by Nero Blanc
Don shrugged. “Sorta.”
“And the piece of equipment that fell on Nan DeDero? Who saved the day there? Or did someone miss their cue?”
“No comment.”
“No comment—that’s cute, real cute.” Rosco shook his head and looked south toward the long breakwater. For the second time in one day, he was in danger of losing his temper. Schruko had run him around in circles, and he felt like pitching the man head first into the Pacific Ocean. If the key grip hadn’t been so heavy, Rosco just might have done it. Instead, he returned his steely gaze to the grip’s face. “So this is all just a big game with you? Hollywood high jinks. Stack the deck for kicks. It’s just one more TV-Land fix, is that it?”
Schruko’s head snapped toward Rosco’s. There seemed to be a genuine sense of dread in his eyes. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.
“Just what I said. There’s no honesty in any of this, is there? Just fun and games.”
“Yeah, but what did you mean by ‘fix’?”
Rosco shook his head incredulously. “What do you think I meant? You’re an adult. Figure it out.”
Schruko squinted, his lips were white and tight. He didn’t speak for several weighty moments. “But how did you find out about it?” he finally muttered in a strangled tone.
Rosco remained silent as Schruko raised his voice and repeated himself. The words all but quivered with anxiety. “How did you find out about it? The fix? Who told you? Where’d you get that?”
Rosco frowned in an effort to camouflage the confusion he felt. “It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”
“Well, then how the hell could you possibly suspect me of having any connection to Chick’s death? He’s the last person I’d want to see dead.”
Rosco had no idea where this dialogue was heading, but he decided to bluff his way as far as he could. “Well, someone certainly wanted to see Darlessen out of the picture.”
Schruko gazed moodily at the ocean. He seemed momentarily to have forgotten Rosco’s presence. “It sure as hell wasn’t me … Why else would I quit my job as key grip on Down & Across and take the Anatomy gig? To keep an eye on my investment, that’s why. I wanted to have Darlessen where I could watch him … and then the creep went and croaked before coughing up the three hundred grand he owed me.”
Rosco nodded in seeming empathy. Like Schruko, he opted to gaze seaward, although his motive was a concern that his befuddlement would betray him. “I heard the figure was a lot higher than three hundred grand.”
“Okay, fine … three-thirty-three; I was in for a third. Who’s nitpicking?”
“Hmmm.” Rosco scratched his head, now choosing to appear baffled by the facts Schruko was presenting. “It seems my source told me quite a different story.”
“Who have you been talking to? You’re not listening to Rolly Hoddal, are you? Of course you are, who else could be that stupid?”
Rolly Hoddal? Rolly Hoddal? Rosco thought. That’s the Down & Across comic Belle mentioned. “That’s right,” he said, “Apparently someone’s putting pressure on him. He wants to talk.”
While Schruko absorbed this latest lie, Rosco’s mind raced to fit the pieces together. Clearly, there was some clandestine connection between Down & Across and Anatomy of a Crossword, and Schruko—along with Rolly Hoddal—seemed to be the ones who could explain it.
“Listen, Don, I’d like to help you out, but if Hoddal gets to tell his story first, you know who the fall-guy’s gonna be: Y-O-U. If you never touched the money, maybe you have a legitimate out. Maybe it’s Hoddal who should be going down for the fix?”
Don laughed. “Nobody touched any money. McKenet and Orso never paid a cent of it out.”
“Take me back to the beginning, Don. Let’s compare what I know—and what Hoddal’s likely to admit to in public—to the actual truth … the truth from your perspective. I’d hate to see the wrong person take it on the chin, here.”
Schruko let out a long and exhausted sigh. “I’ve gotta sit down.” He walked over to a wooden bench and dropped his big frame onto it. He seemed truly worn out. Rosco moved over and joined him, creating a false mood of camaraderie.
“Okay …” Don started, “… I was the key grip on Down & Across until this new gig with Anatomy.”
“Right,” Rosco said. Then remembering the What’s in a Name crossword, he added, “Matthew took over your position.”
Don nodded in agreement. “The entire situation was Hoddal’s doing. From the start, it was his idea. His baby. That’s straight, no lie … Rolly discovered a way to sneak into McKenet’s office and get the answers to the crossword puzzle grids on the afternoons prior to the tapings. He knew it would look fishy if he was caught sidling up to any of the contestants, so he needed a middleman. That’s where I came in. I was supposed to select a likely player, a good actor, someone we could trust, someone who could handle the fix under pressure and make it look like the genuine article. Obviously, it was a six-month proposition; the contestant had to start at the bottom in the first round, go undefeated, then wait for McKenet to schedule a Grand-Slam show. But once we got our boy there, and he won, we’d split the million dollars three ways—”
“So you found Bartann Welner.”
“He was perfect. You never saw a guy with that much cool. He was like Gary Cooper posing as your greatgrandfather. Not in a million years would anyone suspect that he was in on a fix. It worked like a charm.”
“But then he died on you.”
Don laughed with the irony of it. “Right. The best laid plans of mice and men …”
“Leaving Chick Darlessen with his uncle’s million bucks.”
“Grand-Slam Winners don’t cash out till the show airs … but, yeah, that’s the basic scenario.”
“And Darlessen was willing to split his uncle’s take?”
“Rolly worked that out somehow, not me. Maybe he had something on Darlessen. As you know, Hoddal’s a pretty slippery guy. Whatever happened, I was just happy to learn that I hadn’t lost out on my cut altogether. But now with Chick dead …”
“And no heirs, from what I understand.”
“Yep. And Orso and McKenet won’t air the show if there’s no one screaming for a payoff. Why take a chance that some distant cousin might pop out of the woodwork? They’ll just hit the erase button, adios Bart, pocket the million bucks, and move on.”
Rosco nodded. “When did Orso and McKenet get wise to the fix?”
“If they knew it went down, this is the first I heard of it. I always assumed those two were in the dark, but I never trusted either one of them farther than I could throw them.”
Rosco considered how best to respond. Since he was inventing the story of a game show under possible criminal investigation, further theories about the producer and star were probably better avoided; McKenet and Orso were two people he knew less about than Rolly Hoddal. “So, all the players are dead and gone?” he asked at last.
“Yep.”
“Except there’s someone who lost the Grand-Slam prize to Bartann Welner.”
“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about her … Wanda something.” Schruko pondered this information for a few seconds. “You’re right, she gets screwed out of her twenty-five grand consolation prize if McKenet doesn’t air that show.” Don leaned back on the bench, looked up at the bright blue sky, and let the hot sun warm his face. He remained motionless for a long time. Finally, he said, “Oh, man, I don’t know why I signed on for this. I don’t know what I was thinking of.” He then looked at Rosco. “No one got hurt with this situation. No money ever changed hands. I swear it. I can’t believe that cruddy comedian wants to blab about this. There’d be no proof of any wrongdoing if he’d just keep his damn mouth shut.”
“I don’t know who’s after him, but I’m guessing he’s not good under pressure.”
“You can say that again. He was a pool of sweat when old Bart nailed that last answer to pick up the million.” Schruko gazed at Rosco; appeal was
written all over his face. “Can you help me out here, Polycrates? Tell Rolly to curtail his free-speech activities? He won’t pay attention to me if he’s trying to save his own skin, but he’s obviously listening to you …” The words faded as Rosco stood and turned toward the pier entrance.
“It all depends on who’s pressuring him to talk … and why.”
“I don’t know … I just don’t get it. Why’s he coming to you?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
Don dropped his head into his hands. “Try to keep Rolly quiet, will ya? It’s just like the bullets on the set—nobody got hurt with this fix. Tell Hoddal to let it pass. Why bring it out now? The money’s gone. Tell him to kiss it goodbye and keep his mouth shut.”
While Rosco had Schruko in a talkative mood, he decided to look for one more answer. “Belle’s received a number of strange crossword puzzles. Do you know anything about them?”
Schruko looked Rosco dead in the eye, then after a beat mumbled, “I might.”
“One of the puzzles lists names from both Anatomy and Down & Across. You’re the only person who’s worked both of those sets.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Then who?”
Sensing a small victory, Schruko smiled. “I’ll make a deal with you, Polycrates. You see if you can talk some sense into Rolly Hoddal, and I’ll tell you what I know about those puzzles.”
“I’m not in the mood to play any more games, Don.”
“You talk to Rolly for me, and then we’ll have another chat.”
CHAPTER 39
When Rosco returned to Santa Monica shortly after 3 P.M., a yellow Volkswagen dune buggy was in the midst of vacating a parking spot on the street in front of the hotel. He backed the Mustang into the space, turned on the alarm, and began walking toward the entrance’s revolving door. None of his activities had been missed by the watchful eye of Belle, who’d been anxiously sitting in the lobby for twenty minutes waiting for him. She jumped up and hurried to the door, reaching it at the exact moment he did. They spun around on opposite sides of the glass panels twice before Belle jumped out on the sidewalk and waited for him to join her.
“Boy, have I got a news flash for you,” she blurted out. The excitement in her voice made it bubble.
“And I learned some pretty startling information from Don Schruko.” He kissed her, but Belle reciprocated with no more than a distracted peck.
“Me first,” she insisted while her feet did a little tap dance of impatience.
Rosco laughed. “Not if I don’t get a more enthusiastic greeting than that.”
“Rosco! This is important!”
“And our marriage isn’t?”
“Okay, okay …”
They kissed again.
“Better,” Rosco said with another chuckle. “Not perfect yet, but—”
“Rosco!”
“Let’s try it one more time.”
Belle couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re too much.”
“Just what I like to hear.”
They kissed a third time. When their bodies pulled away, Rosco studied his wife. “That was a definite improvement … Okay, shoot.”
“Shoot?”
“Tell me what got you so fired-up you forgot how to smooch.”
“Oh, right … right …! The game show! Bartann Welner fixed it! The show was rigged! He never won the million dollars—at least not legally. Not honestly.” Belle halted her rapidly escalating stream of words long enough to grab Rosco’s arm and begin pulling him toward the Mustang. “Come on. Let’s go. Harriet Tammalong knows who I am. She always has. She’s been lying from the very first moment we met! And I thought she was such a sweetheart.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rosco raised his hands and stood his ground. “Back up a second, will you? Let’s start at the beginning. How do you know the show was rigged?”
“Harriet called me. She told me. She’s an absolute wreck. She wants to talk, but not over the phone.”
“Ahh, now I see … We’re going to the San Fernando Valley to chat to the deceitful Harriet Tammalong, is that it?”
“Of course, Rosco, don’t be so dense. What did you think I was talking about? Let’s get a move on. I told her we’d get there by four.”
“So, that nice little embrace back there’s not going to lead to anything more substantial?”
“Rosco!”
“I know … I know. I’m ‘too much.’”
“But in a good way.”
“That’s a relief. I’d hate to be compared to some of the less than ‘good’ folks we’ve been dealing with.” Rosco smiled, shook his head, and the two of them crossed the pavement to the Mustang. But before reaching the car, he suddenly stopped. “What about Sara?”
“What about her?” Belle demanded.
“All your concerns about her safety … the clique of international felons …”
“Oh, she’s fine,” was Belle’s airy reply. “The senator’s chief-of-staff arrived in person to escort her to their lunch date. He had a driver and another aide in the car with him. They were both huge.”
“And you decided to trust these guys?”
“Rosco, are we going to Harriet’s or not? Of course, I trust them. The aide’s been with the senator for years … Now, let’s move!”
“Let it not be said that you lack patience.”
“A virtue grossly overrated.”
“According to you.”
“Rosco, come on!”
His grin grew as he slid behind the wheel and started the car. “So … Harriet told you the game show was rigged. And on what startling new development does she base that fantastic notion?”
“It’s not fantastic, Rosco; it’s the truth. Apparently something you said to Don Schruko must have really struck a nerve. The minute you two split up, Don called Rolly Hoddal; he’s the comic at Down & Across—”
“Thank you, Miss Information Booth,” Rosco tossed out.
“What? I didn’t know if you remembered that or not.”
“I remembered.” Rosco pulled a U-turn on Ocean Boulevard and headed down the California Incline toward the P.C.H.
“How come you never get caught making U-turns. It’s not fair. Everyone gets caught but you.”
“You’d rather Erik Estrada came up on his CHiPs cycle and gave me a ticket right now?” He spun the Mustang onto the P.C.H., screeching the tires slightly, and took off south toward the number 10 Freeway. “I assume you have her address?”
“Who?” Belle asked as she was rocketed back in her seat.
Rosco didn’t bother to answer, but as the g-forces subsided, Belle said, “Oh, Harriet, yes, she lives in Encino, on Delano Street … We’re not in that much of a hurry, you know. Erik and his buddies could be lurking around any corner.”
Rosco eased off the gas a little. “Okay, so Don Schruko called Rolly Hoddal … And …?”
“And Rolly immediately phoned Harriet.”
“And told her that Down & Across was fixed?”
“Well …” Belle admitted haltingly. “I’m not sure what Rolly said now that I think about it … All Harriet mentioned was that he’d called in a panic, that the show was rigged, and that she needed to talk to us in person. She didn’t actually repeat Rolly’s exact words.”
“But she did tell you that she’d known your identity all along.”
“Right! She said that, too … Well, I had to ask her because I was so startled to get a call from someone I believed knew me as Gale Harmble, journalism’s jewel. Logically, she would have had to ask the front desk for Belle Graham, right? It’s very suspicious, don’t you think?”
Rosco responded with a sardonic. “Gee, I don’t know, what makes you say that?”
She slapped his shoulder with the road map. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I … But don’t let anyone see that I have a map in the car. I’d hate to ruin my reputation.”
“Hah. I’m going to open it up and wave it at everyone
on the freeway and yell, ‘It’s his. The wimp in the red Mustang convertible needs a road map!’”
As they continued their drive to the San Fernando Valley, Rosco explained what he’d learned from Don Schruko. With each piece of information, Belle gasped, then murmured a stunned “Wow … Everyone’s in on this thing …”
“And,” Rosco concluded fifteen minutes later as they exited the 101 Freeway at White Oak Avenue, “apparently Schruko also knows who’s been creating the crosswords you’ve received. But he’s playing coy and refusing to divulge the name unless we can somehow squelch this business about Down & Across being rigged. It seems everybody is all of a sudden looking out for themselves. The rats are fleeing the sinking ship.”
They arrived at Harriet’s house on Delano Street just in time to see Max Chugorro’s pickup truck disappear around the corner onto Zelzah Street. Harriet was still standing on her small concrete entry porch when Rosco pulled to a stop and parked.
“Wait a minute, you’re the man who was at Mr. Mawbry’s today,” Harriet said as the couple approached her. “What’s going on, Belle? I specifically said I would only to talk to you and your husband.”
“This is my husband, Harriet. This is Rosco.”
The older woman gave them a distrustful glare, but nevertheless opened her front door and asked them to join her inside. The small house was tastefully decorated, the furniture so well cared for it appeared brand new. Harriet was clearly attracted to Asian art. Japanese scrolls adorned the walls, and a collection of Chinese porcelain sat on glass shelves that were supported by wires hanging from the ceiling. She caught Rosco staring at the display and said, “Earthquakes. The shelves swing when the ground shakes and nothing falls off—just like at the Getty Museum. I didn’t lose a single piece with the Northridge quake, and the epicenter was right up the street. My friends laughed at me. Well, ha-ha on them, look who still has her china … Please, sit, both of you.”
Belle and Rosco sat on a camelback love seat, and Harriet dropped into a small slipper chair. Her hands shook slightly, and her eyes blinked rapidly with what appeared to be a nervous twitch.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she announced with some force. “I want to make that clear from the start. It was all Rolly Hoddal—”
