Natural Causes (14 page)

Mack hugged the bottle to his chest and swallowed
what he'd poured into the glass. "I called the life squad, of
course. But it was too late. I knew it when I saw him, curled up on
the floor. And you know what's funny? Helen cried her eyes out at the
funeral--cried like a baby. Blamed herself for everything. Helen's a
big spender when it comes to after-market guilt."

"How about Quentin?" I asked.

"The putz didn't even realize what he'd done,"
Walt said with enormous rage. He'd started to cry himself, but just
tears--as if someone had passed an onion under his eyes. "When
he found out that he'd inherited Russ's job, he was surprised. I mean
really surprised! Alarmed is probably the right word. He'd just been
bullshitting all along. But Helen and Russ--they'd taken his act
seriously. All that visiting god crap. Russ actually thought Quentin
was there to help. And Helen was banking on it. It gave her the
courage to knife Russ. But Quentin ... Quentin was just putting up a
front. Doing what he did best-acting charming and competent and never
dreaming for a moment that someone might put him to the test. That
kind of self-delusion is criminal."

Downstairs, I heard the door open and someone called
out, "Walt?"

"Up here, Dave," Walt said.

A lanky kid in a T-shirt and jeans walked into the
room. He took a look at Walt's face and said, "Jesus, what
happened?"

"Congratulate me, babe," Walt said. "I've
just been made head writer on 'Phoenix'."
 

16

Dave stood in the doorway, staring at Walt Mack. He
was a handsome kid in his mid-twenties--hair cut short like Mack's,
with the same bland, boyish, unexceptional face. "Perhaps you
can explain what's going on," he said to me.

Mack had sunk into silence, his hands folded around
the bottle at this chest. I glanced at him and said, "Maybe Walt
should tell you."

"We were just having a talk, Dave," Mack
said. "About Russ."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Oh," he said. "I
thought you weren't going to think about that anymore."
Mack shrugged. "Sometimes you can't help
yourself." He looked at me. "Is there anything else you
want to know, Harry?"

"Yes," I said. "Why didn't you quit
after Leonard's death?"

"You mean, if I cared so much, why didn't I tell
them how I really felt?"

"Something like that," I said.

Mack laughed, although I didn't see much of a joke.
"That's not the way it works out here, Harry. Moral outrage
doesn't put the bread on the table."

Or the Porsche in front of the beach house, I said to
myself.

"I like my life," Walt said. "And why
should I have committed suicide, too, just to make a point? Besides,
there are other ways of getting revenge."

"Like talking down your head writer?"

Mack glared at me. "I already told you that I
didn't spread any gossip that wasn't already being spread by your
friends. I even tried to help the bastard out. Somebody had to look
after things with Quentin in control or the show would have died
months ago. He didn't really know anything about the business. He was
worse than an amateur. He didn't even have an amateur's curiosity.
All of his credits had been in prime time and soaps were a new world
to him. He tried to fake his way through it for the first few months,
but the other writers knew what was going on. And when he realized
that we'd seen through him, he acted like a kid who'd been caught in
a lie. I guess he thought that was charming-that we'd all feel sorry
enough for him to help out. Who knows? Maybe we did. I doctored his
long-terms for twelve months and did most of the weekly blocking, and
he patted me on the back in that fulsome, paternal way of his. But
that was all I ever got out of him--a pat on the back. He was shrewd
enough to take all the credit for himself when things were going
well."

"If he wasn't doing the work, how could he get
away with that?" I asked.

Mack laughed again. "You really don't understand
this business, do you? Helen had a lot invested in Quentin. Christ,
she'd just driven a man to suicide because she thought Dover was
worth the risk. You can't change head writers every other month,
Harry. It makes you look bad, makes people like Glendora think that
you don't know what you're doing. And Helen had a tough enough time
getting the job of producer in the first place. Once she made the
decision about Russ, she had to live with

Quentin. And then, in spite of his incompetence, he
never lost his ability to charm the right people. Regardless of what
was coming out of his typewriter, he could make the folks at United
believe that he knew exactly what he was doing. It was a gift he
had--his only real talent. But even Helen had to reconsider things
after Quentin had his heart attack. There was something there before
March--the semblance of craft. Afterward there wasn't even that much
just a twitch, a reflex. He might as well have been dead. He couldn't
do anything but smile and take his medicine. The ratings dropped.
Helen began to get pressure from the brands and the network. And
before you could say 'Russ Leonard', the rumors started up again.
Only this time they were true. Quentin was a borderline personality.
He was taking a lot of drugs and booze. And he was incapable of
telling the truth. Or of facing it.

"The document that you gave Helen today was your
work, wasn't it?"

Mack drew himself up on the couch. "That's
almost an insult, Harry, old stick."

"Why did you write it'?"

"Somebody had to or the show would have folded.
It still might fold."

I stared at him for a moment.

"All right," he said. "I wrote it to
finish him. I wrote it because Helen was desperate and, if I
produced, it would have meant the end of Dover's career. Is that what
you wanted to hear?"

"Is it true?"

Mack stared out the window. "Who knows?" he
said.

"Jack seems to think that Quentin had a hand in
writing the document."

"Jack's full of shit," Mack said. "Oh,
Dover offered me money to help him out--a larger piece of the pie.
But that was his only contribution."

"And you wanted it all," I said.

"I wanted what was owed me. And it wasn't just
money, Har'."

"Did Quentin know you were working on a story
line?" Mack nodded. "I didn't keep it a secret. I told him
three weeks ago. And I told him what I was going to do with it, too."

"How did he react?"

"He didn't," Mack said. "I told
you--he was dead from the neck up. He just said, 'Do what you have to
do.' And that was it. Later on, I found out that he'd gone to Helen
after we'd spoken and told her that he and I were collaborating on a
long-term and that it would be done by this Monday. Can you believe
that? The man never lacked chutzpah, I'll give him that much. Maybe
he thought he could charm me into cooperating with him at the last
moment."

"Could he have?"

Mack snorted. "Not a chance."

I got up. "I'm going to have to get back to the
hotel."

"Yeah, it was fun for me, too," Walt said
sulkily.

"Take it easy, Walt," I said. "You got
your points across."

He stood up and put the bottle down on the Parsons
table. "I'll give you a ride back."

"You can't drive," Dave said. "You're
too loaded."

"I'm all right."

"No, you're not." Dave looked at me. "I'll
give you a lift. Where are you going?"

"The Belle Vista."

"O.K." He turned to Walt. "And you
cheer up. We've got some celebrating to do when I get back."

"I almost forgot," Mack said with a smile.
"I just got what I've always wanted."

It was a quarter of five when we pulled into the
Belle Vista lot. As I crawled out of the Porsche, Dave said, "You
want to do Walt a favor?"

"Not particularly," I said.

He smirked. "Then let me put it another way.
Stay out of his life, schmuck. He has enough problems of his own
without having to worry about Russ Leonard again. Or about fucking
Quentin Dover."

He peeled out with a squeal of his tires, and I
walked slowly up to the canopied bridge. Jerry, the parking lot
attendant, saluted me; but I wasn't in the mood for his brand of
highjinks. I'd already heard about enough highjinks for one
afternoon. I brushed past him without a word and headed straight for
the lobby.

"Be that way," I heard him say.

The woman at the reception desk gave me her practiced
smile.

"Miss Rose, again?"

"I'd like to call her room," I said.

She plugged a line into a PBX and pointed to the
booth in the corner. "You can take it over there."
I closed myself in the booth and picked up the
receiver. Jack answered the phone. "Helen Rose's room," he
said wearily.

"It's me," I said.

"Thank God. It's a relief to hear a sane voice.
How'd it go with Walt?"

"I have to talk to you about that, Jack."

He must have heard the annoyance in my voice--I
wasn't trying to disguise it. When he answered me, he sounded miles
away. "What happened?"

"Well, among other things, I just found out
about Russ Leonard."

"Walt mentioned him, did he?"

"The question I want to ask is why didn't you?"

"Why should I have?" Jack said. "What
does Russ have to do with Dover's death?"

"I don't know if he has anything to do with it.
It's just that I keep hearing things bit by bit, Jack. Like the fact
that the show is in trouble, and that Mack delivered a long-term
document that Quentin claimed he'd helped write, and that a man
committed suicide after Dover took his job. It makes me wonder what
else is in store: whether I've been hired to look into a possible
scandal or to be guided around a few old ones."

"I resent that," Moon said angrily. "I'm
an executive producer, Harry, not a sleuth. I told you what I thought
you needed to know. Frank Glendora had the same facts that I have. If
he thought Russ Leonard's death was important to the case, he would
have told you."

"That's another thing that worries me," I
said.

"Look, can this wait an hour? We've got the
network here and I've really got to go back to the meeting."

"Go back to the meeting, Jack," I said.

"We'll get together at the Belle Vista bar at
six," he said. "And I'll clear this thing up. I'll even
call Frank if it'll make you feel better. I don't know what Walt told
you, but I'd be willing to bet that it's not the whole truth. Or even
most of it. He's got an ax to grind, too, Harry. They all have."
 

17

I spent an hour in the Belle Vista bar, drinking
Scotch and waiting for Moon to finish with the network. At
six-fifteen Jack showed up, looking as if he'd lost a friend. His
face was haggard with fatigue, and he smelled through his coat of
sweat and bone weariness.

"We need to get a few things straightened out,
Harry," he said as he sat down beside me.

"I guess we do."

"First of all, I talked to Glendora and he wants
you to call him. Tonight, if possible. If not, then first thing
tomorrow. He says he left a message at the hotel yesterday but that
you didn't choose to answer it."

I started to say something, but Jack waved an arm at
me to shut up. "Let me finish," he said.

"Secondly, I want to assure you that I haven't
deliberately tried to mislead you. I don't know why I have to say
this. I thought we understood each other."

I didn't say anything this time. He had obviously
been stung by what I'd said on the phone, and I owed him a chance to
speak his piece. From what I'd seen, he didn't often get that chance
around Helen or Walt.

"As far as Russ Leonard goes," Jack went
on, "Glendora didn't mention him because he didn't think that
Leonard's suicide had a bearing on Quentin's death. I didn't mention
Russ because I'd just started working for United at the time of his
death, and it didn't occur to me to tell you about him. I can't speak
for Helen, but you ought to know that Russ was a good friend of hers
and she took his suicide very hard."

"So Walt told me," I said.

"Did he also tell you that Russ Leonard was his
lover? And that Leonard had severe personality problems, as well as a
thousand dollar a day cocaine habit?"

"No," I said. "He didn't tell me about
the drugs."

"Understand, I hardly knew the man. That's one
of the reasons I didn't talk about him. Most of what I've heard, I've
heard from other people--from Helen, Frank, and Quentin. However, I
do know Walt Mack, and I can tell you right now that he is a
dishonest and manipulative person, with some fairly hefty personality
problems of his own."

"Such as?"

"Such as a long history of sordid sexual
encounters that have resulted in several scandals that Helen--and
Quentin, to be fair--helped bail him out of. There have been drugs,
too. Walt is one fucked-up human being, Harry. And by all reports, so
was Russ Leonard."