Beverly Hills Dead (11 page)

The two men sat down, and the sergeant opened a notebook. Sid took a wingchair.

"Were you at a restaurant called Benny's in Hollywood last night?"

"Yes. I had dinner with a friend."

"What was your friend's name?"

"Alan James."

"Did the two of you leave together?"

"Yes, we did."

"Was Mr. James drunk?"

"I don't think that's too strong a word to use."

"What happened then?"

"Well, he was in no condition to drive, so I took him home, carried him bodily up the stairs, put him to bed, then came home."

"What time did you leave him?"

"Couldn't have been later than ten o'clock." Sid began to feel uneasy; this wasn't the kind of questioning he had expected. When would they get around to party membership?

"How would you describe Mr. James's condition when you left him?"

"I think he had fallen asleep or passed out by the time I left."

"Did you and Mr. James argue about anything last night, either at the restaurant or after you left?"

Sid shook his head. "Not really."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we had a discussion, but not what I'd call an argument, nothing heated."

"Were you close friends?"

"We've known each other for a good ten, eleven years starting in New York." Then he caught the past tense of the policeman's question. "Has something happened to Al James?"

"His housekeeper found him dead in his bathroom this morning. His throat had been cut with a straight razor."

Sid sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. "He was on the bed when I left; I spread a blanket over him."

"Did anyone see you leave Mr. James's house last night?"

"I've no idea. I didn't see anyone."

"What kind of car do you drive?"

Sid was almost grateful for these questions, to keep talking. "A 1941 Buick convertible."

"What color?"

"Kind of a medium green. It's in the garage."

"Was the top up or down last night?"

"Down; still is."

"Good; that squares with what a witness told us; a neighbor, walking her dog."

"I didn't see her."

"She saw you, and the coroner says Mr. James died around three A.M., so you're not a suspect."

"You think he was murdered?" This had not occurred to him.

"Looks like a suicide," the sergeant said. "Do you know if Mr. James had any family in the Los Angeles area?"

"No, he didn't. He had parents in New York. Their name is Jankowski. I think his father's name is Myron. He had a brother, too, but I don't remember his name."

"Would you have a phone number for Mr. and Mrs. Jankowski?"

"No, but they live on the Lower East Side; I expect they're in the phone book."

"Do you know them at all?"

"I was introduced to them once at the opening of a play I wrote that Al appeared in. That was the only time I ever saw them: two minutes, maybe. The brother was there, too, but as I said, I can't remember his name."

"And there's no one in L.A. we can contact?"

Sid shook his head. "Al was unmarried, and he told me last night that he and his girlfriend had broken up. His agent's name is Max Wyler. I think he's at the William Morris Agency. You should call him; he can contact Al's family. He'll know who Al's lawyer is. Was."

"Thank you, that's a good idea. Do you have any idea why Mr. James would take his own life? Did he say anything last night that would have made you think he might do that?"

Sid stared at the coffee table. "He seemed depressed." He looked up at the detective. "He had made a decision, and it's possible he may have regretted it."

The two detectives stood up, and Sid walked them to the door.

"How did you learn that we had dinner last night?" he asked.

"When you drove him home, Mr. James's car remained parked in front of the restaurant. Someone there called him at home this morning to ask him to move it, because it was blocking their deliveries. A police officer answered the phone at Mr. James's house."

Sid nodded. "Thank you for letting me know."

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Brooks. Good morning."

Sid watched them walk to their car, then he closed the door, leaned against it and began to cry.

20

Rick sat under a huge umbrella he shared with the camera and watched his actors slog through the scene. It had rained a lot since they had started shooting, but they were on schedule. It was going to be a wetter picture than he had planned, but the weather added character to their footage: the peaks of the Tetons obscured by cloud, an occasional flash of lightning behind the actors, their wet clothing, the mud.

"Cut. Print that," he said.

"Cut. Print it!" the assistant director shouted for the benefit of those who could not hear Rick, who tended to speak softly.

"We'll break for lunch. Next setup by two o'clock, please."

The AD repeated his instructions.

Rick went over to Susan Stafford, their leading lady. "Susie, I think you've got this character exactly right, and it's good to see that this early in our schedule."

Susie glowed. "Thank you, Rick. I've worked hard on her."

"Vance is a lucky actor."

"Listen," she said, "where did this guy come from? He seems to have been hatched as a working actor, and I've never heard of him, not in New York or L.A."

"He's English, and..."

"
English
?"

"Yes, and he toured in rep over there, then did a second lead in the West End and came to New York with the play, which ran for only a few weeks, then he came west."

"I'm flabbergasted," she said. "He's so real I thought you'd found him around here somewhere."

"I guess that's what talent is. We've got him for a three-picture deal."

"What are the other two?"

"Sid Brooks is working on adapting a novel for a romantic comedy, and I want to take a look at it. Beyond that, I don't know, yet."

"Whatever he does, I hope you'll consider me; I love working with him."

"Sure, I will."

Manny White, the location director approached. "Rick, I'm told we'll have phones before the day is out."

"That's a relief," Rick said, though they had gotten along perfectly well with only the telegraph connection.

"Alice Brooks got a telegram from Sid this morning," Manny said. "Alan James killed himself last night."

Rick was stunned. "He was what, thirty-five?"

"About that."

"Does anybody know why?"

"The telegram asked Alice to call Sid as soon as possible; maybe we'll know more after she speaks to him."

Rick got onto the bus with the others, and they were driven back to the ranch house. He went upstairs to change his clothes and boots, and found Glenna there, doing the same, while keeping up a running conversation with their little girls.

"We need to hire a laundress, maybe two, and buy some washing machines," she said. "Though I don't know where we're going to dry things in this weather."

"Indoors, I should think."

She laughed. "Well, yes."

"Talk to Manny about it. By the way, we just heard that Alan James killed himself last night. Sid telegraphed the news to Alice."

"Good God, why?"

Rick shrugged. "The phones are going in today; maybe we'll know more later. But James was one of those who were subpoenaed, and the hearings are soon. That could have had something to do with it."

"You should call Sid when you can and see how he is."

"I'll do that."

They went downstairs for lunch, and Rick shared the news with those at the table. Only Leo Goldman seemed not to react.

"Rick, did you know James?" Vance asked.

"A little. We were at a dinner party with him once. Nice guy, I thought."

"Does this have something to do with the hearings?" Vance asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised. I hope we'll know more later today, when we have telephones that work."

Ellie Cooper spoke up. "Now you see why we've never had a phone," she said. "We would have had to pay for the poles and the stringing of the wire for about five miles."

"I never missed it much," Mac said. "I've lived on ranches all my life and never in a house with a telephone."

"It's a great convenience, as long as you don't give anybody your number," Rick said and got a laugh.

When the day's shooting was over, Rick arrived back at the ranch house to hear a phone ringing in the living room. He picked it up. "Hello?"

"Rick? It's Eddie."

"Hi, Eddie."

"You've got a phone!"

"We have, for better or worse; you're our first call."

"Manny sent me a telegram. How's it going?"

"It's been raining like hell, but it's going to look good on the screen."

"If you say so."

"You heard about Alan James, I guess."

"Yeah, I did. It's got to be because of the hearings; he was going to testify."

"I should think so. Anything else back there I should know about?"

"I had a call from Mickey Cohen."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I told him to go fuck himself."

"In those words?"

"I told him to go fuck himself politely. You sound tired."

"Yeah, I am. I think I'll have a nap before dinner."

"Go ahead, kiddo. I'm glad you're in touch now, and I'll try not to bug you too much. Oh, by the way, the first footage came back from the lab today, and it's gorgeous. Basil was a good choice."

"Thanks, Eddie." They had flown the first few days' shooting back to L.A. Rick intended to do that once a week. The editor was working at the studio, so by the time they got home he would have assembled a rough cut.

Rick started up the stairs, then he remembered. He went back to the phone, called the operator and placed a call to Sid Brooks's home.

"Hello."

"Hi, Sid, it's Rick."

"You've got a phone!"

"Yes, we do. I heard about your telegram to Alice, and I'm sorry. You were friends, weren't you, going back to New York?"

"That's right, though I hadn't seen as much of him since we both came out here. I had dinner with Al the night before, and he was morose, got very drunk. I took him home, and, apparently, he got up during the night and cut his throat."

"God, that's awful. Did this have something to do with the hearings?"

"Yes, it did. Can I tell you something in confidence?"

"Sure, Sid."

"Al had decided to be a friendly witness before the committee; he was going to name names but ones that the committee already knew about."

Rick wanted to ask if Sid was one of them, but he didn't. "That's terrible, and I have the feeling that Alan is only the first casualty."

"My phone's been ringing all day," Sid said. "We're getting together a memorial service at Temple Emanuel in Beverly Hills."

"May the studio send flowers?"

"Some of us have spread the word to make donations to our defense committee instead, but I don't expect Centurion to do that, Rick; it's just for individuals."

"Was Alan a member of Temple Emanuel?"

"Yes, though not a very observant one."

"We'll make a quiet donation to the synagogue in his memory, then."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Rick."

"Sid, are you all right? That's a serious question. I want to know."

"I'm shaken up some, but I'm all right. Don't worry, Rick; I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"If Alice wants to go home now, I'll get her on an airplane. We're sending the exposed stock back once a week; there's one going in the morning."

"Thanks. I'll let you know."

Rick gave him the new phone number. "Call me, if there's anything you need."

"Thank you, Rick."

They said good-bye and hung up. Rick trudged up the stairs, tired and a little depressed.

21

Vance Calder had just gotten out of a bath and was standing at the bathroom sink, naked, shaving. The bathroom door opened, and Vance turned to see Susan Stafford standing in the doorway.

"Hi, Susie," he said.

Her eyes were not on his. "Sorry, Vance. Didn't know you were in there." She started to close the door.

"Come on in and run yourself a bath," he said, then went back to shaving. She closed the door behind her and turned on the taps. He glanced in the mirror and saw her take off her robe. "You were great in that scene this afternoon," he said.