“How can you believe this?”
“What? Because of us? Let’s not do that again. I thought-” He broke off. “Tell me something, though.” He waited for her to turn to him. “Was any of it real? A few lines?”
She shaded her eyes with her hand. “A few.”
He said nothing for a second, letting it settle. “Give me a name. Then let’s talk about why.”
The phone rang and her hand jerked away from her face, a startled reflex. They both went still, looking down, the second ring louder.
“Yes?” he said, grabbing the receiver, just to stop the noise.
The night operator, sounding bored. “A message from Miss Eastman. She wants to see you on Sound Stage Four.”
For a second he didn’t respond, as if he were still waiting to hear, the sound out of synch.
“Miss Eastman,” he said, jarred, looking across at Liesl.
“That’s right. Sound Stage Four.”
Now he heard it, still looking at Liesl, his stomach beginning to slide. The floor itself seemed to move. He placed the fingers of one hand on the desk to steady himself.
“She just called?”
“The AD. Is there some problem? I called as soon as-”
“No. Thank you.”
He put the receiver back. Liesl was watching his face, confused, then alarmed.
“What?” she said.
But he could only look at her, the room still sliding, everything wrong.
He picked up the receiver again. “Get me Carl at the gate, will you?” He waited for the connection, Liesl still staring at him. “Carl? Ben Collier. I want you to close the gate. Nobody goes off the lot, not until I call back. Got that? Anybody asks, say it’s orders.” He put the phone down, now feeling eerily calm. “You’re asking for me on Sound Stage Four.”
“I’m asking-?” She stopped as he reached into the drawer and took out the gun, checking it.
“Stay here,” he said.
He went out the back of the building, then swung behind the writers’ wing. It didn’t have to be Sound Stage 4 itself, just anywhere on the way. He took a parallel route, away from the exposed main road, his eyes scanning side to side. A few grips were unloading flats from a truck down by the Western set, but otherwise the lot was quiet. The sun was almost gone, the dreary plaster walls now a light apricot. On the other side of the street, the prop building’s hangar doors were still wide open, spilling out bright light. Acres of tables and settees and mirrors, stacked chairs, all of it easy to hide behind if you’d planned it that way. He felt the gun in his hand. What could he say if anyone saw? Slinking behind buildings with a gun. But these weren’t real streets, people carried harmless guns between sets all the time.
The door to Sound Stage 4 was closed but not locked, the red light off. He opened it and stepped into a darkness so complete that he felt swallowed up in it, like a stray crack of light. He fumbled behind for a switch. The utility lights flashed on, not as bright as overhead stage lights, but enough to see the set, the wood-frame backing and ramps for wheeling the cameras. Ben blinked, disoriented for a second. It was the nightclub in Rosemary’s picture, the bar just where it had been but the dance floor repositioned, down a short flight of stairs, the tables dressed now in white cloth with center lamps, swankier. He stepped carefully toward the bar, using the long mirror to check the space behind him.
“Liesl?” he said, playing along. He moved his arm in a slow circle, the gun pointed, ready. “Liesl?” he said again, his voice the only sound in the big space. He stood for a second, just listening. Quiet enough to hear a watch, someone breathe, but there was nothing, then suddenly a creak, a foot on wood, and he turned to it, not expecting the explosion, the noise of the shot, his hand burning, a searing pain as his gun fell and he clutched his hand, already smearing with blood. He ducked, an instinct, to reach out for the gun on the floor, then reared back when another shot went into the wood next to it.
“The next one goes in your head,” a voice said, coming out of the shadow at the end of the bar. He waved his gun, motioning Ben back as he stepped forward, finally reaching Ben’s gun and kicking it aside.
“Dieter,” Ben said, still in pain, clutching his hand.
“Did you think we were going to play with guns? Like cowboys? Who is faster? Don’t be a child.”
“Dieter,” Ben said again, trying to focus, watching his hand run with blood.
“What a trouble you are, this family. This time it’s not so easy to arrange. Bullets. There’ll be questions.” He paused. “If they find you.”
Dumped somewhere, off the lot. Another accident? The thought darted in and out of his mind, not yet ready for it, still hazy with surprise.
“I don’t understand.” But even as he said it, he did, all the scenes coming back to him now with a different face. A brandy glass. Don’t leave me. Dieter also at the hospital, more than just family. Ben tried to remember the sequence-racing for the doctor, Liesl where? The nurses’ station? Just a minute or two, all that would be needed. Concerned. In Danny’s room. Don’t leave me alone.
“What?” Dieter said.
Everything snapping into place. His hand throbbing, just the first shot. Keep him talking.
“Who told you about Genia?”
Dieter moved his head, physically taken aback. “At such a moment that’s what you want to know?” he said.
“Liesl told you.”
“Liesl,” Dieter said, dismissive. “You told me.”
“Not Liesl,” Ben said, as if he hadn’t heard.
“You. On the beach. After Salka’s lunch. A great favor to me, to know that. I had to act. If she talked to you, she would talk to others. I was always secret. Only someone from those days would know and here she was, talking to-well, Otto’s son, maybe she thought it was all right. But no discipline. Even Otto’s son. Something happened to her in the war, I think.”
“So you killed her.”
“I had to,” he said easily. “Once you told me. So I thank you for that. You know, I have an idea that she knew. What had to be done. When I called her, she came, no questions. The old discipline.”
“Because she was a threat, just knowing you,” Ben said, still stitching things together.
“Do you have any idea what we are doing here? How important it is? They’re making weapons so powerful- well, that’s for another time.”
“I want to know.”
“Why? You’ll be dead. What can it matter to you? Or do you think someone’s coming to save you? Texas Rangers, maybe. The marshal,” he said, drawing the word out, sarcastic. He shook his head. “No one is coming.”
Ben glanced around. His gun had been kicked toward the door, too far away. Something else. A nightclub table to duck behind. A bottle to smash. Any kind of weapon. But what was real? If he smashed the bottle would he have jagged glass or breakaway Plasticine? The stage telephone, the fire alarm, everything useful, was behind him, impossible to reach. Keep talking.
“You’re not going to kill me yet.”
“No?”
“Not before you know how much I know.”
“It doesn’t matter what you know. You’ll be dead.”
“Or how much I told Polly.”
Dieter looked at him.
“You don’t want to kill her if you don’t have to. You don’t want that kind of attention.”
Dieter sighed, a mock concession. “So what did you tell her?”
“First you tell me.”
“What?”
“Why you killed Danny. I want to know.”
Dieter shrugged. “I said, it’s a difficult family. Always their own ideas.” He nodded to Ben. “Not in the
