Authors: Michael Craft
Desert Spring (11 page)
“Where did it happen, Detective?” Rebecca jerked her head toward the terrace. “Out there?”
“Yes,” said Larry, “the pool's just outside.”
She stepped toward the open sliding doors, then stopped, turning to her lawyer. She spoke to him in a clipped tone. “It was a long drive, Bryce. Could I have some water?”
Bryce nodded and moved toward the kitchen.
I rushed forward. “I'm so sorry. How clumsy of me. Would you prefer some juice, Rebecca? Or perhaps coffee?”
“Water's fine. Bryce can get it.” She gave him a steely look, and he slipped into the kitchen. Then she walked out to the terrace and turned, staring at the swimming pool without expression.
With an eye on Rebecca, I moved to Larry's side and asked, “Is it my imagination, or is this gal a piece of work?”
“Try not to judge,” he said gently. “People react to sudden loss differently. In my line of work, I've seen the entire gamut of grief.”
Watching the woman, I was skeptical of Larry's charitable words. “Maybe,” I said, “but something tells me Rebecca has shed few, if any, tears.”
“Give her a moment; then we'll try to draw her out.”
Bryce returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, stepped outdoors to Rebecca, and handed it to her. She drank a swallow or two, still staring at the pool. They exchanged a discreet squeeze of arms.
Then Bryce came back into the living room. “Thank you for your patience,” he told Larry and me. Though his manner was courteous, it was evident that he found the situation awkward. He tried explaining, “Rebecca needed to, uh ⦠âconnect' with the tragedy.”
Soberly, I assured him, “I'm happy to be of any help whatever. I'm so very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, but the fact is, I didn't know Mr. Wallace very well.”
Larry asked, “Weren't you his lawyer?”
Bryce shook his head. “I've been in the employ of
Mrs.
Wallace for some years now. She has her own financial interests, and I've helped manage her portion of the estate.”
Mrs.
Wallace for some years now. She has her own financial interests, and I've helped manage her portion of the estate.”
Rebecca stepped in from the terrace just then and handed him the empty glass without looking at him. “Thank you, Bryce.” He took the glass, backed off a step, then went to the kitchen. Rebecca heaved a tired sigh, telling Larry and me, “Spencer always had a flair for the theatrical.” With grim humor, she added, “Talk about a dramatic exit ⦔
I shook my head. “It was terrible. I'm still stunned.”
She looked me in the eye. “Trust me, Claire. You'll get over it.”
Larry cleared his throat. “If you feel up to it, Mrs. Wallace, could we sit down and discuss a few things?”
“I've come all this way. Why not?” She settled primly on the leather bench.
As Larry sat in the chair nearest Rebecca and paged through his notebook, Bryce returned from the kitchen and sat next to Rebecca on the bench, within reach of his briefcase. I took the chair next to Larry.
Looking up from his notes, Larry said, “I don't mean to be impertinent, Mrs. Wallace, but your attitude toward your husband's death is rather puzzling.”
“Then you didn't know my husband, Detective. He was not a likable man.”
Quietly, I mentioned, “I keep hearing that.”
“It's true,” Rebecca assured me. “His business methods were ruthless. His ego was boundless. His film-production empire was all that matteredâGod knows, I didn't.”
“And yet,” I said, “he was a genius.”
“I keep hearing
that.
” Rebecca exhaled a derisive snort. “But genius, in the arts or otherwise, is often just an excuse for bad behavior. And believe me, Spencer could behave
very
badly. He seemed to feel self-indulgence was his birthrightâjust because he'd figured out how to sell movie tickets, and lots of them.”
that.
” Rebecca exhaled a derisive snort. “But genius, in the arts or otherwise, is often just an excuse for bad behavior. And believe me, Spencer could behave
very
badly. He seemed to feel self-indulgence was his birthrightâjust because he'd figured out how to sell movie tickets, and lots of them.”
I paused, weighing her words. “Rebecca, I confess to being bewildered. The Spencer Wallace
I
knew was a perfect gentleman.”
I
knew was a perfect gentleman.”
“Then he must have respected you. Good for you, Claire. But the Spencer Wallace
I
knew was a perfect prick.” With a crooked smile, she asked, “Am I sorry he's dead? Not one bit. And, uh ⦠I
did
inherit everything. Correct, Bryce?”
I
knew was a perfect prick.” With a crooked smile, she asked, “Am I sorry he's dead? Not one bit. And, uh ⦠I
did
inherit everything. Correct, Bryce?”
“Yes, Rebecca.” The attorney set his briefcase on the coffee table, snapped it open, and pulled out a few folders. “Spencer may have tried, but he couldn't evade California's community-property laws.”
Larry asked, “He tried?”
“I'm sure he did,” Rebecca answered offhandedly. “He had no use for me, but he was afraid to divorce meâfar too costly. So he led
his
life; I led
mine.
”
his
life; I led
mine.
”
“You lived apart?”
“By and large. I stayed at the main house in Brentwood; he was spending more and more time here in this godforsaken desert. There are other homes, most notably his little getaway in Cabo.” She jerked her head toward the photo that faced her squarely from the mantel.
“Ah,” I said, following her glance. “You recognize it.”
She stood, moving to the mantel. “Oh, yes. I've been thereâonce. Did he take
you
there, Claire?”
you
there, Claire?”
“Well,
no,
” I said, flustered.
no,
” I said, flustered.
She picked up the photo, studying it. “He took
many
women
thereâchippies and whores, mostlyâand a few men, too. His appetites were voracious, and the house in Cabo was his playpen.” Setting the picture back on the mantel, she noted with distaste, “Nude sunbathingâ
really.
Thank God no one would mistake
this
one for
me.
” She patted her frosty, ash-blond hair.
many
women
thereâchippies and whores, mostlyâand a few men, too. His appetites were voracious, and the house in Cabo was his playpen.” Setting the picture back on the mantel, she noted with distaste, “Nude sunbathingâ
really.
Thank God no one would mistake
this
one for
me.
” She patted her frosty, ash-blond hair.
Larry asked, “How do you know he took women to Cabo?”
Returning to the bench and sitting, she explained, “He
bragged
about it, for Christ's sake. Not only did he
entertain
there; he had a quack Mexican doctor on call to help him out of his âlittle fixes.' That was his stock euphemism for knocking up yet another nubile young popsy. Can you believe it? More than once, he gloated to meâ
me!
âthat he'd just gotten out of âanother little fix.'” She fumed.
bragged
about it, for Christ's sake. Not only did he
entertain
there; he had a quack Mexican doctor on call to help him out of his âlittle fixes.' That was his stock euphemism for knocking up yet another nubile young popsy. Can you believe it? More than once, he gloated to meâ
me!
âthat he'd just gotten out of âanother little fix.'” She fumed.
I mumbled, “I admit, it's amazing.”
“Mrs. Wallace,” Larry said with a squint of confusion, “you said that your husband also took men to his place in Mexico. What for?”
“What do you
think
?” she blurted. “Spencer's appetites swung
both
ways, Detective. Oh, sure, he preferred women to men, but if he encountered a choice, studly specimen, he just couldn't help himself. And of course, as a producer, he was always on the lookout for fresh talent, which, in turn, was only too eager to please
him
. He bragged about that, as wellâcalled it âexecutive privilege' or the âcasting-couch syndrome.'”
think
?” she blurted. “Spencer's appetites swung
both
ways, Detective. Oh, sure, he preferred women to men, but if he encountered a choice, studly specimen, he just couldn't help himself. And of course, as a producer, he was always on the lookout for fresh talent, which, in turn, was only too eager to please
him
. He bragged about that, as wellâcalled it âexecutive privilege' or the âcasting-couch syndrome.'”
Bryce stifled a leering laugh. When Rebecca's eyes slid in his direction, he coughed, muttering, “Sorry.”
Rebecca leaned forward to Larry and me. “Did you hear about his latest conquest?” she asked with an eager, gossipy inflection. “Or should I say â
non
-conquest'? Spencer had been putting the finishing touches on his latest script, a movie called
Photo Flash.
There's a hot new discovery playing the lead. Tanner Griffinâever heard of him?”
non
-conquest'? Spencer had been putting the finishing touches on his latest script, a movie called
Photo Flash.
There's a hot new discovery playing the lead. Tanner Griffinâever heard of him?”
Suddenly very uncomfortable, I told Rebecca, “It happens that I
know him quite well. In fact, your husband first saw Tanner in a play I directed last winter.”
know him quite well. In fact, your husband first saw Tanner in a play I directed last winter.”
“Ah,” she said, as if recalling a paltry detail, “now that you mention it, that does ring a bell. Then you
know,
my dear, what a tempting morsel the young Mr. Griffin is. Spencer couldn't stop
talking
about him. He boasted that he'd âbag that boy' eventually, and I'm sure he triedâSpencer could be
very
aggressive. But now, alas, Spencer is gone, and the sensational Mr. Griffin, God love him, will forever be âthe one that got away.'” She laughed merrily.
know,
my dear, what a tempting morsel the young Mr. Griffin is. Spencer couldn't stop
talking
about him. He boasted that he'd âbag that boy' eventually, and I'm sure he triedâSpencer could be
very
aggressive. But now, alas, Spencer is gone, and the sensational Mr. Griffin, God love him, will forever be âthe one that got away.'” She laughed merrily.
Distressed by this story, I rose and stood behind Larry at the fireplace, looking outdoors, immersed in thought.
Larry said to Rebecca, “You mentioned
Photo Flash
. Have you read the script?”
Photo Flash
. Have you read the script?”
“Indeed I have.”
“So have I,” said Bryce, producing a copy of the screenplay from his briefcase.
Larry told Rebecca, “Then you know that it was inspired by your husband's photography hobby. The plot focuses on a murder by cadmium poisoning.”
Rebecca nodded. “Specifically, cadmium chloride was the toxic compound, if I'm not mistaken.”
“Correct,” said Larry. “I myself read the script overnight. Are you aware that your husband, prior to his death, was suffering from some health conditions that might suggest cadmium poisoning?”
“He had some complaintsâsaid he was getting oldâbut how does that relate to cadmium?”
Larry explained, “Claire and I were reviewing some of his symptoms with my brother just before you got here, and it struck me thatâ”
“Detective Knoll,” said Bryce, “excuse me. The man who was leaving when we arrivedâthat was your bother? You called him Grant.”
“Right,” said Larry. “Grant Knoll is my brother.”
“So
that
was Grant Knoll,” said Bryce with dawning insight. “I knew he lived in the desert, but I hardly expected to see him
here
this morning.”
that
was Grant Knoll,” said Bryce with dawning insight. “I knew he lived in the desert, but I hardly expected to see him
here
this morning.”
With my interest drawn back to the conversation, I asked the lawyer, “How do you know of Grant?”
Rebecca turned sideways on the leather bench. “Yes, Bryce. Whatever are you talking about?”
Meaningfully, Bryce reminded her, “The
deal.
”
deal.
”
“Ohhhh ⦔ She nodded.
With pen poised, Larry asked, “Deal?”
“It's history now,” said Bryce, tossing papers back into his briefcase. “Water under the bridge. Since Rebecca needed to sign off on any of Spencer's real-estate dealings that could affect her portion of the estate, a fair amount of paperwork crossed my desk. Earlier this spring, after Spencer began spending so much of his time out here, he struck up an acquaintance with your brother, andâ”
Interrupting, I explained, “I introduced them.”
“Oh?” said Bryce. “That makes sense. Well, it seems Spencer was feeling more and more at home in the desert. He was always on the lookout for a promising investment, and Grant made him aware of a proposal for a mountainside golf-course project that he himself was investing in. It was a risky venture, due to opposition from an environmental group concerned about an endangered sheep species, but on the upside, it was potentially lucrative. Spencer wanted
in,
andâwell, to make a long story shortâhe later pulled
out
at the wrong moment. When word got around, the whole deal collapsed. Spencer was shrewd, I'll hand him that. He walked away unscathed. But unless I'm mistaken, Grant took a bath.”
in,
andâwell, to make a long story shortâhe later pulled
out
at the wrong moment. When word got around, the whole deal collapsed. Spencer was shrewd, I'll hand him that. He walked away unscathed. But unless I'm mistaken, Grant took a bath.”
I turned to tell Larry, “He never mentioned it to
me.
”
me.
”
Larry's brow was pinched in thought. Then, with a weak smile,
which seemed forced, he told me, “Grant must've been embarrassed. Who knows?”
which seemed forced, he told me, “Grant must've been embarrassed. Who knows?”
Rebecca stood, smoothing wrinkles from the lap of her skirt. “Detective, if you don't mind, I'd really like to be going. This has been a tiring morning, and much as I hate to admit it, news of Spencer's sudden demise is indeed unsettling.”
“I'm sure it is, Mrs. Wallace.” Larry stood also. “I'll probably need to see you again tomorrow, if you'll be around. And I'd like to take a look at your late husband's darkroom in the Palm Springs house.”
“Of course, Detective. Bryce and I will be staying for a few days, I'm sure.” Her attorney had been fussing with his attaché case, locking it. He now stood as Rebecca continued, “I need to start sorting through Spencer's things. You can reach me at the house.” She and Bryce moved toward the door.
Larry and I followed. He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Rebecca at the door, telling her, “Be sure to call if you need me, and I'll stay in touch as well. Rest assured, we'll get to the bottom of this.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
As they were shaking hands, the cell phone on Larry's belt warbled. He turned aside to answer it, asking his caller, “Can you hold, please?” Then he told Rebecca, “If you'll excuse me, I need to take this call. Thanks again for your cooperation.” He flashed Rebecca a smile, gave Bryce a quick handshake, then stepped out to the terrace, out of earshot, where he conversed on the phone in the shade of an umbrella table near the pool.
Turning to my guests, I said, “Before you leave, Rebecca, I was just wonderingâwhen Spencer began working on a new screenplay or film project, did he ever discuss plotting issues with you?”
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