“Probably,” Steve admitted quietly. “I’m not a policeman.”
“You’re a citizen, aren’t you?” Tomkevic turned back toward Sunset.
Steve didn’t answer. He was thinking of tomorrow, planning the day, hoping his cast would be at their Friday level so this morning’s compromise from Harry would not be wasted.
As Tomkevic pulled up in front of Steve’s house, he told him, “I’ll wait until tomorrow night to see Miss Cullum. Will you be able to go alone?”
“I’ll try. Tomorrow is going to be a full day.”
“And that D’Arcy girl, too,” Tomkevic added. “I’d like to have you talk to her.”
Steve stared at the detective. “You don’t think she’s involved in any of this, do you?”
“She’s a good friend of Morton’s. And of Bergdahl’s nephew, too. And she was a friend of Jameson’s. What makes her special?”
Steve smiled. “I don’t know. I suppose you’re right. I like to think she’s special. I’ll see you tomorrow probably.”
“I hope so. You’ve been a big help.”
Steve watched the Pontiac go down the hill and stood on the front lawn for a few minutes after it disappeared, looking out at the light-dotted hills and the illuminated curve of the bay.
It was quiet and peaceful here, but all around him was the city. A big, noisy, complex, struggling, hating, frightened city. He had forgotten, up on his hill, that all of them at all the levels were secretly afraid of tomorrow.
That was their terrifying unknown — tomorrow. And Harry Bergdahl’s. And his.
He went into the house. Marcia was in the kitchen, making cinnamon toast. “I got this sudden and ridiculous urge for some,” she explained. “Do you think I might be pregnant?”
He smiled. “Maybe. Miss Cullum wasn’t home. I think I’ll go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
She smiled and said, “Good night.”
He didn’t fall asleep immediately. He lay in the dark room, remembering her smile.
And he wasn’t at all surprised, half an hour later, to hear her open the door quietly and ask, “Too tired …?”
“Never,” he assured her. “Not for you. You’re one of my favorites.”
FOURTEEN
In the morning she had breakfast with him. And when Dave came, she insisted he join them for a cup of coffee.
Dave said teasingly, “I’m glad we’re all friends again. What did you buy her, a mink?”
“Marcia isn’t interested in material things,” Steve answered. “She’s never had to be.”
She glanced between them and said nothing.
Dave said, “I talked with Tom Leslie yesterday. He’s ashamed of himself. For complaining to Uncle Harry, I mean. He asked me to tell you that.”
“Is he afraid to tell me directly?”
Dave shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame him. You’ve been a hard man to get along with this past week.”
It was Wednesday. Last Wednesday Hart Jameson had died. And because he had died, this was going to be a better picture. Tom Leslie would make it one.
There was a new suspect for the suspicious Tomkevic. From the vantage point of now, Tom Leslie had more reason than any of them to kill Jameson. More reason than any of them, he corrected himself, except Harry Bergdahl.
It was a good day. Steve started it with a short speech, apologizing for any excessive rudeness of his on Monday, and he told them that today was important and their performances would decide its length.
They came back to their Friday level, and it didn’t turn out to be a long day after all. Again it was Leslie who pulled them up, drawing from them performances to match his own, which was flawless.
In the car, as they waited for Dave, Laura asked, “How were we, Steve?”
“Perfect. I wasn’t joking, Laura, when I said this would start a new career for you.”
She sighed and smiled and relaxed in the seat.
Then Dave was coming toward the car and he looked troubled. He glanced at Laura before telling Steve, “Uncle Harry wants you to stop at his house on the way home.”
“Okay. You look worried.”
“I am,” Dave said anxiously. “He sounded drunk, Steve. And indignant.”
What now, what now, what now …?
Dave got into the car. “It’s probably about expenses. I can’t see him getting mad about anything else.”
Laura said nothing but she was no longer smiling and no longer relaxed. She sat silently staring out through the windshield almost all the way home.
When they dropped her, she said, “Watch your temper, won’t you, Steve?”
He winked at her. “Yes, mama. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As he cut back into the traffic, Steve said, “There’s no point in taking you to your car first. You may as well come along.”
“He wants me there,” Dave said. “I guess he’s mad at me, too.”
“You don’t think it’s a relapse from our argument with him yesterday?”
“It could be. He might have got drunk and began to look back on it with a drunk’s belligerence. He never used to drink like he has lately. What could be happening to him, Steve?”
“The same thing that’s happening to all of us. We’re insecure. We’re scared. It’s a bad time for the industry.”
“Hell, there’s always TV.”
“For you and young Leslie and Morton and your girl, maybe. Not for Harry and me. Our own trade is ridiculous enough; this new one needs younger nerves. Harry and I aren’t the type who can kowtow to sponsors and hucksters.”
“You and Harry…? You’re the same type?”
“In the most important relationship, we’re blood brothers.”
Dave asked lightly, “And what’s the important relationship, Uncle Steve?”
“Belief,” Steve answered quietly. “We believe in our medium.”
Dotty opened the front door for them. She said softly, “He’s in the living room. He’s drunk.” She walked ahead of them into the provincial living room.
Harry sat in a big chair near the fireplace, sweating, scowling and obviously drunk. He stared at Steve, transferred the stare to Dave and then brought it back to Steve.
He said, “Leave, Dotty. This is business.”
“I want to stay. If Dave can stay, I can.”
He turned his head slowly to look at her. “Dave is not here as my nephew. Go, now.”
For seconds she met his gaze, then turned and left the room.
Harry looked back at them. “You’re a pair. Detectives, huh? Nosing around, trying to pin something on Harry. That will be the day.”
Steve said gently, “Neither Dave nor I are trying to pin anything on you, Harry. If you were sober, you wouldn’t talk like this.”
“Stirring up the cast,” Harry accused him. “Slowing up the picture.” He glared at Steve. “Why? You think you can get money from Abbot and buy me out?”
Steve shook his head. “That’s absurd and you know it, Harry. You’re not making sense to me, and I’m sure you aren’t to Dave, either.”
“You’re thinking for him now? He’s your nephew now?” He stared at Dave. “That Cullum girl — she’s a friend of yours?”
Dave shook his head.
Harry asked, “But the D’Arcy girl, maybe?”
Dave nodded. “A good friend. I’m hoping she’ll be more than that. What’s wrong with her, Uncle Harry?”
“You tell me. She’s in the picture all of a sudden. Morton’s in the picture. Now the Cullum girl. Jameson’s friends. Maybe they all told you something and you paid them off that way, huh?”
Steve looked at Dave and then went over to sit on the davenport. “Harry,” he said evenly, “I don’t know exactly what you’re getting at, but if you’re talking about Jameson’s brag, that’s the worst-kept secret in town. It’s why I went over to see him last Wednesday night. And it’s why Tomkevic hasn’t given up on this case. But neither Dave nor I had anything to do with starting or spreading that rumor
.”
“Who started it then?”
“Jameson, with his bragging at a party. And when I went to see him, he practically told me this accident he had planned was your idea.”
“And you told Tomkevic that?”
“No.”
Harry squinted suspiciously. “You’ve been riding around with him. You’ve been working with him.”
“Yes. But I didn’t tell him what Jameson told me and I never will.”
Silence. Dave said, “Jameson was a bad man to confide in, Uncle Harry. He was all mouth.”
Harry sat without speaking, breathing heavily, glaring at both of them.
Steve asked, “Who told you I’d been working with Tomkevic?”
“What difference does it make? Don’t worry, I got friends with eyes and ears. You know you damned near scared off my angel? But you didn’t make it. You were trying to scare off my money, weren’t you?”
“Of course not,” Steve said sharply. “I thought that money was firm.”
Harry sneered. “Firm …? That’s some word. What does it mean? When you’ve spent it and they ain’t got grounds to sue you, then it’s firm. You talk like a real-estate peddler. Firm — Jesus!”
There was a silence, broken only by the sound of Harry’s heavy breathing. Then Dave said, “I’ll get my car later, Steve. I’ll stay here for dinner.”
Harry glared at his nephew. “I don’t need you here for dinner. Who asked you?”
“I’d like to stay, Uncle Harry. I’d really like to try to explain a lot of things to you.”
For a moment, Harry’s glare seemed to dim. Finally, he said grudgingly, “Maybe it’s about time.” He looked at Steve. “We’ll talk some more later. We’ll talk straight.”
Steve nodded. He left without another word.
A new alliance, Dave and Harry against him? Or an old alliance reëstablished? He stilled the thought; he was beginning to think like Harry. To Harry, all who weren’t one-hundred percent with him were enemies.
At home Marcia said, “You’re earlier than I expected. Where’s Dave?”
“At Harry’s.” Steve told her about the scene in Harry’s living room.
She shook her head and said nothing.
“He was drunk,” Steve explained. “Drunk and belligerent. He’ll be more reasonable when he sobers up.”
She nodded absently. She stared at Steve. “You know I’m not in his fan club. But can you see him as a murderer?”
“No. Though I couldn’t say why.”
“I can’t either,” she said. “Oh — Mr. Tomkevic phoned and said he’d pick you up about eight-thirty.” She made a face. “He wants you along when he visits Miss Cullum.”
“I suppose I’d better go.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I could use a drink.”
She patted his cheek gently. “I’ll bring you one. Sit down and relax.”
As he sat there, waiting for his drink, he thought of Harry’s scorn for the word “firm.” It was a new scorn; Harry had used exactly that word when he had first talked with Steve. Perhaps the Texan had definitely backed out. Perhaps Harry had lied about that. It was strange that the Texan hadn’t been at the cast party.
At eight o’clock Dave came for his car. Dotty had driven him over and she told Steve that Harry was asleep.
Marcia said sweetly, “Then why don’t you and Dave stay here and visit with me for a while? Steve has to go out this evening.”
Dotty looked pleased and surprised. Dave smiled at Steve. Steve kissed his wife and murmured in her ear, “Don’t get too nice. It’s out of character.” He went out front to wait for Tomkevic. Perhaps, if he caught him in front, Dave wouldn’t see him.
He didn’t tell the investigator about this afternoon’s session with Harry. He asked him if he had been able to locate Dostel or his assistant.
“No, but I did send a list of names to the Phoenix office, and our man there will go to Tucson to see if that Brown recognizes any of them as Dostel customers. Of course, he’s been gone from here for a year.”
“And he probably wouldn’t remember the numbers if he should remember the names.”
“Maybe not. But it will be another wedge.” He turned toward the Palisades. “I want you to see the D’Arcy girl first tonight. See if you can shake her alibi for Morton.”
“You mean, you think they didn’t go to Pasadena that night?”
“It’s highly doubtful. I checked for that night, and the house was sold out for a P.T.A. benefit. The lady I talked to up there this morning swears that every seat was sold to Pasadena residents two days before the presentation. Morton and the girl probably saw the play together some other night and decided it would make a good alibi.”
“I can’t see Jean D’Arcy as a liar.”
“How about Morton? All his friends claim he’s a real square joe. But he tried to blackmail you, didn’t he?”
Steve said quickly, “I never told you that.”
“You damned near told me that. You will, eventually.”
Steve smiled. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”
“Should I, completely? Think before you answer.”
Steve thought — and didn’t answer. The Pontiac went drumming along toward the Palisades.
Tomkevic said, “Remember now, unless Morton and the girl were somebody’s guests, they didn’t see the show that night. And if they were somebody’s guests, I want the name of their host. That woman is sending me the entire reservation list.”
“Tiger, tiger,” Steve murmured.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Steve said. “You certainly are a hard worker, aren’t you?”
“And I deal with such miserable people,” Tomkevic added. “Present company excepted, of course.”
The apartment building was on Sunset, west of the Palisades shopping district. Tomkevic pulled around the corner and told Steve, “Remember, now, it’s Morton’s alibi you’re checking. If you make her realize she’s not under suspicion, you’ll be likely to get more honest answers.”
The apartment was on the first floor, on the corner, and there was the sound of music coming from an open window as Steve went past it to the door.
The sound of the music stopped before she opened the door. She looked at Steve in perplexity. “Well … I Didn’t you bring a bottle? Isn’t that the standard opening gambit?”
“You overestimate your charms,” he told her. “I came for information.”
She flushed faintly, staring at him. Then she said quietly, “Come in.”
He came into a small, uncarpeted and sparsely furnished living room. The record player was on a card table in one corner. Another card table was set for diner.
Steve stood right inside the still open doorway and said, “I came to check on Mitchell Morton. He claims to have been with you last Wednesday night.”
“He was. We went to the Pasadena Playhouse.”
“Not Wednesday night. All the seats were reserved, and there is no record of your reservations.”
She frowned. “The seats are reserved every night. But tickets can be bought at the box office, and there would be no record of who bought them.”
“You mean he didn’t reserve the seats in advance?”
“That’s right. He bought two reserved seats when we got there.”
Steve shook his head. She stared at him.
Steve said, “Last Wednesday night all the seats were sold before the box office opened. It was a P.T.A. benefit, and we have the listing of every purchaser.”
“We …?” She licked her lips. “Who did you mean by Ve’? Why are you checking me? What right have you to investigate me?”
“No right,” Steve answered. “But to save all of you from being investigated by the police, I’m working with the insurance-company investigator on the death of Hart Jameson.”
“To save all of us? Who do you mean by that?”
“At the moment, I mean you and Mitchell Morton.”
“Nonsense,” she s
aid hoarsely. “What are we to you? Why should you want to save us from anything?”
“It’s complicated,” he told her gently. “But believe me, I do.”
“I’ve nothing to fear from the police,” she said. “You have my permission to stop protecting me from them. Good night, Mr. Leander.”
“You’re being foolish.”
She smiled thinly. “Good night. I don’t need that part. Don’t slam the door.”
“This has nothing to do with the part,” he told her. “And you’re not under suspicion. It’s Morton’s alibi I’m concerned with.”
“And Mitch is my best friend. Will you go?”
He nodded. “I’ll go. Ask your best friend how he happened to get his part in the picture. Ask him to tell you the truth, if it’s in him.”
“Go, please!” she whispered. Her chin quivered.
He went out and down to the car. Tomkevic looked at him questioningly.
“I feel like a twenty-two-karat bastard,” Steve said. “But you didn’t learn anything.”
“Nothing. She’s being loyal to Morton. Is that a crime?”
Tomkevic shrugged. “I don’t know. If Jameson was murdered, it’s a crime.”
Steve said grimly, “There’s not the slightest goddamned shred of evidence that Jameson was murdered. Actually, there’s just your two hundred and fifty thousand-dollar motivation for wanting the accident to look like a murder.”
Tomkevic smiled. “You’re beginning to hate me again. Either me or your conscience. Does this mean you don’t want to go over and see the Cullum girl with me?”
“That’s right. I’d tackle Morton with you. But no more women, no more lambs.”
“Morton isn’t home. Look, Leander, let’s run over to see the Cullum girl, and then I’ll take you home. Then, if you want to drop out of further participation, I’ll take what I have, and what I intend to get, to the police. And your lousy lambs can go up against some real wolves. Okay?”
“Okay,” Steve said wearily. “Now you’re hot. Why?”
“Your bleeding heart. Your great compassion for liars and blackmailers and whores. If you want to bleed for worth-while people, Leander, the town is loaded with them. And not a single one of them has a Guild card.”
“Don’t lecture me,” Steve said. “You’re not qualified. Drive on, Hawkshaw.”
Death Out of Focus Page 12
