by Barbara Paul
She was also sick—she hadn’t been eating or sleeping and what with the nervous strain and all she was on the verge of collapse. When she was arrested she’d made no statement to the police, had said nothing whatsoever, she hadn’t even told anyone her name. She’d offered identification when asked for it, but she just hadn’t talked at all—much to the delight of her high-powered lawyer who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. But the woman was declining visibly. All the fight had gone out of her.
So, once again, I called her friends the Morrisseys.
Drew Morrissey’s shock and disbelief were audible all the way from Ohio. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard it on the news,’ he said. ‘I still don’t believe it. There must be some mistake.’
‘There’s no mistake. She was there and she tried to kill Richard Ormsby. We have evidence.’
‘“We”?’
‘Dr. Morrissey, I’m afraid I deceived you. I’m a police detective, and I was in Washburn on police business. Dr. Benedict didn’t want you to know.’ There was a silence. ‘Dr. Morrissey?’
‘Yes, I’m here. Just one new revelation after another, I’m not too … well, I’m stunned.’
‘Yes, of course you are. Look, the reason I called is that Dr. Benedict isn’t in very good shape, frankly. She’s deteriorating physically, and her morale is shot to hell. She’s all alone here. The presence of a couple of friends would help, I’m sure of it.’
‘Well, ah, that might prove difficult. Ah, I have meetings scheduled all next week, you see, and—’
‘I’ll be there tomorrow morning,’ Roberta Morrissey said on the extension.
I went to the detention cells on Sixty-seventh Street where Fiona Benedict was being held, to let her know Roberta was coming. I had to wait a few minutes as she was talking to her lawyer. When he came bustling out, I heard her call him Howard; Howard looked cheerful. He probably had a good chance of winning this one.
I sat down opposite her at the table in the interview room. ‘Hello, Marian,’ she said sadly. ‘Howard says I’m not to talk to you. He’s my lawyer.’
I nodded. ‘I saw him leave. What’s his last name?’
She dropped her forehead into one hand and laughed shortly. ‘I don’t know.’
It turned out that Howard the Nameless was a gift from Kelly Ingram—who herself had not been in to see Dr. Benedict. ‘She’s involved with something right now,’ I said, thinking of Ted Cameron.
‘Good,’ she said with something of her old asperity. ‘I hope she stays that way.’ Here she was in jail for having tried to kill a man and she still disapproved of Kelly Ingram. But she would have said the two things didn’t have anything to do with each other, and perhaps they didn’t. I told her Roberta Morrissey was coming to New York and watched her look of astonishment turn into one of gratitude.
‘I’m surprised she’s still willing to acknowledge me as a friend,’ she said. ‘But then friends are the ones who come when you need them, aren’t they?’
I didn’t mention Drew Morrissey’s suddenly remembered busy schedule or his continued presence in Ohio. That would occur to her soon enough.
An answer came to a request for information I’d put in with the Securities and Exchange Commission. I’d asked for a disclosure of all listed owners of Nathan Pinking’s production company and Leonard Zoff’s theatrical agency. Those two men had told me directly conflicting stories and I wanted to know which (if either) was telling the truth.
Leonard Zoff was. Both he and Pinking owned forty-nine percent of the other’s business, just as Zoff had said. So Nathan Pinking had lied, and he must have done so knowing full well he’d be found out. The itinerary Mimsy had sent me said Pinking would be out of town until the end of the week, so I’d have to wait to confront him with it.
But at last Captain Michaels was interested. ‘A power struggle, a potential take-over?’ he mused. ‘What’s Benedict’s connection? Did he learn something he wasn’t supposed to know? You may be on to something there, Larch. Keep on it.’
I intended to.
CHAPTER 9
KELLY INGRAM
Ted Cameron was being blackmailed, I was sure of it.
I was staying with him at his estate in Tuxedo Park until it was time for me to go to California to start work on a TV movie I was scheduled to do. Ted played hooky as often as he could, bless him, but he did have to drive into Manhattan now and then to take care of business. I always went along—hah, I guess I did at that. I just wanted him with me all the time but if that couldn’t be, then I wanted me with him, if you see the difference. Truth was, I couldn’t get enough of him. I was a Ted Cameron junkie.
We eventually passed our hiding-from-the-world phase and started going places—a show and late supper, usually. Ted was just bored by dancing, a shock I was still recovering from. We went to see Abigail James’s new play—talk, talk, talk; I’m afraid I drifted off.
But you see, that’s all we had—in time, I mean. We’d gotten just that far when this other business took over. Three things made me think Ted was being blackmailed.
Once I’d gone to my apartment to take care of some things while Ted went to a meeting. He came in about the middle of the afternoon, and he was seething with anger. But he didn’t want me to know! I felt a sinking feeling when he tried to pretend he wasn’t angry, tried to make me think everything was fine. Now I’m not one of those who believe the truth shall always make you free, I think everybody ought to have a secret or two. But it’s still a blow when a man you’re that close to deliberately lies to you for the first time—no matter what his motives are. And it didn’t make much sense anyway, because what he told me sounded like good news at first.
‘You’re going to Barbados in October,’ he said. ‘Nathan Pinking got a commitment from the network for an additional three original episodes of LeFever.’
‘Additional?’ I said. ‘You mean plus, also, too? In addition to the regular twenty already in the can?’
‘That’s right. Plus, also, too.’
‘And did you say Barbados?’
He smiled naturally for the first time since he’d come in. ‘Thought you’d like that. The scheduling is a bit close, but the three episodes will be inserted towards the end of the season.’
‘And the network went for it?’
‘Sure, why not? A producer goes in with a sponsor already in his pocket, the network isn’t going to say no.’ He must have heard the bitter tone of his own voice, because he made a conscious attempt to speak more lightly. ‘I decided it would be a good opportunity to show our new line of swimwear—as modeled on the show by none other than Kelly Ingram and Nick Quinlan.’
I didn’t believe it; he sounded to me like a man backed into a corner. ‘Ted? Why are you really doing this?’
His eyes slid away from me and turned invisible. ‘I told you, to show our new line of swimwear.’
So he wasn’t ready to talk to me about it. He considered himself in Nathan Pinking’s pocket, did he—how had that come about? And he didn’t want to talk about it. All right, I could live with that, for a while. I put my arms around his waist and hugged hard enough to make him grunt. ‘You’re coming to Barbados too, aren’t you?’
‘I have to,’ he said with mock resignation. ‘Somebody has to make sure Nick Quinlan doesn’t put his trunks on backwards.’
That was the first thing. The second thing was a snatch of conversation I overheard in Tuxedo Park.
I’d just opened a door to go out on the patio when I heard a man out there saying, ‘We can’t do it, Ted! Why do you keep insisting? That damned show would take our entire advertising budget. What are we supposed to do, forget about newspapers, magazines—’
‘Maybe I can get Lorelei Cosmetics to share the cost in exchange for a few spots,’ Ted said worriedly. ‘If I can’t, then you’ll just have to use your whole budget.’
‘For a hick sitcom that’s never once made the Nielsen top twenty? That’s crazy! Why, Ted?’
Th
en they both became aware of me and one of those horrible silences developed that go on and on and on and you think are never going to end. For the very first time, I felt like an intruder in Ted’s world and I didn’t like the feeling at all. The other man turned out to be Roger Cameron, Ted’s cousin and the president of Watercraft, Inc., one of Cameron Enterprises’ ancillary companies, that’s the term Ted used. I was beginning to feel a bit ancillary myself.
The third thing was more roundabout. Ted was thinking out loud, making plans. ‘I should be able to take a few weeks off before long—we can go to Scotland. Would you like to go to Scotland?’ He laughed, happy at the thought of getting away for a while. ‘They say July and August are the best months for spotting the Loch Ness Monster. We can go to Inverness and join the monster-hunt.’
‘If we can schedule around my television movie,’ I reminded him.
He looked surprised. ‘Time for that already? I thought it was later. How long will it take?’
I smiled. ‘A Big Production like this one? Nathan has scheduled three whole weeks.’ Three weeks to make a movie. And it was important to me because it wasn’t just a movie—it was also a pilot. ‘It can mean my own series, remember.’
He knew; we’d talked about it. ‘Make the movie,’ he said firmly. ‘You should have your own series. I don’t like seeing you as a bit of fluff for Nick Quinlan to play with.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, straight-faced.
He grinned, his eyes looking blue instead of invisible for a change. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to sound bossy. Kelly—do you like working for Nathan Pinking?’
Strange question. ‘Nobody likes working for Nathan. Except maybe Nick—they get along.’
He looked dissatisfied. ‘You could do better than Nathan Pinking schlock.’
‘You do business with him,’ I pointed out.
‘That’s different. There are other things involved.’
I decided to take the plunge; this had gone on long enough. ‘Ted, it’s obvious you can’t stand Nathan Pinking and it’s equally obvious you don’t want to sponsor LeFever. So why don’t you just cut out? Why are you putting your company’s money into a show you don’t really want to have anything to do with?’
‘Sometimes these decisions are automatic,’ he said in a tight voice, and refused to discuss it. He absolutely refused to talk about it.
Now, there was only one way I could read all that, and that was that Ted was being blackmailed and it sure as hell looked as if it was Nathan Pinking who was doing the blackmailing. Nathan was clearly forcing Ted to sponsor LeFever, and it probably went farther than that. Ted wanted his cousin Roger to put his company’s money into what Roger called a hick sitcom. One of Nathan Pinking’s other shows was titled Down the Pike and could be fairly described as a hick sitcom, I think.
There are few things I can think of that would be worse than knowing someone like Nathan Pinking had a stranglehold on your life. I got along with the man by telling myself constantly that other producers were worse, whether it was true or not—but Nathan was one of those people you just knew you could never trust. He liked being ugly merely to show you he could do anything he wanted. And if he controlled Ted, that meant he had Cameron Enterprises’ assets to draw on, and that meant he had somebody to pick up the tab for whatever he wanted to do on television. What a guarantee against failure! An insurance policy to end all insurance policies, the deadbeat creep.
I was sorry about the company, but I couldn’t get real worked up about that when I knew what this had to be doing to Ted. My God, it must be eating him up inside! And all this time I’d thought Ted was so in control of his life—the decision-maker, the man who gave orders. I’d just plain misread the signs. It was all a façade, a brave face Ted was showing to the world. How could he stand it? Must be like living in a torture chamber.
I was trying to think of something to do to help. How do you get rid of a blackmailer? Other than, well, get rid of him, I mean. The only thing I could think of was to get something on him, and then blackmail the blackmailer. But Nathan Pinking had a reputation for being able to protect himself in the clinches, and he wasn’t just going to leave weapons laying around you could use against him. (Yes, I got it—lying around.) So could I hire a detective to dig up some dirt on Nathan? There was dirt; I don’t think there could be any doubt of that. But how do you find the right kind of detective? I thought Marian Larch could probably tell me, but how did I go about getting the information out of her without letting it slip that Ted was being blackmailed? Oh, what a mess.
And still … and still no matter how I fought it, there was one nasty question that just kept on coming back to me: What did Ted do that was so awful he had to give in to Nathan Pinking in order to keep it quiet?
CHAPTER 10
MARIAN LARCH
Roberta Morrissey looked shaken when she came out of the interview room.
‘What is it? Did she say something?’ I asked.
Roberta shook her head. ‘It’s just seeing Fiona in a place like this … it takes some getting used to, that’s all.’
I understood. Poor lady, she really looked upset. ‘Let’s go somewhere for, ah, coffee?’
‘I’d rather have a drink.’
I took her to a place on Fifth that was fairly quiet. When she started looking steady again, I said, ‘There’s something I’d like to ask you about. This isn’t official, it’s only to satisfy my own curiosity. Dr. Benedict was carrying a Times review of her book with her. Do you know about that?’
She smiled sadly. ‘The infamous Times review. Yes, indeed, I know about it. It was probably what tipped her over.’
‘But why? I read it. The reviewer said a lot of nice things about her book.’
‘He said even nicer things about Ormsby’s. That’s the trouble with these double reviews—one book always ends up looking inferior. The reviewer acknowledged Fiona’s book as the more scholarly piece of work, but it was Lord Look-on that got the nod of approval in the final analysis. Ormsby’s version was “more fun” to read, he said. He actually said that—“more fun”. As if entertainment value were the ultimate criterion.’
It still didn’t seem that bad to me and I said so.
Roberta looked at me a moment and then asked, ‘Marian, when was the last time you bought a history book?’
I grinned sheepishly.
‘Did you ever buy a history book?’ she persisted. ‘In fact, have you even read any history since you finished school? Don’t look like that, you’re in the majority. I write a book about the Brontë sisters and I can count on some slight general interest outside academic circles. Historians don’t have even that. Barbara Tuchman’s work always sells—but she’s an exception. Oh, occasionally a book of contemporary history will be highly touted and have respectable sales, but Drew is convinced most of them are never read beyond the first fifty pages.’
‘Not even Richard Ormsby’s books?’
‘Well, Ormsby has an advantage over people like Fiona and Drew. He has no scruples about oversimplifying things that perhaps ought not to be made simple at all. And that jazzy writing style helps sell his books to the popular market. But the legitimate historians can’t write for that kind of market.’
‘So they end up writing for … each other?’
‘For the record, say—for libraries, in a way. You know it’s sustained library sales over the years that justifies the publisher’s investment. But the way library budgets have been cut to the bone the last few years, librarians aren’t going to order two new biographies of Lord Lucan when the world has been happily bumbling along with none at all for over a century and a quarter now. Know how many books are published in this country every year? Almost fifty thousand.’
‘Every year?’ I’d had no idea.
‘Every year. So library purchasing departments have to depend on publications like Library Journal or Publishers Weekly to help them decide what to buy. Both those periodicals gave brief, equally favorable reviews to Fiona’
s book and to Ormsby’s. That means the librarians have to turn to other reviews.’ She finished her drink.
I held up two fingers to the waiter. ‘So the Times review will affect library sales.’
‘Undoubtedly.’ Roberta Morrissey looked depressed as she thought about her friend’s book. ‘Do you understand what that means? It means that all over this country and in England history students will be consulting Ormsby’s book when they’re studying the Crimean War. He will be the authority, not Fiona. Oh, the large universities with strong history departments will know the difference and they’ll order Fiona’s book. But the kids won’t know. In most schools that assign papers on the war the students will consult Ormsby and maybe never even know about Fiona’s work.’
So it was more than just professional jealousy; it was a matter of professional responsibility. Fiona Benedict must have felt her whole life was under siege when Lord Look-on started shooting the foundations out from under her own book. So she’d picked up a gun and started shooting back.
I drove Roberta to her hotel and thought about having another go at Nathan Pinking, but decided against it. I’d talked to him once right after he got back to town. When I confronted him with his lie about never having been in business with Leonard Zoff—he simply claimed he’d never said any such thing. I’d misunderstood him, he said, both sides of his mismatched face equally bland. Leonard Zoff must have been right; Pinking lied automatically. He didn’t even care that I knew he was lying.
At Headquarters I found Kelly Ingram waiting for me. She was sitting quietly by my desk, seemingly oblivious of all the attention directed her way. It was the first time I’d seen her since the advent of Ted Cameron.
She seemed nervous about something. ‘Marian, I … I wanted to ask you, uh, I wanted to, uh …’
‘Yes?’ I put as much encouragement into the one syllable as I could.
‘I wanted to ask you … could I go see Dr. Benedict?’ she finished in a rush.
You’re lying, I thought. That wasn’t why she’d come in.
