“Uh-huh, for deliveries. Night manager locks it up when the kitchen closes at ten.”
“So if anyone was back here after ten he’d need a key to get out?”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“But there’s a key at the bar.”
He looked at me and blinked. “Yeah, for emergencies.”
“Show me the cellar,” I said.
I followed him back down the corridor and around the front of the walk-in refrigerator. We passed briefly through the kitchen and then went down a rickety flight of stairs into the cellar. We stood in a big, dark room that had a damp, fruity smell. Behind locked wooden screens were hundreds of bottles of wine. The room was otherwise bare. He showed me two smaller rooms adjacent to each other. The door to one of them was open, revealing a cluttered desk. The door to the other was closed.
“That’s where they found Jim,” he said. “You want to go in?” His voice indicated clearly that he didn’t.
“Maybe later,” I said, giving him a break.
We went into his office. He sat in a battered swivel chair behind a desk made of a thick slab of glass supported by metal sawhorses. There was a phone on the wall, its lights flashing.
He closed a ledger on the desk before him and offered me a cup of coffee. I declined.
“How’s Jim?” he asked.
‘‘Surviving.’’
“I’m really sorry about what happened,” he said, defensively. “They told me I had to testify.”
“Of course you did,” I said soothingly. “You seem pretty young to be managing this place.”
“I’m twenty-two,” he protested, and must have caught my smile. “I usually just manage the floor but Mark — he’s the head guy — he’s out sick today.”
“Have you worked here long?”
“Six years. I started as a busboy.”
“You go to school?”
He picked up a paper clip. “Two years at UCLA. I dropped out.”
“Why?”
He flattened out the paper clip. “Is that important?”
“I won’t know until you tell me.”
He set the paper clip aside. “I didn’t know what I was doing there,” he said. “I never was much for school.”
I accepted this, for the moment. “What was Jim like to work with?”
He was visibly relieved by the change of subject. “He was a hard worker,” Josh said. “Reliable.”
“You ever see him outside of work?”
He shook his head and picked up a pencil.
“Were you surprised to find out he was gay?”
Our eyes caught. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Brian tell you Jim was gay?”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe him?”
He put the pencil down. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at the desk. “I don’t know. I just did.”
I let his answer hang in the air. He picked up the paper clip again.
“And later you heard Brian threaten to tell Jim’s parents.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that,” he said, softly.
“No?”
“It was more — like a joke,” he said, raising his head slowly. “Brian said something like, ‘You want your mama to know you suck cock?’ like the way little kids insult each other.”
“And Jim? Did he know it was a joke?”
“I think so,” he replied. “He kind of laughed and said, ‘I’ll kill you first.”‘
“Where did this happen?”
“The locker room. We were all changing for work.”
“This was the only time you ever heard them say anything to each other like this?”
“Yes,” he said, and bit his lower lip.
“You know, Josh,” I said, “this sounds entirely different than it did when you testified at the prelim.”
“I told the prosecutor but he kept saying that Jim really meant it because, you know, he did kill Brian. I guess he convinced me.”
“Do you think Jim killed Brian?” I asked.
“That’s what they say. All the evidence looks pretty bad for Jim.”
“Do you think he did it?” I asked again.
Josh took off his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. “I don’t know,” he said, finally.
“Can you think of anyone else who would have a reason to kill Brian Fox?”
He shook his head quickly.
“Where were you the night he was killed?”
He looked shocked. “On a date.”
I looked at him until he looked away. He was lying. “Who with?”
Recovering himself he said, “The D.A. said I don’t have to talk to you.”
“But you are going to have to testify again,” I said.
“I’ll tell the truth,” he replied, his face coloring. It was useless to push him.
“You won’t have any choice, Josh,” I said. I wrote Larry’s number on a slip of paper. “If you want to talk later you can reach me here.”
He looked at the paper as if it were a bomb, but took it and slipped it into his pocket.
Larry’s car was in the driveway though it was only two-thirty. That worried me. Except for a certain gauntness, Larry gave no sign of being gravely ill, but his condition was never far from my mind. I knew it preoccupied Larry, too. Sometimes he became very still and remote. It actually seemed as if some part of him were gone. When I mentioned it, he smiled and said he was practicing levitation. What he was actually doing, I think, was practicing dying.
I found him in his study on the phone. He saw me and motioned me to sit down.
“Sandy,” he said to his caller, “you really can do better than Rogers, Stone.”
I recognized this as the name of a well-known entertainment law firm. Larry put on his patient face. I could hear his caller’s voice across the room.
“That’s true,” Larry said, “but I’m not available.” He listened. ‘‘I know you think he walks on water, Sandy, but the guy’s a one-season sensation. Next year you’ll be pushing someone else.” He picked up a pen and started to doodle on a legal pad. “Look,” he said finally, “I’ll think about it, and get back to you. No, I really will think about it. What? Yeah, he’s right here.” He pushed the mute button on the phone and said, “It’s Sandy Blenheim. He wants to talk to you.”
“The fat guy at Fein’s party?”
Larry nodded. “The one who wants to make you a star.”
Reluctantly, I took the phone. “Hello, this is Henry Rios.”
“Henry,” Blenheim said, all oily affability, “You think about my proposal?”
“No, not really. I haven’t had much time.”
There was a disappointed silence at his end of the line. “What is it, Henry? The money?”
“Look, Mr. Blenheim…”
“Sandy.”
“Sandy. I don’t think this is going to make a good movie.”
“There’s a lot of kids out there in Jim’s position,” Blenheim said. “Kids in the closet. Kids getting picked on. This picture could show them there’s a right way to come out and a wrong way. You know what I’m saying?”
I shot a glance at Larry. He smiled. “Sure, I understand,” I said. “But this isn’t the right — “ I searched for the word, “ — vehicle,” I said.
Larry nodded approvingly.
“Come on, you’ve talked to the kid. You know what’s going through his head. That’s the good stuff. Like how did he feel when he pulled the trigger-”
I cut him off. “Actually, he doesn’t remember.”
“What do you mean he doesn’t remember?”
“Just what I said,” I replied, “and I’ve really told you more than I should but it’s just so you know that this isn’t the story you think it is.”
“Maybe if we talked some more,” he suggested.
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “It wouldn’t serve any purpose. Do you want to talk to Larry?”
“Yeah, put him back on.”
I handed the phone to Larry. “It’s for you.”
“Yes, Sandy,” he said. I heard the angry buzz of Blenheim’s voice complaining about my intransigence. Larry broke in and said, “He doesn’t want more money, Sandy. He wants to try his case in peace.” More angry buzzing. “Well,” Larry said, shortly, “I think it’s called integrity. You might look it up in the dictionary.” There was a click on the other end. “If you can spell it,” Larry added.
“I didn’t mean for him to get mad at you, too,” I said.
Larry put the phone down. “Big finishes are a way of life around here. He’ll be over it by tomorrow.”