“Bad character, perhaps; faulty judgment, definitely. But not necessarily an indictment of murder.”
“I’ve found that behind most murderers is, oddly, bad character.”
“But not all bad or questionable character leads to murder.”
“Granted.”
“Tell me, Detective Cotton, what was all this foolishness about fingerprints? You’ve sent everyone into a tizzy.”
“We really didn’t think there would be any surprises. The apartment is filled with undocumented prints, but I was curious to see who of the Warner’s crowd went there-more in terms of print frequency than anything else.”
“And you learned?”
“Not much. The usual suspects. What I expected.” Again, the sardonic grin. “Lydia Plummer, ex-friend. And I might add, fellow drug abuser big time. There’s a secret for you, which everyone freely tells me. And Josh. Even Sal Mineo. James Dean, of course. Indeed, the most telling: there was a thumbprint on the Aztec statue, but it was a gift from him to her. And its base has a bunch of smudges, unreadable, blurry prints. Maybe the killer rubbed the statue quickly with a handkerchief.”
“Other prints?”
“Nothing of your Miss McCambridge, even though she said she was in the apartment. She claims she visited once, sat on the sofa and then left, taking Carisa off somewhere. Tansi Rowland, nothing. Oddly, Jake Geyser, all over, excessive, though he claims he dropped off papers one time. And another surprise. Tommy Dwyer was there though he says he stopped in with Dean. His prints were on an unwashed glass. Dean says no, that Tommy did not go with him. His girlfriend Polly: no prints. What also surprises me is that Lydia’s roommate, the script girl…ah…Nell Meyers, who’s actually accused Lydia, was there.”
“But only Jimmy admits to being there that night.”
“And he claims she was alive when he left.” A pause. “Couldn’t you have gotten there earlier, Miss Ferber?”
“Then you’d have had to solve more than one murder.”
“Who left the cocktail party early?”
I hesitated. “Well, Jimmy, as you know. Mercy and I. Lydia slipped out early. Jake left. Not everyone was there.” Tommy and Polly, I thought. Josh. Nell.
“So we’ve learned. You know, so many people floated in and out of the apartment of a young girl everyone says was a crazy, a drug user. Lydia hated her, they fought, yet she visits, one time with Josh MacDowell. Josh first denied knowing Lydia, then said it was because Lydia did heroin and he didn’t want to be tainted. Nell says that Lydia and Josh talked on the phone a lot. Seemed to be plotting revenge against Jimmy because he dumped them both. Somehow, she thinks, they would use Carisa to exact revenge against Jimmy.”
“But killing Carisa to implicate Jimmy is rather extreme.”
He held up his hand, palms forward, then interlaced his fingers. “Welcome to Hollywood.”
“You’re being very candid with me, Detective Cotton.”
“At this point, I have nothing to lose.”
Surprisingly, I noted, he’d seemed to change during our talk, as he abandoned his crusty shell, his testy manner. Sitting with him over coffee, I thought him a curious anachronism, some fugitive from a Charles Laughton movie, cool and aloof. Once he knew his cast of characters, he could soften the edges a little, like a dramatist who, having hammered out her characters, then relaxes, comfortable in the knowledge that her creations will behave as expected.
Detective Cotton was readying to leave, standing up and stretching.
“Detective Cotton.” I looked up at him. “There’s a danger here that I might start to like you.”
“Don’t count on it,” he said, buttoning his sports jacket. “You’d be one more woman I’ve failed in my life.”
“You’re talking like a character in a Dashiell Hammett novel.”
“I’ve got to get my lines from somewhere.”
I could hardly keep my wits about me during a noontime lunch with George Stevens, anxious to get my opinion on some script changes for the penultimate banquet scene with Jett Rink. My mind kept drifting to James Dean and Xavier Cotton and Carisa Krausse. Leaving the meeting, I met Jake and Tansi, sent by Jack Warner himself, the two tugging at my sleeves like I was a coveted chicken wishbone. I dismissed both but, on the spur of the moment, asked Tansi to meet me at the Smoke House at four. I was having coffee with Mercy. Tansi seemed grateful, Jake miffed. But walked to the Blue Room by a chatty Tansi, I immediately regretted my kindness. Full of news, a Homeric Hedda Hopper, Tansi kept up a breezy but tiresome flow of conversation. I did learn that Nell had moved out of the Studio Club, much to Lydia’s consternation.
“Nell told me Lydia started screaming at her,” Tansi said. “They were having lunch, and Nell waited to the end to tell her. Lydia lost it. She’d just told Nell that she’d had another row with Jimmy, who told her to keep away from him. According to Nell, Jimmy kept saying to her, Lydia, you know I left you weeks ago. Like it was old news.”
“Where did Nell go?” I asked.
“I thought I told you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“She has nowhere to go, really. She makes almost no money at Warner’s. So I told her she could stay with me until she gets on her feet. I have that spare room.”
“Tansi, is that a good idea?”
“She’s a friend, Edna. I had no choice. I’m the one who persuaded her to get away from Lydia.”
“But, Tansi…”
“I don’t want her to face Lydia’s temper. I’ve seen it. In Marfa one night, she and Jimmy got into it, and I was down the hall. It was ugly the things she said to him. Well, him to her, too.”
I started to warn Tansi to stay out of peoples’ lives, but stopped. I said nothing.
Later, at the Smoke House, sitting with Mercy and Tansi, I was startled to see Sal Mineo and Josh MacDowell walk in, both nodding at us but striding past, taking seats far away. Moments later, to my horror, Max Kohl stormed in, looking beefy and furious in a worn leather motorcycle jacket, with boots and sunglasses, barreling in, scanning the room, then approaching Josh and Sal. We fell silent. Then Tansi, too loudly, said what I was thinking. “Why is Max here?”
“What’s going on?” Mercy whispered.
I shrugged it off. “Why is everyone surprised? We all know Max was a friend of Carisa’s, dated her-and knew the others. Josh was her old friend and Jimmy’s drinking buddy. Maybe Josh rode bikes with Jimmy.”
Tansi shook her head. “Max is in a different world from Josh and Sal.”
“They all have Jimmy in common.”
Mercy laughed. “We all have Jimmy in common.”
Tansi leaned in. “Such a good-looking man, Max is, but too mean.”
“And now Max is seeing Lydia?” I asked.
Tansi nodded. “Supposedly. After Jimmy dumped her. After he dumped Carisa. But Lydia still calls Jimmy. Come back, please.”
“It’s incestuous,” Mercy said, “A small-knit group of young folks-bit players-who go from one to another, looking for love.”
“They experiment.”
I looked at Tansi. “That’s curious. Both Tommy and Josh said that about Jimmy-that he experiments with people. He uses them up.”
Mercy added, “Well, in Hollywood people move into your life and then disappear, especially the penny-ante contract players.”
I stared at the three men. Sal Mineo, boyish, dark, pretty, always nervous, and a little weary; looking as though he were biding his time, waiting for direction; hanging with friends he’d gladly dismiss when others-livelier, more thrilling-came his way. Josh, effete and pale, as long as a string bean and as supple, eyes darting around the room, searching, resting back possessively on Sal and then, unhappily, on Max. Josh, now smiling through brilliant teeth, then biting a ridge of nail, anxious. And Max Kohl, hairy, bulky, a blunt crew cut; sweaty, undeniably good looking; sensual, fleshy nighttime biker, in love with speed and darkness. Carisa’s ex-boyfriend. Lydia’s current flame, maybe. A man who, straddling a chair, seemed to be telling Josh and Sal a mesmerizing story, one they weren’t happy to hear, because they were rigid, attentive. Then, as abruptly as he entered, Max left, but not before rapping on the table with his knuckles, emphasizing a point. Heads turned to watch the swagger and thrust of his body as it moved out the door.