“I don’t know what to say, East. What a trauma.”
He turned around and leaned against the wall for support.
“What do I do now, Steve?” He wiped his eyes with the lapel of his robe.
I ignored his question and asked one of my own. “What about that screenplay you showed me? That Night of the Matador thing?”
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“There were bookcases full of scripts in his house. I just grabbed one late Saturday, after the police left. You see, once I realized what I’d done, I wanted to emphasize that I had a wonderful, continuing relationship with Sy, that he was my mentor. I wanted all of you to think I could never kill him. Because what would I be without him?”
“Tell me about the Lindsay business,” I said. “You were acting like you were crazy about her. You weren’t, though, were you?”
“No. Of course not. I saw her for what she was.”
“But you pretended you were gone on her. Why?”
“I thought of that afterwards too,” he said, brightening a little at the recollection of his cleverness. “If anyone remembered that talk at dailies about it being better if Lindsay was dead, and someone put two and two together…Well, they probably wouldn’t have gotten four, but I thought if you—if the police—thought I was in love with her, I’d be counted out right away.”
“Actually, if we’d been adding and came up with Lindsay as the planned victim, you’d have been suspected right away.”
“Why?” He looked annoyed.
“Because you had an emotional tie to her.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Well, that’s cops for you. Stupid, unimaginative. The civil service mentality. We do it by the book.”
A barely tolerant shake of the head. “Some book.”
“Well,” I said, “book or no book, we got you. Didn’t we, Easton?”
“No!” He rushed over and grabbed the shoulders of my jacket. “Steve, you’re not going to do anything?” His mouth and eyes formed huge circles of astonishment. “Steve! Are you crazy? I’m your brother.”
“I know.”
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“How can you even think of doing something so terrible?”
“Get dressed,” I said. But he just stood there, right in front of me, still clutching the shoulder pads of my suit jacket. “It’s getting late. Come on.”
“Think. Think about what you want to do. What about Mother?”
“She’s due home soon; you can explain to her what’s happening. Or if she’s stopping off someplace, I’ll come back and sit down with her later. After I bring you in.”
He let his hands drop to his sides. He spoke softly, his voice full of gentleness and understanding. “Steve, you have to understand. This will kill her.” The good son.
“I don’t think so.”
“I know her much better than you do. She won’t be able to survive a blow like this.”
“Yes, she will.”
“You think she’s tough. She’s not tough.”
“I know she’s not. She’s empty. She’ll survive. Please, don’t make me have to act any more like a cop than I’m already doing. Get dressed.”
Instead, he sat down in the straight-backed chair. “What would it cost you to let me go?”
“Bonnie Spencer’s life.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“It would. There’s a warrant out for her arrest.”
“Then how come she was here with you?”
“Because I was taking care of her. I didn’t think she should be arrested.” I looked outside. The light was softening, the prelude to dusk.
“Do you want me arrested? Do you want to see me go to jail?” I was still holding the two leaves in my hand. I ran my finger over a stem, up the veins. “Steve!” Easton cried out.
“Who the hell is she? How
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can you want to protect her and not want to protect me?”
“I’m protecting her because she’s innocent.” I spoke more to the leaves than to Easton.
“But I’m your brother.”
“You’re a killer.”
Easton got up and went over to the window. I inched forward, in case he made a move to jump, but he just stared out at the muted light. “Nothing can bring Sy back now,” he said.
“I know.”
He turned to face me. “I don’t want that woman to go to jail for me.”
“Since when?”
“Listen to me. We can work something out. I can give her an alibi.” I didn’t react. “Wait. Hold on a second. Just listen.”
Easton rubbed his hands together. “Okay, first of all, I’ll tell them that Sy was very fond of her, that things with Lindsay had soured, and that he really seemed to be happy with the ex-wife again—and made no bones about it. All right. I didn’t say anything earlier because I had such a crush on Lindsay I couldn’t bring myself to say anything that would make her look bad. I’ll admit I was terribly wrong. I’ll apologize all over myself. So they won’t think the ex had any reason to kill him. And I’ll say…I know! I stopped at a pay phone on my way home from the city and called her about something.
Like about her screenplay, and she was there, at home.
Answered the phone and—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s so full of holes it’s a joke. Because she’s decent and honorable and this fake-alibi crap would make her sick. And because she doesn’t have to lie. We have our perp, Easton.”
MAGIC HOUR / 435
“Is it all so black and white to you? Don’t you see any grays?”
“I wish this weren’t happening,” I said slowly.
“It doesn’t have to.”
“What choice do I have? I’m a cop. I know there are a million shades of gray in the world. I see them. But I can only act on black and white.”
Easton came over and put his arms around me. A real hug.
Except for my old man when he was soused, I don’t think, until that moment, I ever had an embrace from any member of my family. “Steve,” he said, “I need you so much. My life has been one mistake after another. One charade after another. And now this. I don’t know who I thought I was, who I was hoping to be, but
