It was hung so precisely that it seemed weightless. Candy took a deep breath.
I said, “I’m right beside you, babe.”
She smiled and looked at me briefly and nodded. “I’m glad you are,” she said. Then we walked through the door.
Chapter 11
WE WERE IN a room lined with bookshelves. There was leather furniture around and, on a round mahogany table in the middle of the room, a large globe. At the other end of the room was another door. It was open. The room beyond the open door seemed very bright. Candy preceded me. Sneezy, Grumpy, and Doc were sitting on a long couch to our right. The wall opposite the door was all glass, and the long green view of the L.A. Country Club below was a dazzler. In front of the wall, at right angles to the couch, was a desk about the size of Detroit. Behind it sat a man with large white teeth and dark hair flecked with gray. His face was deeply tanned. He wore a dark blue pin-striped suit with a vest that had lapels. His tie was an iridescent gray-blue tied in a small knot under a white pincollar. He looked like the centerfold in Fortune.
He said, “You’re Miss Sloan. I’ve seen you on the news. And your associate?”
Candy said, “Mr. Spenser.”
“I’m Peter Brewster,” he said. “This is Tom Turpin, our director of corporate public relations.” He gestured at the guy with the glen plaid and the shabby shoes. “And Barrett Holmes, our legal counsel”-the gymnast with the dimpled chin. “And Rollie Simms. Mr. Simms is our director of corporate security.” I grinned at Candy. “Since I understand you are about to level an accusation, I thought it would be prudent to have these gentlemen witness it. Barrett, if it’s actionable, I’ll want you to take steps immediately.”
I said to the trio on the couch, “Excuse me, but which one of you three guys speaks no evil?” Brewster gave me a basilisk stare.
He said, “I have very little time for humor.”
I said, “But an awful lot of occasion.”
He gave me that stare again.
Candy said, “Mr. Brewster, I have information that organized crime has infiltrated Summit Studios: Do you have any comment on that?”
“Shouldn’t you take that question to Roger Hammond at Summit?”
“I have.”
“And his response?”
“He had us put off studio property.”
Brewster nodded. “The nature of your information?”
“I can’t give you details, but I have an eyewitness.”
“To what?”
“To a transaction involving Summit personnel and a member of the Los Angeles underworld.”
“And the nature of that transaction?”
“A payoff.”
Brewster nodded again. He looked at me. “Is this your eyewitness?”
“No.”
“Who is your eyewitness?”
Candy shook her head. “He’ll have to remain anonymous for now.”
“Of course,” Brewster said. “Of course he would. You media types are all the same, aren’t you. You have information but you can’t give me specifics. You have an eyewitness, but he’ll have to remain anonymous.”
“Do you wish to comment on the allegations?” Candy said.
“The allegation is without foundation,” Brewster said. “And you are without professional ethics. I shall be discussing you with the management of KNBS shortly.”
“I’m only trying to do my job, Mr. Brewster,” Candy said.
“And I seriously doubt that you’ll have a job for very much longer,” Brewster said.
“You mean, you’re going to get me fired?” Candy’s gaze was final, but her voice had softened a little.
“Precisely,” Brewster said.
I looked at Holmes, the lawyer. “Is that actionable?” I said.
“And I am sick of your smart mouth too,” Brewster said. He did his stare again. “Who is your superior?”
“I have none,” I said. “I’m not sure I even have an equal.”
“Spenser,” Candy said, “please! You’re not helping. Do you have any statement for me, Mr. Brewster?”
“I’ve made it. Now I want you both off of Oceania property. Now.”
Candy said, “Mr. Brewster-”
Brewster said, “Now.”
