Lone Star (9 page)

Sighing, resigned, “So what will happen?”

“First off, you may have noticed the chilly temperature of the soundstage. This morning Tansi assembled the troops, and read—with shaky voice, I might add, unhappy to be designated lackey—a terse memo from Jake Geyser. Why he couldn’t do it I don’t know, except that it came off as mean-spirited and petty. Leave
that
tone to a woman, right? So Tansi reads the note that we should all cooperate with the police, in particular Detective Xavier Cotton from the Central Detective Bureau, who will be roaming the hallways, questioning folks about Carisa. But there was to be no gossiping at the water cooler and no idle chatting to reporters. Carisa’s death was ‘unfortunate’—that’s the word he used—but it has nothing to do with ‘the production of
Giant
or the inner workings of Warner Bros. Studios.’ Signed, ‘The office of Jack Warner.’ Jake couldn’t even affix his own weaselly name to it, though I saw him hand it to Tansi, coach her when she sputtered, and even push her out in front of the troops. She wasn’t happy.”

“So Cotton is around?”

“He’s somewhere. I talked to him for a bit, then gave one of his men a statement, and they’ll be gunning for you shortly. He’s not happy because he knows his hands are tied here, and he can wander the halls all he wants, with his All Access badge on, but it doesn’t mean a thing because Jack Warner and the Chief of Police—Jack’s golf and charity-function crony, by the way—are his bosses. If he stumbles on a murderer, all well and good, so long as it’s low key. Warner Bros. will distance themselves from it.” Mercy waved her hand in the air. “Shall we go for fresh coffee? This cup is cold.”

“We’re avoiding something.” I stared into her face.

“He didn’t show up,” Mercy answered, quietly. “He was supposed to be here and he’s not. There’s no answer at his place.”

“So what’s the scuttlebutt?” I asked, nervous. I hadn’t stopped thinking about Jimmy since last night—the moment of discovery, my hours awake in bed, and even this morning, having coffee in my room.

“We’re not supposed to talk, but here’s what everyone is whispering about. Cotton learned that Carisa sent letters to Warner and Jimmy, and had copies in hand when he spoke to me. Warner may logjam the investigation, but he’s not a fool. It would get out soon enough. The studio can’t seem to be hiding anything. But Cotton is aware of the slippery ground he’s on. Jimmy’s name is all over this deed, obviously. And so Cotton reads that Carisa has gossip to reveal to
Confidential
, that she’s carrying his baby, she wants money and marriage and whatever else she spewed in those insane letters.”

“So Jimmy is suspect number one?”

“Our rebel as killer.”

“Not good.” I shook my head slowly.

Mercy smiled. “You do love the understatement.”

“Jimmy ran out of the party early, around six or so.” I paused. “Are the police looking for Jimmy?”

“Cotton has been asking, ‘Is he here yet? Let me know the minute he shows up.’ He’s obviously decided Jimmy is the easy answer, so far as a designated murderer is concerned. Though ‘easy’ is the wrong word here. If Jimmy is the killer, it means trouble for everyone.”

“For the studio.”

“Everyone. It’s sort of hard to release an epic film when the star is being electrocuted at San Quentin.”

I felt a chill. My heart beat wildly. “My God, Mercy, no.”

“I really don’t believe Jimmy killed Carisa, Edna, but what do I know? Even accusation of murder can get the censors in an uproar. My God, remember the uproar two years back when Columbia used the word ‘virgin’ in
The Moon is Blue
? The Catholic Legion of Decency started speaking in tongues. Walter Winchell turned purple.”

“I want to talk to Jimmy,” I said.

“Don’t we all.”

Later Tansi joined us in the commissary, and I asked how she was. “I will never do Jack Geyser’s dirty work again,” she sputtered. “He
sprang
that on me.”

Mercy patted her wrist. “He’s a damn coward.”

Her hands shook. “It’s bad enough I have to be called late at night, told to prepare the dumb press release, then say—no comment, no comment, no comment. I couldn’t sleep all night. And Jake pushing me out like that.”

“Have you seen Cotton around?” I asked Tansi, interrupting.

“He’s blowing hot and cold, frustrated. He’s asked me the same questions ten times. What did I think of Carisa? I told him I scarcely knew her. In Marfa I had to deal with her when she was fired—get her out of there. Cotton says to me, ‘Was she angry?’ I said yes, she seemed angry all the time. I don’t remember much about her. Then I hear him asking the same questions of people in lighting and in sound. They stare at him as though he’s speaking another language. He shows her picture. They nod. Yes, she was around. No, no, they didn’t know her. It’s maddening.”

“It’s police work. Stabs in the dark, looking for a light.”

“Well, I have to contend with the slow simmer of Warner and the hiccoughing panic of Jake.”

“Scylla and Charybdis,” I said.

Tansi smiled. “More like Ma and Pa Kettle, fighting over a chicken bone.” But she leaned in. “But he’s already asking for Jimmy, who, by the way, I can tell he doesn’t like, not even having
met
him.”

“Why?”

“He referred to Jimmy and Marlon Brando as the dirt-under-the-fingernails school of acting.”

“Who else did he ask about?” I wanted to know.

Tansi whispered. “He asked me if knew Max Kohl.” She turned to Mercy. “Do you know a Max Kohl?”

“No.” Puzzled. “He didn’t ask
me
that. It must be a name he picked up after my conversation with him.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “A bit player.”

Tansi looked confused. “No, I don’t think he’s ever worked for us. At least I’ve never seen him on the Warner list. But he was—or is—part of Jimmy’s world, I gather. Cotton talked to me right after he talked to Lydia. She cornered me in the hall, panicking, and told me about her talk with Cotton. She mentioned Max to him—that he dated Carisa, disappeared, came back. She says his name just came out because she was nervous. Lydia says he’s been seeing
her
, since Jimmy left her. He calls her. She says he scares her.”

“What in the world does that mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” She breathed in. “After she was fired, Carisa retreated into that apartment, and Max was seen around town with her. He’d met Lydia through her. But Max had a fight with Jimmy, Lydia said.”

“Over what?”

“Nonsense, Lydia said. I don’t know.” She sighed, weary. “I don’t know him. He was Jimmy’s motorcycle buddy, I guess. You know, Jimmy has that other life. Late night, riding his bike at breakneck speed into the Hollywood Hills. I saw him tear past, one night, hands in the air, whooping it up. He was with some other guys.”

“Is he a suspect, this Max Kohl?”

“Cotton wants to talk to him. Supposedly, he’d been staying with Carisa, but moved out last week. Lydia learned that from Carisa, who was scared of him, too. Lydia told me that once she told Cotton about Max Kohl, she couldn’t stop talking. And now she feels guilty. Like she got him in trouble. She’s afraid of him.”

I nodded. “Lord, a new character in Jimmy’s world.”

Tansi continued, “When Cotton asked Lydia where to locate Max, she said to ask Jimmy.”

“Why?”

“Well, she said she doesn’t know where he lives. He showed up one night at her place with Jimmy and then alone. He’s stopped in, and they’ve gone out. He sits in the lobby of her building until she comes down. She’s afraid to say no to him. Jimmy would know where he lives. They’re buddies.” She paused. “Or
were
buddies. I don’t know. I don’t think Lydia is telling the whole truth. I know she doesn’t want Jimmy to know she’s seeing Max, so she’s lying. She’s hoping Jimmy will come back to her. But Lydia just babbles on and on. She said Max was a friend of Jimmy, and then said they had a fight and now hate each other. She told me she’d stopped talking to Carisa, and then said she just spoke to her days ago. I guess she just rambled on to Cotton.”

I was impatient. “This is madness. Lydia makes no sense. What does this all mean?”

Tansi shrugged. “Well, Lydia told me she broke down, weeping. Cotton left her alone, but said he’d talk to her later.”

I turned to Mercy. “This Max Kohl intrigues me.”

Tansi started rustling papers. “I think Lydia’s hysteria got Cotton to thinking there’s a lot more to this story than he first thought. She couldn’t keep her stories straight.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get back. Jake is a man possessed today. I heard him tell Warner that Jimmy has been nothing but trouble.”

“All geniuses are,” I said. “Even those who murder.”

Tansi rushed her words. “Oh, Edna, you certainly can’t believe Jimmy would hurt anyone?”

“That remains to be seen,” I said. “I like the boy, but last night I saw a dead woman lying in a pool of blood.”

Tansi gulped. “Oh, God, Edna. Please! I told you not to go there. That neighborhood. Nobody goes
there
.”

“It’s not the neighborhood that killed her, Tansi.”

Tansi whispered, “Yes, you two go there, and you find
bodies
.”

I smiled. “Only one, Tansi.”

“One is too many.”

Mercy looked at Tansi, who looked exhausted. “Granted,” Mercy said. “But it wasn’t the neighborhood that killed her.”

“Edna, my mother would
kill
me if you got
hurt
during my watch.”

I stood. “I’m a big girl, Tansi. Have been for many decades, with no complaints. World wars, two of them, haven’t done me in. I doubt this will. I don’t need attending.”

“I didn’t mean…”

I softened. “I know what you mean, and, all right, I understand. And thank you, dear. But a woman who can’t take care of herself, at any age, is a fool. Trouble for a woman should be, well, temporary.”

Mercy was smiling, but Tansi looked offended. Mercy stood. “All our nerves are frayed. Tonight, eight o’clock, my apartment, no refusals from either of you. Wine and a tuna casserole and a loaf of homemade bread. And peach cobbler, from scratch. No refusals. The three of us, relaxing.”

Tansi started to beg off, so I asked her, “Can you give me a lift, Tansi? I don’t want to ask for the studio car. I’d find Jake in the back seat dictating a memo to me about my errant behavior last night.”

Tansi smiled. “Of course.”

***

Mercy’s efficiency scarcely held room for the three of us, much less the bowls of food she spread out. We all ate too much, and I announced that I never ate tuna casserole because it reminded me of church potluck dinners back in Appleton, Wisconsin, but this—this was manna from the gods. “It’s because I include almond slivers,” Mercy said, “and bits of water chestnut I buy in Chinatown. But I really think it’s the wine talking.” And the peach cobbler: robust, oversized chunks of deep velvet fruit, banked under waves of thick heavy cream, slathered over a brown-tinged crust of brilliant pastry. “This isn’t cobbler,” I announced. “It’s sin.”

On the hi-fi, Mercy played the same record over and over: Frank Sinatra.
Music for Young Lovers
. “Jimmy gave it to me. He loves it.”

I noted the look on Tansi’s face: surprise, and a little hurt. Tansi was getting tipsy, and at one point asked, “Haven’t we heard this song before?” Mercy and I laughed hysterically. We’d heard it a half dozen times.

“More wine, Tansi?” Mercy asked.

A knock on the door. We all jumped, with me spilling wine on my sleeve. Red wine, no less. So much for this new blouse, overpriced at Saks to begin with. Mercy switched off the hi-fi.

When she opened the door, a sheepish Jimmy Dean stood there, head cocked to his chest. “I heard the laughter.”

“Jimmy, where have you been?” Mercy said. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

“I know, I know. This Cotton guy questioned me at my apartment a few hours ago. Practically called me a murderer to my face. Quoted the letters Carisa wrote and wagged his finger at me.” He strode into the room, dropped himself into a chair. “I thought you’d be alone, Madama.”

“I’m allowed to have guests.”

Jimmy looked at me. “At least they’re friendly faces.”

I spoke up. “Don’t count on it. Jimmy, tell me, what do you know about this?”

He’d been drinking; not much, perhaps, but enough to make his eyes glassy. “Nothing. I rushed over to see her right after I left the stupid cocktail party. Okay, I admit that. Just drove there. But she wouldn’t let me in, I swear. We argued. I shouldn’t have gone there. But after that new letter…She said she’d see me burn in hell. Slammed the door. So I left.”

“How long were you there?” I asked.

“Minutes.”

“You tell this to Cotton?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“He just looked at me like I was a murderer.”

“What time were you there?”

“I dunno. Just after six or so. Later. Cotton asked me that.”

“And you left—when?”

“I dunno. I’d say minutes later.”

“You see anyone?”

“No.”

I looked at Mercy. “We were there around eight-thirty. And Carisa was dead.”

“I didn’t do it.”

Tansi, comforting him, “You’re not a murderer, Jimmy.”

Jimmy seemed just to notice her. “I just assume everyone
knows
that.”

“Well, where were you today?” Mercy asked.

“I had to get away.”

“You always have to get away,” I said. He looked at me.

“Well, I rode my bike into the hills. I couldn’t stand to be around people.”

“How did you hear about Carisa?” I asked.

“Lydia called me.”

“When?”

“This morning. Early. From the studio, I guess. She was hysterical. Cotton told me she blabbed about Max Kohl. I don’t know what that’s about.”

“Who is this Kohl?” I asked.

“A biker guy. We rode together. He stayed with Carisa. Fooled with her. Then he went after Lydia. Not a nice guy.”

“And you are?” I asked.

He grinned. “Not all the time.” A pause. “I didn’t do it, Miss Edna. Do you believe me?”

“I’d like to.”

Jimmy turned to Mercy. “Madama, you believe me, no?”

Mercy nodded, kindly.