Rizzo gave Jackson a discreet glance. Her face remained neutral.
“No kiddin’?” he asked. “So the guy didn’t want the female character in the play?”
“No, actually the presence of the character was acceptable to him. Thomas just didn’t want any romantic involvement for her. Anyway, Avery brought the problem to me. He said he’d be bound by my decision-in or out with the love angle?”
Rizzo shrugged. “From what I hear, the play is gonna sweep some awards, so I guess you made the right call.”
Kellerman laughed. “Awards are marvelous, Sergeant, the backbone of egotism needed in theater, but filling the seats… now that’s truly gratifying.”
Rizzo smiled. “And sex sells,” he said.
“Ah,” Kellerman said, “how I admire the pragmatism of policemen. Yes, Sergeant, sex does sell. The director has even managed to work in a nude scene. It’s quite titillating. But you see, Bradley thought the love triangle detracted from the intensity of the conflict between the father and his two sons, which he felt to be the heart and soul of the play.”
“And did it?” Rizzo asked.
“Absolutely,” Kellerman answered. “And still does.” He smiled conspiratorily. “But as you say, now the play has sex and nudity.”
Priscilla spoke up. “From what I hear, business is pretty good. I saw the play a couple of months ago. Now there’s a three-month wait for tickets.”
Again, Kellerman’s face clouded up. “Yes, apparently tragedy is as good for box office as nudity. Since Avery’s death, the wait has actually swollen to almost a year. It is, after all, the final work of an American master. In fact, I’ve been fending off phone calls from Hollywood-everyone is lining up to option the work for a movie.” Kellerman smiled sadly. “One fellow even guaranteed me an A-list actor in the role of the father.” He sighed. “Can you imagine? Casting the movie and Avery still warm in his grave?”
“So I guess you haven’t made the deal yet?” Rizzo asked.
“No, Sergeant, I’m not that ghoulish. Besides, I suppose I’ll have to clarify my legal standing. Avery and I operated on a handshake for over thirty years. Now I imagine I’ll have to reach some written agreement with the estate lawyers before I sign any contracts of option.”
After a few more moments of silence, Rizzo spoke up again. “Well, at least Mallard broke out of his writer’s block. He went out on top of his game.”
Kellerman’s face brightened. “At least it was finally broken, and Avery got to enjoy one last hurrah before… before his very last hurrah.” After a pause, Kellerman spoke once more. “But, forgive me, I must ask, what has all this to do with the case you’re working on?”
“Not a thing,” Rizzo said, allowing a small smile. “You see, Mr. Kellerman, sometimes, cops just get nosy.”
BEFORE LEAVING the office complex, Rizzo and Jackson briefly interviewed Kellerman’s administrative assistant, Joy Zimmer. No, the name Robert Lauria meant nothing to her, and she certainly had no recollection of so distant a phone call. Yes, over the years, she had forwarded much correspondence to Avery Mallard, particularly since the opening of An Atlanta Landscape. When shown Lauria’s photograph, she denied ever having seen him, as Kellerman had earlier.
“Do you remember anything bulky coming in for Mallard?” Rizzo had asked her. “Something in a large envelope, maybe eight-and-a-half-by-eleven with a bunch of papers in it?”
No, she had answered. And in today’s climate, any such bulky package from a stranger would have caught her attention. There had been no such arrival.
Later, as they sat in the idling Impala parked in a no-standing zone on Irving Place, Rizzo jotted in his note pad. Priscilla fidgeted in the driver’s seat, her finger tapping nervously on the wheel.
“This guy would be a great suspect, Joe,” she said. “If it wasn’t for that, ‘Oh, by the way, I was in Paris,’ alibi.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a pretty good friggin’ alibi,” Rizzo said, without looking up.
“How ’bout this?” she suggested. “Kellerman flies to Paris, then turns around and flies back to whack Lauria, then Mallard. ’Cause Lauria sent A Solitary Vessel to Kellerman for representation, but instead Kellerman slipped it to Mallard to break his writer’s block. And when the shit hit the fan with Lauria, Mallard got panicky. So panicky that Kellerman is willing to whack his A-list client. Next thing you know, two dead bodies. Then Kellerman flies back to Paris.”
Rizzo stopped writing and looked at his partner. “What the hell is that, Cil? Some old rerun of Columbo you saw back in high school?”
Priscilla shook her head. “Did you see that silk shirt?” she asked. “Hadda set him back a buck, buck and a half at least. And those loafers, they were Italian, three bills minimum.”
“So?” Rizzo asked.
She shrugged. “So, a big ticket raincoat would be standard in a guy like Kellerman’s wardrobe.”
Rizzo nodded. “Yeah, probably.”
Priscilla turned in her seat. “So, except for the Paris thing, Kellerman looks good on this.”
Rizzo laughed. “Yeah, and except for the son of God thing, Jesus was a hippie.”
“I’m serious here, Joe,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s what’s scarin’ me. Look, it’s good you’re thinkin’ about this, but let’s stay grounded, okay? The guy was in Paris. And there ain’t no evil twin, either. Kellerman was in Paris. Now, he might be behind the killings, maybe in concert with someone else. Or he mighta hired a pro. We can try gettin’ a look at his finances, just not right now. That would be tough without tippin’ Manhattan to what we’re up to. Maybe down the road, if we develop anything else. We’ll see. Relax.”
Priscilla turned back in the seat, eyeing the street scene on East Sixteenth. “Yeah, Joe,” she said with resignation, “okay. Guess I’m a little wound up with all this. But… one more thing. Kellerman may be old, but he’s in real good shape.” She turned to face Rizzo. “I don’t see him havin’ a physical problem strangling these two guys, no problem at all.”
Rizzo nodded while finishing up his notes, then flipped the pad closed. “Okay, duly noted. But most likely, Lauria sees Mallard’s play or he reads about it, what ever. Realizes it’s his play. Then somehow he finds out Kellerman is Mallard’s agent, so he calls and tries to get to Mallard. Joy Zimmer says, ‘Send us correspondence, we’ll get it to Mallard.’ So that’s what Lauria does. When Mallard gets Lauria’s letter, the rest of it plays out.”
“Yeah, okay, Joe, so that leaves us right back where we started.”
“Yep, that it does,” Rizzo said. “But seein’ Kellerman was pure gold. Pure fuckin’ gold.” He smiled and tapped his temple. “You find me a ratty, old, pissed-on raincoat to wear, I’ll be your Columbo.”
Priscilla grunted and pulled the column lever into drive, glancing into the mirrors and easing away from the curb.
“It’s almost three o’clock,” she said. “Let’s go do the DD-fives and call it a day. I need to think about all this.”
“Well, we got two RDOs. You’ve got till Sunday to think.” Rizzo then leaned over, laying his left hand on Priscilla’s shoulder, speaking in an exaggerated tone of formality.
“There will be a quiz.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHEN PRISCILLA ARRIVED AT the squad room on Sunday morning, she found Rizzo rummaging through various materials recovered from the Lauria apartment. She crossed the empty room and sat next to his desk.
“Morning, Joe,” she said.