The Boy Who Never Grew Up (33 page)

“Oh.” She dropped her arms, disappointed.

“I do have some Garner,” I offered.

She brightened. “He doesn’t belong to her?”

“He belongs to no one.”

I put the Elf on. He played
Penthouse Serenade
. We danced. She felt young and eager in my arms, her bare back electric velvet to my touch. She swayed against me, her leather hips undulating gently. She smelled of rosewater. We danced. The tape was over before we knew it. She stayed right there in my arms. I let her stay there.

Slowly she raised her face up to mine. There was a slight smile on her lips. Her eyes were dreamy. I felt myself getting lost in them.

“What happens now?” she murmured.

“We could stand here like this for a few more hours.”

She laughed. “And then?”

“We could finish the champagne.”

She lowered her eyes. “And then?”

“And then you go home.”

Her forehead creased. “I do?”

“You do.”

She swallowed. “I’d make you happy, Hoagy. I’d work real hard to make you happy.”

“It’s not going to happen, Penny.”

“Because of Matthew?”

“Matthew doesn’t even enter into it. So to speak.”

She looked up at me curiously. “She must be incredible.”

“She is.”

“Would you …?”

“Would I what?”

“Kiss me just once?”

Her mouth was soft and warm and friendly, as was she. It was, well, not a quick peck. It went on for quite some time, her body pressed tightly against mine. I was the one who ended it. I expect some credit for that. We stayed right where we were, too out of breath to move.

“That wasn’t like kindergarten,” she gasped.

“Certainly not like any kindergarten I ever went to. You don’t, by the way.”

“Don’t what?”

“Taste like a grasping, airhead megabitch. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks. I did. What do I taste like?” She was gazing up at me.

“I was just trying to figure that out.” I was getting lost in her blue eyes again. Really lost. They were a bottomless pool. I felt myself falling into them … Falling …
“What makes them so special, Meat?”

The pounding saved me. Someone was pounding at my door, yelling for me. I went and opened it while Pennyroyal hid in the bathroom.

It was Bunny, standing out there in a quilted robe and running shoes, her hair in curlers. “Hurry, Hoagy,” she cried. “It’s Homewood!”

“What about it?”

“It’s burning down!”

I heard the sirens now, the rumbling of fire trucks.

“I’ll catch up with you,” I said, closing the door on her.

Pennyroyal stood in the bathroom doorway, wide-eyed. “I’d better go.”

“You’d better,” I agreed. I threw on some clothes. Then I took off after Bunny, Lulu by my side as the fire trucks roared past us toward the flames that were shooting high into the midnight sky.

I’ve never liked the way newspeople use the word
spectacular
to describe a blaze. It makes it sound like something wonderfully terrific. But spectacular was the only word to describe the Homewood fire. Because a whole town was going up in flames all at once. The shops on Main Street. The Bijou Theatre. The courthouse. Badger’s house on Elm, Debbie Dale’s house next door, all of it. A dozen fire trucks were on hand, a hundred men fighting to save it. Only there was nothing to save. No buildings. Just flimsy wooden facades. Tinder. It was only a matter of minutes before they fell away from their steel pylons and crashed to the ground. And were gone. Nothing left. Nothing
there
. All the fire people could do was douse the rubble and keep it from spreading to the rest of the studio. A helicopter hovered overhead, bathing it with a huge white spotlight. The TV news crews were there, too, getting it all on videotape. It was a strange scene, kind of like watching a reenactment of the burning of Atlanta in
Gone with the Wind.
It was spectacular.

I found the family huddled together on the town green, watching in horror. Bunny and Mrs. Shelley both had their arms around Matthew.

“I’m all gone, Meat,” he babbled at me, wild-eyed. “I’m gone.”

“Why won’t they leave us alone, huh?” Mr. Shelley moaned. “Why can’t we be left the fuck alone?”

Sarge and Shadow watched in grim silence, arms crossed.

I watched with them, feeling the heat from the flames as the hometown of Matthew Wax’s imagination went up in smoke. Lulu crouched at my feet. I thought about what Norbert Schlom had said to me when I’d insisted Matthew would never sell out to him. He’ll see that he has no choice, Schlom said.
I’ll make him see
.

It took them about an hour to put it out. Only the steepled congregational church was left standing. It was situated across the town green from the rest of the sets. A fireman stomping through the wet, smoldering remains of the malt shop found the one-gallon gasoline cans. A pair of them. Whoever did it didn’t even try to make it look like anything but what it was—arson. Unless you wanted to consider it murder. Certainly a piece of Matthew Wax died that night in those flames.

Emil Lamp, boy detective, showed up looking like a high school tennis star in a white polo shirt, white shorts and sneakers. He had cute legs.

“Nothing like a small, tasteful bonfire to bring the citizens out,” I said.

“Heard it come over the radio,” he explained. “Not my turf, but I thought it might tie in with the rest somehow.”

“Good thought.”

He gazed up at the church, hands in his back pockets. “Jeepers, I was just thinking how it was spared because God had blessed it, only it’s not a real church, is it?”

“Welcome to show business, Lieutenant,” I said.

He nodded. Then he asked me if there was someplace where we could talk.

We found a twenty-four-hour coffee shop on Culver Boulevard over near the freeway, deserted. Lamp ordered tapioca pudding and a large skim milk. I ordered coffee. Lulu stayed outside, napping in the front seat of Lamp’s car. It was past her bedtime.

“Any chance they’ll catch who did this?” I asked, sipping my coffee.

“Culver City will track it best they can,” he replied. “Get assistance from the county if they need it. Only …”

“Only?”

“I doubt they’ve left any footprints. We’re not dealing here with someone stupid.” He sampled his pudding. “Nerts, this isn’t tapioca,” he said, making a face. “It’s instant vanilla with lumps in it.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Life is full of these small disappointments.”

Disgusted, he pushed it away. “You get my messages?”

“I did. I was just about to call you. What did you—?”

“I’ve decided to give you one more chance,” he announced decisively.

“At getting off your doo-doo list? That’s very generous of you.”

“The quality of mercy is very important in law enforcement.”

“Are you making any progress?”

“You bet. Picked up a whole lot of neat stuff today.”

“Such as?”

He stuck out his chin. “Nope. No way. You go first. That’s the deal.”

“How come?”

“Because it’s my investigation, that’s how come. Heck, I don’t even have to talk to you at all. Only reason I am is—”

“You like me?”

“No.”

“You don’t like me?”

“No, I
do
like you, Hoagy, and stop sparring with me, gosh darn it.”

“No offense, Lieutenant, but you’re a bit crankier than you used to be.”

He took a sip of his milk, sat back in the booth. “The chief called me personally today to do some heavyweight leaning,” he confessed wearily. “This is big-time stuff, Hoagy. Hammer time.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” I said sympathetically.

“Thanks, Hoagy. But you still go first. Give.”

I gave him that Schlom had planted coke on Matthew to force him into doing
The Three Stooges
, that Shadow Williams had done the planting, and that he had bought the stuff from our late friend Shambazza.

“Interesting,” said Lamp, mulling this over. “Could be Shadow went back and shot the guy, too. Neat and clean that way.”

“Perhaps shot Zorch and Geoffrey as well,” I suggested. “He was off duty at the time.”

“Motive?” asked Lamp.

“To save the studio. To make up for what he did to Matthew.”

“Why shoot Zorch in the groin?”

“To throw you off.”

Lamp considered this, tugging on his lower lip. “He’s an interesting candidate. As chief of security he’d certainly have the means to steal Pennyroyal’s negatives out of Selden’s desk. And to start this fire.”

“Means, yes,” I agreed. “Motive, no. Those are both acts of sabotage. I can’t see him doing either of them. He wouldn’t hurt Matthew.”

Our waitress came by and refilled my coffee cup. Lamp asked her to please remove the so-called tapioca. She did, without comment.

“I keep going back to Shambazza’s murder,” I mused aloud. “Break it open and you’ve got wires going off in two different directions. One wire leads to Sheldon Selden. Shelley admits he paid off Shambazza for Penny’s negatives. Maybe Shambazza wasn’t satisfied with the one payment. Maybe he had another set of negatives. Who knows? Then there’s the other wire, which leads to Mr. and Mrs. Norbert Schlom, acting either alone or in tandem. Shambazza was her lover in a previous life. Maybe she eliminated him so as to eliminate her past. Norbert, meanwhile, had
two
conceivable reasons for wanting Shambazza dead—his wife’s past involvement with him, and his own. He bought dope from the guy. He also bought women. He happens to like his play on the rough side. Maybe he got a little too rough one time. Maybe he was paying Shambazza hush money. I don’t know. I do know he looks good for killing Zorch, too. The Japanese didn’t like the way Pennyroyal’s divorce was being handled. They were leaning on Schlom to do something about it. If he believed Zorch was responsible for stealing Pennyroyal’s negatives, then maybe he decided the man had to be eliminated.”

“Schlom has no alibi for the time of the shooting,” Lamp revealed. “According to his secretary, he left his office at Panorama City at a quarter to six. When he stopped at the scene on his way home it was past seven. Could be he got stuck in traffic. Could be he’s our shooter.”

“He happens to look very good for this fire, too,” I pointed out. “He wants Bedford Falls, and he intends to get it. What happened tonight certainly qualifies as giving them the message.”

Lamp nodded. “Interesting … Okay, Hoagy, that’s one wire. Now let’s follow that other one—to Selden. Let’s say he shoots Shambazza because he’s blackmailing him over Pennyroyal’s pictures. And he shoots Zorch for trying to bring down his studio. Okay so far?”

“So far,” I agreed. “Was he anywhere near Hazen Drive when it happened?”

Lamp looked through his notes. “Selden had a four-thirty appointment in Beverly Hills with a Dr. David Kaminsky, proctologist to the stars. The doctor was a bit backed up that afternoon …”

“So to speak.”

“Selden didn’t get in until five, at which time he was examined, had various tests taken …”

“I don’t need to hear about those.”

Lamp grinned. “He got out of there about six. Arrived at his home in Brentwood sometime past seven. Traffic could account for that. It’s brutal on that side of town at rush hour.”

“Then again …”

“He
could
have taken a detour up to Zorch’s house,” Lamp suggested. “Arrived there after Pennyroyal and Johnny were gone. Shot Zorch and Geoffrey, then took off for home. The timing’s tight, but it works.”

I sipped my coffee. “Except for one thing—how would he know he’d find Zorch stranded there in his driveway at exactly that time?”

“I asked myself the same question,” acknowledged Lamp.

“Oh, God.”

“What’s wrong, Hoagy?”

“I’m starting to think like a cop.”

“That’s not such a bad thing, you know. We have orderly, efficient minds.”

“Don’t make me feel any worse, Lieutenant.”

“I did check with Zorch’s secretary to see if he’d scheduled another appointment at the house besides the one he had with you. At, say, six. He says no.”

“Zorch could have made an appointment with Shelley without his secretary knowing it.”

“True. Apparently, he was out of the office in the late afternoon. That jibes with what Pennyroyal says she was told when she called him. By the way, I checked back with the houseboy, Kenji. He confirmed what she told us. She was there when she says she was. He saw her drive away. Her and Johnny both.”

“You didn’t believe her?”

“Just making sure. Okay, let’s say Zorch did make an appointment on his own with Selden. Let’s say Selden plugged him, okay? How does he fit for the rest of it? Would he torch Homewood? Doubtful, it seems to me.

“Not necessarily, Lieutenant. He doesn’t want Matthew to make this new Badger film. He thinks it’s a loser. Maybe this was his way of discouraging him.”

“Pretty expensive way, don’t you think?”

“I assume they’re insured.”

“And Pennyroyal’s negatives? Would he leak those?”

“No,” I contended. “He wants to get the two of them back together. He wouldn’t have done it.”

Lamp glanced down at his notepad thoughtfully. “It could be that the negatives don’t figure at all.”

“Meaning?”

“Maybe the
Enquirer
got them on their own. Or a second party stole them, someone who doesn’t figure in this at all.” He considered this idea a moment, then moved on. “Tell me about Trace Washburn.”

“What about him?”

“He’s being most vague about his whereabouts at the time of the shooting. Said something about going for a long swim. You know anything more about it?”

“Yes.”

Lamp leaned forward. “Well, where was he?”

“With a married lady who lives down the beach. Rather famous one.”

“Who?”

“If you need to know, I’ll tell you.”

“I need to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Hoagy, I’m up to my ears in this thing,” Lamp protested. “If I don’t produce some hard evidence soon m—

“You have to handle this personally. Her husband mustn’t know.”

“You have my word. Who is she?”

I told him.

He was shocked. “I thought she was happily married.”