Sunset Express

We parked in the lot beside the building, then walked in the front entrance to a receptionist seated in a bulletproof glass booth. The lobby was walled off from the rest of the building with more heavy glass, and there was a big door next to the receptionist that she would have to buzz open to let you enter. I wondered if anyone had ever tried to shoot their way in. Put me on the news or die! You never know.

I told her who I was and why I was there, and a few minutes later a woman in her early forties appeared and opened the door from the inside. She said, 'Hi. I'm Kara Sykes, the news director. Are you Mr Cole?'

'That's right. This is Lucy Chenier and her son, Ben. They're with me.' I was holding Lucy's hand.

Kara Sykes held the door. 'That's fine. You'll go on in a few minutes, so we don't have much time. Please come this way.'

We followed her down a long hall, then through a newsroom filled with desks and production people and onto the news set. A man and a woman were seated at the anchor desk, facing cameras fitted with TelePrompTers. A floor director was standing between the cameras with his hand touching the TelePrompTer that the man was reading from. There were places at the anchor desk for a sportscaster and a weatherperson, but those seats were empty. The set was built so that the anchors were seated with their backs to the newsroom so the audience could see that the Channel Eight news team was bringing them personal news personally. Kara whispered, 'Lyle Stodge and Marcy Bernside are the five o'clock anchors. Lyle is going to interview you.'

'Okay.' Lyle Stodge was a rugged-looking guy in his early fifties, just going gray at the temples. Marcy Bernside was a profoundly attractive woman in her late thirties with dark hair, expressive eyes, and a wholesome, girl-next-door smile.

Kara said, 'Have you done a live interview before?'

'No.'

'It's no big deal. Just speak directly to Lyle. Don't look at the camera.'

'Okay.'

'I spoke with Jonathan, so I know how important this is. Everyone here is on your side.'

'My side?'

'Just relax and enjoy it. You're the man of the hour.'

Lucy squeezed my hand and whispered, 'I guess they heard how you were mobbed at Universal.'

Lucy's a riot, isn't she?

Lyle finished reading a story about illegal Taiwanese aliens found working in a sweatshop in Gardena, and Marcy began reading a story about Pritzik and Richards. She said that the police and the FBI had expanded their search into seven states, and that there was a growing though unofficial belief that Pritzik was, in fact, James X.

The floor director raised his hand, made a circling gesture, and Marcy Bernside said that Channel Eight's Personal News Team would return in just one minute. The director raised both hands, then announced, 'In commercial. We're clear.'

Marcy Bernside shouted, 'Fuck! Who blew the feed to my fucking ear phone?' She twisted around to glare at the newsroom. 'Come on, Stuart. What're you assholes doing back there? Jesus Christ!' So much for wholesome.

Kara pulled my arm and said, 'Showtime.'

She hustled me to the anchor desk and had me sit in the sportscaster's vacant seat while the camera operators repositioned for a two-shot of me and Lyle. I could see Lyle's lines frozen on the TelePrompTer, waiting for the commercial to end. The floor director clipped a tiny microphone inside the lapel of my sport coat, then ran the wire under my jacket and plugged it into a larger cable that had been lying on the floor. Kara introduced me to Lyle Stodge who said, 'I'm glad that you could join us. You're quite a guy.'

I said, 'Will anyone notice if I make faces at the camera?'

Lyle Stodge shuffled loose yellow legal sheets. 'Don't worry about anything. I've done this ten thousand times, and I can make anyone look good. Even you.' I looked at Lucy and Lucy laughed. I looked back at Lyle Stodge and he winked. Another comedian.

A makeup person was adjusting Marcy Bernside's hair. Marcy was singing to herself and moving to the song as if she were alone in her home. She was singing the Z.Z. Topp song Legs. Nervous energy.

The floor director said, 'Ten seconds.' He raised his hand above Lyle's camera. Lyle straightened his jacket and leaned toward the camera. The makeup person left the set. Lyle said, 'Would you stop with the goddamned singing, for Christ's sake?'

Marcy Bernside gave him the finger and kept singing.

'Three, two, one -' The floor director touched the TelePrompTer and Lyle's script scrolled upward. Lyle made his patented crinkly-eyed smile at the camera. 'As we reported at the top of the hour, a private investigator working for the Big Green Defense Machine has made a startling discovery that may shed new light on the Theodore Martin murder investigation. He joins us now in a Channel Eight Personal News exclusive, bringing you the people who make the news.' Lyle turned the pleased smile toward me. 'Mr Elvis Cole, thank you for joining us in a Channel Eight Personal News exclusive.'

'Thanks, Lyle. It's good to be here.' Mr Sincerity.

Lyle laced his fingers and leaned toward me, getting down to serious journalistic business. 'How is it that one man working alone was able to uncover these things when the entire Los Angeles police department working for three months couldn't?'

'I followed a tip that Jonathan Green's office received on the hotline. If LAPD would've gotten the tip, they would've made the same discoveries, and probably sooner.'

Lyle chuckled good-naturedly. 'Sounds like you're being modest to me.' The chuckle vanished and Lyle turned serious again, cocking an eyebrow to let everyone know just how serious he was. 'Tell us, was it dangerous?'

'It's just meeting people and asking questions, Lyle. It's no more dangerous than crossing the street.'

Lyle made the chuckle again, then twisted around to smile at Marcy Bernside. 'Marce, I'll tell you, I've never met the real McCoy who liked to blow his own horn, have you?'

Marcy Bernside said, 'Never, Lyle. Real men let their deeds speak for themselves.'

Lyle twisted back to me. 'Theodore Martin has proclaimed his innocence from the beginning. Many people are now saying that your discovery proves him right.'

'It's another piece of the puzzle.'

Lyle leaned toward me, serious and professional. 'Many people are also saying that the LAPD botched this investigation, and now they're unwilling to admit their mistake.'

'LAPD is the finest police force in the nation, Lyle.'

Lyle nodded as if I'd just laid out the Unified Field Theory. 'Well, sir, we've checked into your background and learned that you certainly have an excellent reputation, even among members of the police department and the district attorney's office.'

'Those guys. Did they really say that?'

Lyle nodded gravely. 'Personal News Eight is told that this isn't your first high-profile case. Apparently, you've worked in a confidential capacity for some very high-profile celebrities.'

'I never discuss my clients, Lyle. That's why it's called "confidential."'

Lyle squinted approvingly. 'A man of integrity.' He gave an encouraging smile. 'Most of us see private eyes on television or in movies but never get a chance to meet the real thing. Tell me, is it as exciting as it seems?'

'No.'

Lyle laughed. They paid him seven hundred thousand dollars a year for that laugh, and I wondered if he practiced it. 'Looks like you're a truthful man, as well. How does it feel to be compared to that famous, fictional Los Angeles detective, Raymond Marlowe?'