuller dead? If Fuller was responsible for the e-mails and phone calls, then Ryan Stiles became a primary suspect. But what if he wasn’t? Robbery wasn’t the motive. All his camera equipment was still there in the trailer, and the police would go through all his belongings in search of a direction to follow. The only thing I know for sure is that it had to be somebody pretty strong.
My cell phone jolts me out of these thoughts. I look at the screen and see it’s Andie.
“What’s going on? I just saw a scroll on CNN about somebody named Jerry Fuller. Your name and Ryan’s were there, too. Who is Jerry Fuller?”
“The guy who stopped me on the road near Ryan’s house. I’m not sure I told you about it at the time.”
“I don’t remember. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I catch her up on everything, which I realize is not much even though I was at the scene. She hadn’t heard about the threatening calls.
“If he is, Ryan will be in the hot seat again.”
“Since I was with Coop when we found him, I have to make a statement to the police.”
“Should be just routine, right?”
“No other way it could be. I don’t know anything about Fuller and only talked to him that one time. There was something odd, though.”
“What?”
“Coop says there were a lot of clippings about Darryl McElroy and photos of Ryan, even a couple of me and Ryan together near the beach house.”
“Another of those paparazzi guys.”
“I think he did some of that.”
“I’m swamped here, but I think I can get away this weekend. Want me to come down?”
“I’d like that a lot.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Marriott in Santa Monica.”
“Okay, baby. You hang in there.”
“Nothing much else I can do.”
“Evan, you think Ryan knew Fuller?”
“I think they were friends.”
Chapter Twenty-three
“Mister Horne, did you know Jerry Fuller?”
“No. I only talked to h
im that one time in Malibu.”
“When you were staying at Ryan Stiles’ home?”
“Yes.”
In one of the interview rooms at the West Valley Police Station, I’m sitting across from Detective Charlie Farrell, who had been at the trailer park, and was an old friend of Coop’s. As a courtesy, and because I’d been in the trailer, Farrell had allowed him to be with me, but he’d cautioned Coop not to comment unless he was asked. We were going over some of the questions he’d already asked, but in a slightly different way.
“Did you ever see Fuller with Ryan Stiles?”
“No, but I told Stiles about—I guess you’d call it an encounter—Fuller when I got back to the house.”
“And what was Stiles’ reaction.”
“He got very angry.”
“At you?”
“At first it was at me, then just a general rant on paparazzi. He acted like I was not telling him everything.”
“And you hadn’t left anything out.”
“No.” I glance at Coop for a moment. “Ryan eventually calmed down and apologized.”
Farrell nods and makes some notes on a yellow pad in front of him. He looks up at me. “How would you describe your relationship with Ryan Stiles?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a relationship. I was hired to teach him how to look like he could play piano, and later to score the music for his new film.”
Farrell frowns. “I’m sorry. Look like he could play the piano?”
“Yeah, it’s been done before. Most actors don’t play musical instruments.”
He smiles then. “You mean like Jimmy Stewart looking like he was playing trombone in The Glenn Miller Story?”
“Exactly, but his teacher was going to quit.”
“Why?”
“According to the story I’ve heard, he said he couldn’t stand the noise Stewart made on the horn.”
“So what did they do, get a new teacher?”
“No, they plugged up the trombone so it wouldn’t make any sound.”
“Amazing,” Farrell says. He leans back and grins and looks at Coop, who just shrugs. “Gotta love Glenn Miller.” He looks at his notes again. “I guess that about does it. I’ll have this typed up for you to sign.” He stands up and offers his hand. “Thanks for coming in Mr. Horne.” He turns to Coop. “Good to see you again.”
“You too, Charlie,” Coop says. “Hope you catch this guy.”
Farrell starts out then turn back to us at the door. “If you think of anything else, well, Coop knows the drill. He’ll tell you.”
“He already has.”
We stop in the parking lot at Coop’s car. It’s a busy station. Black-and-white cruisers slip in and out of the lot, visitors heading in to visit or get their relatives or friends released.
“So how’d I do?”
“Fine. Nothing for you to worry about.”
The Valley heat is oppressive. I watch a motorcycle glide by, the rider in boots, black uniform, gloves, helmet, and the obligatory aviator sunglasses. I knew Coop had done a stint on motorcycles. “Must be hot in all that gear.”
“It’s kind of comforting at sixty miles an hour on the Ventura Freeway.
“When is Ryan coming in for his statement?”
“He’s not,” Coop says. “Hadn’t you heard? Celebrities are interviewed in their lawyer’s office by appointment only, and at their convenience.”
“I should have known.”
“Farrell said he’s meeting them later this afternoon.”
I take out my phone and dial.
“Who are you calling?”
“Robbins.” He answers on the third ring. “It’s Evan. I need to talk to Ryan before the police do.” I see Coop frowning at me.
“Why?”
“It’s about Jerry Fuller. I just gave my statement. I need to clear up something with Ryan. I think he knows what it is.”
“Hang on,” Robbins says. I picture him pressing the hold button, talking to Ryan. Two minutes later, he’s back. “Ryan’s not sure what you mean. The police are coming at three so get here before then.”
“On the way.” I hang up before Robbins can change his mind.
We get to Robbins’ Century City office in record time. His secretary shows us right in. Robbins is at his desk. Ryan is sprawled on a couch nearby. He jumps up and gives me a hearty greeting, and a brief hug, as if we’re in on something together. “Bad scene, man, fucking cops hassling us again.” He glances at Coop. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Coop sits down on one of the chairs facing the couch. The late afternoon sun streams in the windows and casts slender shadows across Ryan’s face.
Robbins gets up and comes around his desk. “What’s this about, Evan?” He sits down on the couch next to Ryan, and points to a sideboard. “That’s fresh coffee if you want.”
I pour myself a mug and sit down opposite Ryan and Robbins. “Detective Farrell asked me a lot of questions about Jerry Fuller.”
“Yeah, tragic thing,” Ryan says, but he’s not very convincing and he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Do they have any leads?”
“I didn’t know how to answer some of his questions, so you need to know what I told him.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“You did know Jerry Fuller, right?”
Ryan shrugs. “I knew of him. He was kind on the fringe but another of those paparazzi freaks.”
“You knew more than that. I think you hired him to test me, that day on the beach road, just like you did with the swimming stunt.”
Ryan laughs but it’s a hollow, nervous sound. His eyes flick to Robbins and Coop, who are both watching him now. He finally wilts under Coop’s gaze. He sits up and heaves a great sigh. “Okay, you got me.”
Robbins looks away and shakes his head. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
“You knew him for some time. You were friends.”
Ryan just nods. “Yeah I knew him. We were in high school together, then we lost track of each other.”
“Pretty hard for him to lose track of you,” Coop says. “All he had to do was pick up a copy of People Magazine.”
Ryan shrugs. “Is it my fault I got famous?” He leans forward on the couch, his eyes on the floor. “I saw him once, taking pictures. I said hello, how you doing. That kind of thing. I told him to call me sometime and we’d get together.”
“Like one of those, let’s-do-lunch, Hollywood kind of things,” Coop says.
Ryan ignores that. “He was hard up for cash. I was doing him a favor, so I asked him to check you out. You know how I am about security. But he wanted more. He kept coming back.”
Robbins stands and begins pacing, agitated, trying to control his anger. “Why would you hire him to test Evan? Hadn’t you already done that enough?”
“I don’t care about it now. It’s history, but the cops are going to ask you about Fuller and check it against my statement.” I nod to Coop, who takes over.
“There were a lot of photos of you and Fuller in his trailer, and some are not just done with telephoto lenses. Some make the two of you look pretty friendly. Think about your answers carefully. I know it’s a hard concept to wrap your mind around, but when Farrell questions you, tell the truth.”
Ryan jumps to his feet. “Okay, Grant. That’s enough. I want him fired. I don’t need this shit from a cop who works for me.” He points at Coop. “You’re done.”
“Sit down, Ryan,” Robbins says. “For starters, Lieutenant Cooper works for me. He’s making sense and so is Evan. You’re lucky they came by with this information. You have a solid alibi, but don’t try to finesse things with the police when you’re interviewed.”
“They will turn Jerry Fuller’s life inside-out trying to solve this,” Coop adds. “You leave something out now, they’ll come back on you later and it won’t be good. Don’t volunteer anything, but don’t withhold anything either. And don’t underestimat
e Farrell. He’s an old pro.”
Ryan falls silent while Robbins has me recount the essence of my statement and cautions Ryan to pay attention.
“I couldn’t tell Farrell you knew Fuller because I didn’t know for sure. I only suspected you hired him to check me out, but you had to know him to do that. That probably won’t even come up, right?” I turn to Coop for confirmation.
“No reason it should.”
Robbins makes some notes on a pad at his desk, then turns to Coop. “I hope you’ll accept my apology and Ryan’s.”
Ryan looks up. “Sorry,” he chimes in, but with little enthusiasm.
Robbins says, “The strain of the movie, and now this, has made us all a little tense.”
“Forget it,” Coop says. “A murder of someone you knew will do that.”
Robbins gives a little shudder. “God, a Nikon camera strap. It’s too horrible to think about.”
“Is that really how it happened?” Ryan asks. His eyes flick from mine to Coop’s.
“Looks like it,” Coop says.
Robbins checks his watch. “You two better get out of here. It won’t look good if Farrell sees us all together.” He grips my hand. “Again, Evan, thanks so much for clueing us in.”
He walks us to the door and Coop and I head for the elevator.
“First time I’ve ever been fired by a movie star,” Coop says.
“Yeah, and rehired by a producer.”
“Ain’t show business grand,” Coop says.
***
When Coop drops me back at the hotel, the manager catches my eye as I head for the elevator. “A Miss Lawrence has arrived. As per your instructions, I allowed her a key.” He gives a discreet wink.
I’d told him earlier that Andie might take a cab from the airport. I lean in closer. “Thanks. It’s okay. She’s with the FBI.”
In my room, I see Andie’s bag and some clothes strewn on the bed. I hear water splashing and follow the sound to the bathroom. Andie looks up and smiles, all but submerged in a bubble bath. One tiny bubble is stuck to her nose. “Hey, cowboy.”
“Hey yourself.”
