“Neither does Charlie Farrell. Neither do I, but we both like Robbins for this. But there’s no physical evidence at the scene to link Robbins. I’ve told Farrell as much as I know about Robbins, but you know him better than either of us. You’ve been working with him, spending time, since that first night at the Jazz Bakery when he offered you this job.”
I nod, thinking I know where Coop is going. “You’re looking for a way to pressure him, get him to break down and confess.”
“Yes. Any ideas you can think of.”
“Robbins is big on control, that’s his thing. The press, the media, Ryan, all aspects of the movie.”
“Don’t forget yourself.”
“I haven’t.” Like it or not, Robbins had manipulated and, to an extent, controlled me.
“I know this is a big thing to ask, but Farrell and I agree this could do it.”
“What?”
“Push his buttons, get him shaken, off guard. Stiles caved and told you everything. We think Robbins might too under certain circumstances.” Coop takes a deep breath. “We want you to threaten to quit, pull out. Tell Grant Robbins you’re not comfortable continuing, it’s just gotten too complicated for you.”
Coop sits down again. “Tell him you’re not going to finish doing the music.”
For a long time after Coop leaves, I sit out on the balcony, smoking, sipping a beer, gazing at the lights of Santa Monica Pier, and running everything through my mind until I’m dizzy. So much has happened since that night months ago at the Jazz Bakery when Grant Robbins offered me a job.
And now, given all the information Coop and Charlie Farrell have gathered, everything seems to point to Grant Robbins. As Coop said, it’s a very strong circumstantial case but not enough to get an arrest. The District Attorney would want more, and more meant one thing: Robbins’ confession. It suddenly strikes me as ironic. Even if Robbins had killed Fuller accidentally, as it most certainly seemed, he had done almost the same thing Ryan had done about Darryl McElroy’s death.
Instead of calling 911, Ryan had panicked, got Jerry Fuller to cover for him, and left the scene as soon as he could. Robbins had done the same. But he didn’t have a Jerry Fuller to call to cover for him. Or did he? I try to visualize the scene. He confronts Fuller, they get into a shoving match, and suddenly the photographer is on the floor dead. Horrified, who does Robbins know who could and would come out to Fuller’s trailer and make it look like a murder? Suddenly, I think I know—and how Robbins knew about the camera strap as well.
I go back in the room and dial Coop’s number. “All right, I’ll do it.”
“As long as you’re sure,” Coop says.
“I am. I just figured out something else, too.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you after I talk to Robbins.”
I wake up early, no less sure of my decision. I get things underway by calling Skip Porter. “Hey, Skip, it’s Evan. I’m not going to be able to make it today. Something has come up.”
“Whoa, man, we still have a lot to do. I have to edit the last bit of music and Simmons called. He’s going to wrap this week. He wants to see everything you’ve done.”
“I know, but this can’t wait. Put it all on me, Skip, especially if Robbins calls. I’ll be in touch.” I hang up before he can argue about it anymore.
I drop one of the coffee pouches into the room machine and check my watch. Robbins calls before I can pour the first cup. “Evan? It’s Grant. Skip Porter just called and said you weren’t working today. What’s wrong?”
I take a deep breath. “It’s just getting too much, Grant. There are too many distractions.”
“What are you talking about? What distractions?”
“Ryan, Darryl McElroy, and Jerry Fuller to start with.”
There’s a long pause before Robbins continues. “I think we need to get together and talk, Evan.”
“Yes, I think so, too. Let’s meet somewhere this morning.”
“I can do that. Where?”
“Venice Beach. There’s a café along the boardwalk. Cleo’s.”
“I’ll find it. When?”
“Ten o’clock.”
Before I leave, I call Coop and tell him where I’m meeting Robbins.
“I’ll be nearby. And remember, you’re not a cop. You don’t have to read him his rights. Just get him talking. Watch yourself.”
I get to Cleo’s a half hour early, take one of the outside tables, and order some breakfast. It’s a bit cool this morning, but hazy sunshine is starting to break through the clouds, and the smell of the ocean is very strong.
A minute after ten, I spot Robbins coming up the boardwalk, dodging tourists and locals already out in droves. It’s only the second time I’ve seen Robbins not in a suit and tie. He’s wearing gray slacks and a dark sweater, looking annoyed at being bumped by people in all manner of dress. When he sees me, he looks around and takes a seat opposite me.
“Some breakfast? The food is good here. I used to live nearby.”
Robbins shakes his head and signals the waiter for coffee. He waits for it to arrive then looks at me. “All right, what’s this all about, Evan?”
I’d rehearsed what I was going to say. Once I get started it comes easily. “I’m dropping out, Grant. I’m not going to finish the music.”
Robbins, about to take his first taste of coffee, stops the cup in midair. “You’re what?” He sits the cup down hard in the saucer and some coffee splashes out. “Do I have to remind you you’re under contract? You’ve been paid, and very well, I might add, for someone who has never scored a movie. You can’t just walk away.”
“Not enough to cover babysitting a spoiled brat movie star and being questioned by the police on two different occasions concerning two deaths.”
“Is that what this is about? You want more money?” Robbins shakes his head and smiles, thinking he’s on safe ground. For Robbins, money can solve anything. “I know it hasn’t been easy. Nobody could have anticipated what happened with Ryan and the McElroy thing, but that’s all in the past. It was all cleared up.”
I look right at Robbins. “The McElroy thing, as you put it, was an accident. Jerry Fuller’s death has not been cleared up, and that wasn’t an accident. That was a homicide, and I decided I don’t like working for somebody who may be the prime suspect.”
“What are you talking about?” Robbins shifts in his chair and colors slightly. I see the first crack in his armor. “I’ve already been questioned by the police, and I have a solid alibi for the night of Fuller’s death.”
“Yes, I know. Dinner with Ryan and Melanie at Mario’s, but I know some other things, too. I know you had a little car trouble when you left Mario’s after that phone call, and I know it’s only seventeen minutes’ drive to Fuller’s trailer.”
Robbins face goes white. “Car trouble, phone call? How did you—”
“The police know all about it. Anyway, that’s your business, not mine. I don’t want to be involved in a homicide investigation. I’ve been there, done that. Get somebody else to finish the music. As of right now, I’m out.” I light a cigarette and watch Robbins squirm.
Robbins stares at me for a moment, then slams his fist down on the table. “You can’t do that. There’s no time to get somebody else. The movie is almost done. Simmons is ready to do a final cut. He loves the music you’ve done. If you go, he might bail out, too. That would mean bringing in another director and…”
“Is this where you tell me I’ll never work in this town again? I don’t care about the contract or the money. Sue me, I don’t need a contract to play piano.” I watch him suddenly contemplating the numerous problems my quitting would bring. He changes tactics and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. “Evan, there’s a lot of money tied up in this project, a lot of money. Some of it my own. I could be ruined if this picture isn’t finished on schedule.”
I gaze across the beach toward the ocean. I can hear the light sound of the surf even from here. “I know that, Grant, but I’m tired of being lied to.”
He doesn’t look at me for a couple of minutes. Then, as if deciding something, he leans forward and meets my eyes. “How much do you know?”
“More than enough to make me want to quit and go home.”
“It wasn’t a homicide.”
“How do you know that?”
He looks around and lowers his voice. “I was there.” He shrugs. “I thought, well, I don’t know what I thought. Fuller’s e-mails and phone calls were getting to Ryan, starting to affect his performance. I thought I could fix things. Please try to understand the pressure I was under.”
“I can only imagine.”
“No, I don’t think you can.” He looks around. Tables are filling up around us. “Can we get out of here?”
“Sure. Let’s take a walk.” I signal the waiter for the check, and leave money on the table. We get up and start to walk along the asphalt path that cuts through the sand and runs all the way to Santa Monica Pier. There are more people now, some walking, some on roller skates, bicycles, even a skateboard or two.
“I knew Fuller had tried to get more money out of Ryan. Ryan just told me to fix it. That’s what he always says. ‘Fix it, Grant,’ like I’m some kind lackey. He finally told me about the night on Malibu Canyon and getting Fuller to cover for him. That was the first I’d heard of it, believe me. He told you too, didn’t he?”
“I’m sure you were astonished as I was.” As I listen and walk, I glance around behind me a couple of times to see if Coop is nearby. If he is, I don’t see him. Robbins stops, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. He turns to face me.
“Are you recording this? Are you working with the police?”
“No, why would you think that?”
“Because you’ve worked with the police before. For God’s sake, your friend is a cop, and your girlfriend is an FBI agent.” His voice rises in frustration to the point that several people stop and stare at us. Robbins glares back then loses it entirely. “What are you looking at? Fuck off.”
I take his arm and guide him off the path, onto the sand. We walk toward one of the lifeguard stands. He takes a breath and stares out at the surf. “What do the police know for sure?”
“They know everything. They know Fuller wasn’t strangled. He was already dead.” I watch him closely. His reaction confirms everything. He just silently nods.
“I’d talked to him several times, but he wouldn’t listen. He threatened to go to the police, open up that whole McElroy mess again. Don’t you see? I couldn’t afford for that to happen. The picture was well underway. No matter what I offered Fuller, it wasn’t enough. He kept making more demands. Then the night I had dinner with Ryan and Melanie, he called and said he wanted to see me or he was going to the press with everything, including the tape.”
“What tape?”
Robbins smiles slightly. “You didn’t know about that? Fuller wasn’t dumb. The night he covered for Ryan on Malibu Canyon, he recorded their whole conversation. That was his insurance to get anything he wanted. That tape would have ruined Ryan and the picture.”
That I hadn’t seen coming. That tape would be on the internet an hour after Fuller released it, and would show Ryan to be connected to McElroy’s death.
“I left Mario’s and went right to Fuller’s. He was waiting for me, all smug and smirking, convinced he was going to get anything he wanted.”
“More money?”
“No, he wanted an exclusive interview and photos with Ryan. I couldn’t allow that.”
“So what happened?”
“He turned his back and just walked away into his bedroom. You can’t imagine how angry and frustrated I was. This arrogant prick in a trailer, smirking, dictating to me how he was going to bring down the whole production. I got angrier. I grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him, and shoved him back against the file cabinet.” Robbins squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers. “I pushed him harder than I thought. He hit his head and just slid down to the floor, like it was in slow motion.”
“Are you sure he was dead?”
“Oh, God yes, he was dead. There was no pulse. Nothing. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have called the police.”
“How could I explain being there? Would they have believed it was an accident? Because, Evan, I swear, it was an accident. I had parked outside the trailer park. I wanted to just run for my car and get out of there as fast as I could. Your mind does funny things sometimes. Fuller was dead. There was nothing I could do about that, but I could confuse things, throw the police off.”
“That’s when you called Anthony Torino.”
Robbins stops and stares at me. “How did you know that?”
“When Coop and I were in your office, you made a comment about how horrible it was, Fuller being strangled with a camera strap. But you made one slip, when you said it was Nikon. The only way you could have known that was if you had been there, or Torino told you.”
He nods. “I thought about it later. I didn’t think anyone had caught it.”
“So Torino came out, moved the body to make it look like a homicide.”
“I guess he did. I didn’t stay around. He told me later about using the camera strap.”
“Why Torino?”
“We go back a long way, and I financed Mario’s.”
Neither of us says anything for awhile. We listen to the sound of the surf and feel the warmth of the sun as it breaks through more. I look back across the beach and see Coop coming toward us.
“What happens now?” Robbins asks.
“I think you know. I’m betting the police are already questioning Torino. You’re going to have to tell the whole story, and I’ll have to give a statement after what you’ve told me.”
Robbins nods. He looks up and sees Coop nearing us. “I see you weren’t taking any chances.”
“Give me one reason why I should.”
Robbins glances as Coop as he gets closer. “I can deny this whole conversation. Even if you give the police a statement, it’s all hearsay. I have a good lawyer.”
“I’m sure you do, but do you think Torino isn’t going to give you up?”
Coop stops in front of us. “You gentlemen have an interesting talk?”
The three of us walk back to Coop’s car. There’s a black-and-white parked next to Coop’s with two uniform cops waiting. Robbins is totally subdued now. One of the uniforms opens the back door. He starts to pull Robbins’ hands behind him, but Coop shakes his head.
“No cuffs?”
“No, I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble.” He shuts the door and we watch them start to pull away. Robbins gives me one last look, then turns to face forward.
Coop turns to me. “So, he tell you everything?”
“Pretty much. The only thing I didn’t know about was the tape Fuller had.”
“What tape?”
I tell Coop about what I think of now as the Malibu Canyon tape.
“Interesting. I wonder about Fuller being that smart.”
“So do I. For all we know there was no tape. Ryan didn’t know about it at all. Robbins never saw it or heard it. Maybe just the threat was enough to push Robbins over the edge.”
Coop shrugs. “Could be. Farrell says they found nothing on Fuller’s computer other than the e-mails. No tape. They went over every inch of the trailer. It does raise an interesting point.”
“Ryan?”
“Without it, there’s no reason to dredge up things with our movie star again. He didn’t do the right thing. He let Fuller do it for him.”
“That’s it, then.”
“Farrell will want you to make a statement at your convenience.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You done good, sport. I’ll let you know how this comes out. Go finish the music. You’ve earned it.”
***
Two days later, Coop calls and we meet at his favorite Mexican restaurant, where he recaps Robbins’ questioning with the District Attorney.
“He gave a full statement, with his lawyer present of course, and was released, pending charges. The D.A. is satisfied Fuller’s death was an accident. It looks like Robbins could be charged with leaving the scene, and maybe involuntary manslaughter, but they have everything to work out a plea deal, and this is L.A., after all.”
“What about Torino?”
“He’s been arrested and charged with contaminating a crime scene, withholding information, obstructing justice. He’s out on bail.”
“That’s all?”
“He didn’t kill anybody. Fuller was already dead.” Coop pauses for a minute, letting me digest everything. “Charlie Farrell agreed to keep you out of it.” Coop sees I’m not convinced. He leans forward. “Sometimes we just have to work with what we have. Like I said, you done good.”
“Somehow it doesn’t feel like it.”
***
What does it feel like? Later, back in my room I think about everything. Jerry Fuller’s death was accounted for, and the two people responsible would suffer at least some consequences for their involvement. It wasn’t perfect justice, but as Coop says, that was all they had. Grant Robbins would probably make a favorable deal, but there would be repercussions for him on the Hollywood scene. He would no doubt recover, but I wonder if his association with Ryan Stiles would survive. Given the way things are, box office receipts for
Murder in Blue
would probably determine things.