“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.”
“You’re home early.”
He lit a cigarette. “Yeah. I was having a terrible day — about the two millionth since I passed the bar, and then it occurred to me, what the hell am I doing?” He smiled and drew on his cigarette. “I’m not into terrible days anymore.”
“Maybe you should just quit.”
“And do what, die?” He looked at me and smirked. “Was that tactless?”
“Yes,” I replied. “A sure sign you’re getting better.”
“Did you see the waiter?” Larry asked, putting out his cigarette. I noticed that he had only smoked it half-way down.
“Yeah.”
“And was he a rabid queer-baiter?”
“Didn’t seem the type,” I said, thinking of Josh Mandel’s eyes. “I could be wrong, of course. He did lie to me.”
“About anything important?”
“It was about what he was doing the night Brian was killed,” I replied. “I don’t know yet if that’s important. On the other hand, I’ve figured out why Jim insists he didn’t kill Brian Fox.”
“Why?” Larry asked.
“Because they were lovers.”
10
“Really?” His eyebrows flicked upwards.
I told him what I had learned about Brian Fox’s sexual escapades. A penchant for voyeurism, and budding pedophilia was of a different order than fumbling in the back seat with more-or- less willing partners of the same age. Yet how different were these activities from Jim’s excursions into bathrooms and parks? To me, they revealed a kind of sexual despair. I could understand that in Jim’s case; he was gay and his fear drove him underground. But what about Brian Fox? Maybe it didn’t matter. What was important was that Brian was unusually sensitive to Jim’s sexual secret. My guess was that what drew Brian to Jim was not antipathy as much as fascination — one sexual loner’s recognition of another.
“I don’t think Brian followed Jim out into the parking lot because he wanted to embarrass him,” I said. “I think he wanted to know for sure whether Jim was gay.”
“Are you saying Brian was gay, too?” Larry asked.
“God, I hope not. Let’s just say he was — “
“A pervert?”
“That’ll do for now.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle beige.”
I walked to the window and looked past the terraced garden to the shimmering lake. “Jury trials demand a
