“I know. Finish it. I’ll go get us some Chinese.”
Thirty minutes later, I spread out boxes of rice, chicken, and broccoli beef on the dining table with plates and a couple of bottles of beer. Andie comes in to join me, dropping the script on the table.
“Well, it reads fast,” she says. “Not exactly
Citizen Kane
. Lots of action, but what do I know about movie scripts? It says first draft. Does that mean there will be lots of changes, with luck, some improvements?”
I don’t answer. We eat in silence for a few minutes. “Not what you expected, huh?”
I shrug. “No, this is worse. This is more like a straight-to-video thing, but with Ryan in it, who knows.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What they paid me for. I’ve signed on, collected the money. I don’t really have a choice now.”
“Maybe you could make some suggestions. Robbins did ask for your input.”
“Yeah, like start over. I don’t think the director or the writer would readily take suggestions from the guy scoring the music.”
I go out on the deck while Andie clears the table and rinses the plates. She comes up behind me, puts her arms around my waist. “How about a walk?”
We head toward the river and cross halfway over the bridge and stop. I lean on the railing, looking down at the Russian River, flowing slowly beneath us. There are some lights coming on now along the front as homes and hotels ease into the evening.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what Bonnie Stiles told me. I know Ryan has been cleared with the police, but am I obligated to tell them I know what Ryan did?”
Andie turns to face me. “What you mean is you know what Ryan’s mother told you Ryan told her. You didn’t know at the time the police questioned you, so you weren’t withholding anything. A second-hand confession of a son to his mother after the fact doesn’t count for much, especially since he’s been cleared.”
“I know, but somehow it just doesn’t feel right.”
“Think ahead. You bring this up now and Bonnie might deny it all.”
“You really think she would?”
“Never underestimate a mother’s loyalty to her son.” She looks at me and shrugs. “Hey, maybe I’m wrong. Run it by Coop. See what he says, but I think I know what he’ll tell you.”
“What?”
“Leave it alone, it’s over. Three people know what happened that night. You, Bonnie, and Ryan. You and Bonnie don’t count.”
“Evan? It’s Grant Robbins.”
“Yes.” It’s been two weeks since the script arrived. I’ve had only two gigs since then and spent most of my time walking Milton, spending time with Andie when she can get away. I’ve also been trying to come up with a main theme for an uninspiring story.
“So what do you think?” Robbins says.
“Well, I—”
Robbins catches my hesitation and laughs. “I can guess. It’s terrible. We both know that. But don’t worry. Remember that was a first draft. There have been lots of changes and decided improvements.”
“Frankly, I’m relieved to hear you say that.”
Robbins laughs again. “I bet you are. We’ll have another version ready by next week and you’ll get a copy then.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Any chance we could get you to come down for a few days? I’d like to have you meet with the writer and director. Ryan, of course, is anxious to get together again. We need to talk about the music.”
“Yeah, sure. How’s Ryan doing?”
“Okay. He’s antsy to get going on this project.” Robbins lets some silence pass for a moment. “He wanted to go to McElroy’s funeral but I managed to talk him out of it. I’m trying to get him to keep a low profile.”
“That’s good. Anything more from the police?”
“Nothing. We’re totally clear. It’s yesterday’s news. Fortunately, there have been some other scandals to take the heat off. Anything new with you?”
I don’t mention Bonnie Stiles’ visit. I wonder if Ryan knows. “Not much. I’m antsy too.”
“I can imagine. I’ll get back to you as soon as we have a new draft.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
I close the phone and gaze out from my deck at the towering redwoods. There’s a chill in the air and a darkened sky, and rain threatens.
“Who was that?” I hear Andie’s voice behind me. Just out of the shower, she’s wrapped in a big terry cloth robe.
“Grant Robbins checking in. He says they have a revised script and they want me to come down to meet the director and the writer.”
Andie pulls the robe tighter around her as she feels the cool air. “When?”
“A few days. Probably next week.” I can see from her expression she’s not happy.
She takes my hand and pulls me up. “Come on you, we have things to do.” She leads me to the bedroom and falls back on the bed, letting the robe slip open.
“Agent Lawrence, you are a naughty girl.” I stand and look at her for a moment, then her phone rings. We both stare at it. “Don’t,” I say, but I know better.
She picks it up and looks at the screen then sits up and pulls the robe around her. Her eyes go to mine. “It’s Wendell Cook.”
I nod and watch her open the phone. “Agent Lawrence.” She listens, her eyes focused on me. “When? Yes, sir, I understand. I’ll get out tonight as soon as I can get a flight. Yes, I’ll tell him.” She closes the phone and sets it on the nightstand. “They’ve had a sighting of Gillian. I have to fly out right away.”
“Where in L.A.?”
“No, Las Vegas. Can you believe it? She went into a pharmacy to fill a prescription. Wendell is putting together a task force and he wants me down there. The pharmacist recognized her, he thinks.” She shrugs. I look at Andie for more. “I can’t tell you anymore. That’s all he said.” She scoots across the bed and throws her arms around me. “This is good news, Evan. We’re going to get her.”
“Do it fast.”
Grant Robbins looks around the conference table. “Well, let’s get started shall we?”
Robbins sits at the head of the table. Across from me are Dennis Mills, the writer, director Sandy Simmons, and of course, Ryan Stiles.
Robbins had sent a car to pick me up at LAX, and I was whisked to the studio lot in Culver City. After a flurry of checks that rival airport security, I was admitted to the offices and finally to this wood-paneled conference room, mostly bare except for framed posters of movies that had been produced here. Hallowed ground for movie people, I gather, but so far we’ve just been chatting. I’ve seen no script.
“Where are the fucking copies?” the always impatient Ryan wants to know. Our reunion had been brief, but he’d seemed glad to see me, and there’d been no talk about Darryl McElroy.
“They’re being made as we speak,” Robbins says. “I thought we could take this time to get acquainted while we wait.”
This is obviously for my benefit. I’m sure the others already know each other. I’d already met Dennis Mills briefly. He was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He had longish hair and modish looking glasses. Soft spoken, he’d greeted me with some interest, confessing he was a big fan of Keith Jarrett, which I took as a good sign.
Sandy Simmons had slipped in last with a flourish and a big smile. He was younger than me and also dressed casually in slacks, loafers, a dark green sport shirt, and a black baseball cap with the title of a movie he’d directed stitched in gold. It was one I didn’t recognize.
“So, you’re the music guy, eh? We’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” he says, as if that will be an exciting event. Whether he means for me or him I can’t tell. We all turn our attention to Grant Robbins.
“Drinks anybody? Coffee, water, something else?”
Everyone seems to look to me for a decision. “Coffee would be great,” I say. Mills and Simmons both nod their agreement. Ryan just shrugs in a“whatever” gesture.
Robbins picks up a phone on the table and places an order. In less than three minutes, an attractive young redhead comes in with a thermal pot and four mugs emblazoned with the studio logo. Cream, sugar, and spoons rest on a small tray. I watch her trying not to stare at Ryan as she sets everything on the table, but he catches her and gives her a big smile. She blushes and rushes out of the room.
Before we can take our first sip of coffee, a young man in cargo pants and a UCLA sweatshirt comes in with a stack of bound scripts. He plops them down on the table in front of Grant Robbins. “Sorry for the delay,” he says and quickly beats a retreat.
Robbins flips through the top copy then slides one to each of us. Mills hardly glances at his, but since he wrote it, I’m not surprised. Sandy Simmons glances at the title page and tips his cap on the back of his head.
“Is this the title we’re going with?”
I look down at my copy. “Solo Blues” had become “Murder in B Flat”. The first two pages are a brief synopsis. Halfway through, I feel my stomach tighten. I look up and find Ryan and Robbins watching me, gauging my reaction. I continue reading then close the script.
Now I understand the mediocre first draft. That was to get me to sign the contract and accept the first payment installment. I didn’t need to read the script to know it mirrored probably everything that happened with Gillian Payne. Dennis Mills sees me glare at Grant Robbins.
“What?” he says.
“Where did you get the material for this? I slap the script down on the table. Mills flinches and looks at Robbins.
“Newspaper articles, mostly.” He looks genuinely confused. “I thought you were okay with it.”
“Well, I’m not.” I start to get up, but Robbins stops me.
“Evan,” he begins, “there are two ways this can go. You signed a binding contract to score this film. Nowhere in that contract does it give you approval of the script or source material. You can fulfill your obligation, or, you can walk away and deal with a failure to comply lawsuit. Since you’ve been paid and accepted the first installment. The case is public domain, taken from newspaper accounts, interviews, well, you know that as well as I do. Any objections you have won’t really fly in court.”
I lean back in my chair, knowing everything Robbins said is true. They had me and everybody at the table knew it. I should have known it, too. I let my mind drift back to our first meeting at the Jazz Bakery. Robbins knew the whole story, everything about me, including the fact that Andie and Coop were waiting for me.
Dennis Mills still looks confused. “Did I do something wrong?”
Robbins smiles. “Not at all, Dennis. You wrote a great script and it’s going to be a great movie.”
Mills looks at me, finally getting it. “Shit, you’re the guy, aren’t you?” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t put it together. Nobody told me.”
Robbins looks at me again. “Evan, before you do anything rash, read the script.”
I look across at Ryan. He grins and shrugs.
“Hey man, welcome to Hollywood.”
***
I turn from the window of the Federal Building in Westwood, looking down at Wilshire Boulevard from the seventeenth floor. I can see the Veteran’s cemetery, the rows of white gravestones stretching as far as I can see, and the traffic crawling along Wilshire Boulevard. I turn when the door opens and Andie comes out. She’d had me wait after picking me up from the studio, driving me to the Bureau herself in a black SUV with dark-tinted windows.
“Wendell Cook needs to see you,” was all she’d said, and brushed off my questions with a simple, “Just procedure.”
She was tense and not very talkative on the drive from Culver City to Westwood. When I’d pressed, she said, “Wendell will explain everything.”
I assumed it was about Gillian Payne, thinking they’d caught up with her, but Andie wasn’t having it. “I can’t talk about it. Please, Evan, just be patient.”
Now, as I follow her inside, she has trouble meeting my eyes. We walk back down a long corridor to Cook’s office, a place I’m all too familiar with. This was where I’d first met Andie, where I’d begun the nightmare of helping the FBI identify clues left at crime scenes that were entirely related to jazz.
As we enter Cook’s office, he gets to his feet, his huge former-NFL-linebacker body coming toward me to shake hands. “Good to see you again, Evan.”
“I hope so.”
“Have a seat,” he says, motioning me to a chair in front of his desk. Sensing someone behind me, I turn and see Coop leaning against the wall.
“Hey, sport,” he says, giving me a slight wave and a smile.
I sit down, feeling confused and a bit annoyed.
Wendell settles behind his desk. “Well, here we are again,” he says, a slight smile on his face.
“So what’s this all about? Have you caught her?”
Wendell answers my question by looking away. “I know Andie told you we had a strong lead in Las Vegas,” he begins, “but that didn’t pan out. We weren’t fast enough. Somehow she slipped through.” His eyes lock with mine. “I’ll be honest with you, Evan. Right now, we don’t know where she is.” He lets that sink in for a moment then continues. “Which brings us to the purpose of this meeting.”
I put up my hands. “Oh no, I’m not going there again. I’ve been there, done that—”
Wendell shakes his head and smiles. “You’ve got it all wrong, Evan. You didn’t think we’d ask you to be—”
“Bait?”
“No, exactly the opposite. We want to protect you until Payne is captured, and make no mistake, we will take her down.”
I look from Andie to Coop then back to Wendell. “Protect me how? It didn’t work very well last time.” Coop had been stabbed and seriously injured. I’d been terrorized and forced to go undercover in Las Vegas while they set a trap for her that had almost ended in disaster.
“And that is to my everlasting regret. We’re putting you in protective custody until she’s caught. We don’t even know if she’ll come after you, but this time we’re not taking any chances.”
I shift in my chair and sit forward. “What do you mean, protective custody?”
“I mean you’ll be in a safe house, at an undisclosed location known only to a very few people in the Bureau and Detective Cooper.”
I look over at Andie. “Did you know about this?”
“Not until I got here, but I agree. I think it’s best.”
“Wendell, I’m right in the middle of something. I can’t just put my life on hold. I’m sure Andie told you I’m about to score a movie. I’ve got meetings, research to do. I can’t just, what, disappear like I’m in the Witness Protection Program.”
“I’m afraid that’s exactly what it means. For this to work, you won’t have any contact with anybody—including Andie, the movie people, even Detective Cooper— until Gillian Payne is safely back in prison.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.” Wendell leans forward, his huge hands on his desk. “This is for your own good, Evan.”
“What do I tell Ryan Stiles, the people connected with the movie?”
“You’re not going to tell them anything because you won’t see or talk to them. We can’t chance slipping any clue to Gillian as to your whereabouts. An agent will be with you at all times. I’m sorry, Evan, I know this is going to be hard, but the alternative is not an option.”
“I am with an agent, most of the time.” I shoot a look at Andie.
Wendell allows himself a smile. “Nice try, but obviously that won’t work.”
“Isn’t this a bit of overkill? Do we really know she’s even interested in finding me?”
Wendell sighs and leans back in his chair. “We do know that much. In the years since her imprisonment, we know she holds you responsible. She talked about it a lot in sessions with a therapist. She blames you for her brother as well.”
“She’s the one who nearly killed him,” I say. I stand up and walk around the room. I hadn’t testified, but I had made a detailed statement. Her attempt on her brother in Las Vegas had more than enough witnesses, including Coop.
“You know that, we all do, but Gillian Payne is not stable. She’s a twisted killer, Evan. We all know that, too.”
I feel them all looking at me as I drop back into the chair. “Okay, okay. What do I have to do?”
“To start, I’ll need your cell phone,” Wendell says.
I nod and pull it out of my pocket and toss it on Wendell’s desk. He takes it and places it in a desk drawer. “Do you have any other questions?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything now.”
Andie and Coop both come closer. “It’s the best way, Evan,” Andie says.
“Hang in there, sport,” Coop says. He claps a hand on my shoulder.
Wendell stands and nods to Coop. “We’ll give you a few minutes alone with Andie. You’ll be given a full briefing later.” They walk out and shut the door.
Andie comes over and hugs me. “I know this is a shock, baby, but we, I, want you safe. There’s no other way to guarantee that.”