The drinks arrived.
“Seems to me the way to figure things out is to find out more about Ryan himself. What kind of a guy he was, what was eating him that made him get loaded that night, things like that.”
“I see.” Polly Foster twirled the maraschino cherry in her glass. “Ryan was a louse from the word go, if you must know. Strictly a bad casting. He was a conceited ham, he was a tomcat who’d prowl anybody’s back fence, he was a lush, he was a double-crosser, and—”
“He was also your lover,” I said, softly.
She made a gesture midway between a shrug and a wince. “All right, if you want to be blunt about it. He was. I suppose you can’t figure out why.”
“Yes I can. I’ve seen his pictures.”
“Funny.” She stared down into her drink. “You get so used to the type that after a while you forget there are any right guys left. And of course, there’s always a line, some kind of phony front to fool you. Then afterwards, when you find out, you figure what the—” She smiled. “Whoops, nearly got the soap there, didn’t I?”
I picked up her glass and held it out to her. “Wash your mouth out with this, instead,” I said. “I’ll order another.”
She was beginning to get a glow, and that was good. “You know the last time anybody told me that?” she said. “Fifth grade. Old lady Perkins. Kid in back of me dropped an eraser down my neck and I hollered at him.”
“I’ll bet they were all trying to drop things down your neck,” I told her. “Even when you had brown hair.”
“How’d you know my hair was brown?”
“Just guessing. Complexion. Am I right?”
“Right.” She lifted the new glass. “You’d make a good detective.”
“Don’t know about that. I’m not getting many leads on this case.”
“But there’s nothing to tell. Honestly.” She leaned forward. “You know it all. Ryan went to his trailer that night, after we finished shooting.”
“Anything happen during the day to make you suspicious?”
“You mean, to make me think he was in trouble? No. But he acted kind of sulky. I knew what that meant.”
“What did it mean?”
“He wanted me out of the way. Some other woman on the string.”
“Who?”
“How would I know? He had plenty of choices. That boy played the field.”
“What about Estrellita Juarez?”
“Could be.”
“And you think he was just putting on an act, pretending to be angry so that you’d leave him alone that night?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t actually quarrel or anything like that?”
“Of course not.”
“Did he quarrel with anyone at all before he went off and started drinking?”
“No. He said something to Tom Trent, but I don’t know what it was. Nothing serious, because Trent was willing to come with me when we went over to the trailer after dinner.”
“How did Ryan greet you?”
“He didn’t talk much. Just offered us a drink. We sat down and talked.”
“What about?”
“Trent was trying to get him to lay off the bottle. Because of the next day’s shooting schedule.”
“What did Ryan say to that?”
“If I told you, you’d wash my mouth out with soap.”
“Did Ryan seem nervous or upset?”
“Well, he kept looking at his watch.”
“As if he were expecting someone?”
“He said he was waiting for Joe Dean to get back. Joe was his valet, you know. He’d driven Abe Kolmar into town for an early preview. When Dean showed up, he brought Juarez with him.”
“Do you think that was the deal? Dean had been told to bring Estrellita Juarez to the trailer for Ryan?”
“The way it looked, she was Dean’s girl.”
“Could that have been for your benefit?”
“Maybe. But if it was, Ryan went too far. Because he got a skinful and fired Dean, and he kicked Juarez out. But you already know that.”
“Sure. And he hit Trent, too.”
“Hit him? He damned near broke him in half.”
“Why?”
“He had a skinful, like I said.”
“But there must have been some reason. Was it because Trent objected when Ryan threw Estrellita out?”
“Partly. But I guess it really started when he tried to pitch me out, too.”
“In other words, they had a fight over you.”
“I don’t know. There was so much noise, and then they started swinging, and I got out of there.”
“Statement says Ryan told you to go. Said he expected company.”
“I don’t know. I was crying, it all happened so fast.”
“Were you drunk?”
“No more than I am now.” Polly Foster stared down at the new Manhattan. “Hey, you’re getting me loaded!”
“Sorry. You don’t have to drink it.”
But she did. “Who cares? Feels good. You treat a girl right, Mr. Clayburn. Mark, isn’t it? Person’d never know you were just being polite, that you hated every minute you had to sit here with little old me.”
“Don’t rub it in,” I said. “I apologize. I know I have a temper.”
“Temper? You don’t have any temper. You’re a lamb compared to boys like Trent and Ryan. They’re the kind that haul off and clout you one. That lousy Ryan hit me on the arm when he threw me out.”
“Then he did toss you out?”
“Sure. What the hell. I didn’t want to say it, but that’s what happened. Tossed me out on my can. And Trent after me. Trent was looking for his gun, he was so damned mad.”
She stopped.
“Go on.”
“I don’t remember. We were all high, and I was crying. Of course, Trent was only talking. He didn’t have his gun anyway. Ryan did—in the trailer. And Trent went back to town to get patched up.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s got an alibi.”
“But couldn’t he have come back later?”
“The way he was beat up? No. And with all that liquor in him?”
“You’re sure it was just liquor?”
“Of course. What else? He went back to town, and I was mad so I drove back to town myself.”
I nodded. “So I heard. You didn’t by any chance happen to turn around, did you?”
“Why?”
“Well, Ryan said something about expecting company. And it occurs to me that you may have been curious, that you might have sneaked back to take a look at his visitor.”
“Look, I was so damned mad at that louse, I never wanted to see him again. I wouldn’t have cared if somebody blew the top of his head off.”
“Somebody did,” I said, softly. “And that’s not all they did, either.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“Somebody knew Trent’s gun was in Ryan’s trailer. Maybe you all did. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone came there and killed him—killed him in a horrible way, a way that deserves to be punished. I want to see that he gets what’s coming to him, and no matter how you feel about Ryan, I think you do, too.”
“But I don’t know anything,” she murmured.
“I think you do. I think you know, and you were afraid to talk, because your name would be involved. You didn’t want to get mixed up in any scandal. There’s that reefer tie-up in it, I know.”
She drained her glass. “Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“If that’s the way it is, I don’t blame you. But remember this. I’m not a cop. It’s safe to tell me. I can put my information into a story without revealing the sources. And you have my word for that. Wouldn’t you like to see them get the killer?”
Polly Foster set her glass down.
“I’m getting woozy,” she said. “Think I’ll go home.”
“But you haven’t told me—”