There was a melon-sized crater in the lower part of Tyler’s back. It looked like the inside of a volcano—dark, red, churning. On the robe and on the rug were bits of bone, intestines, coagulated pockets of blood. Elizabeth screamed when she saw this and fell into my arms. I, already numb from the shock of his death, could not assimilate this new information. And now we saw an even darker stain on the rug, spreading out to the left of the body and toward the bed. The policemen turned the body on its back again, and one of them opened the robe. There, just below the navel, was the entrance wound, and then the sand-colored curls, the shriveled penis. The men examined the wound, and then lifted both sides of the robe.
“It went clean through,” said one of the kneeling cops. “Couldn’t see the hole from outside.”
Captain Mills shook his head and whistled, and even Rosenberg seemed at a loss for words. “Well, this changes things a bit,” he said.
Elizabeth leaned heavily into me and I thought she would faint, but instead she just started to cry again, gulping for air as if she were drowning. “Somebody shot him?” she asked.
“Looks that way,” said Captain Mills.
She looked at Rosenberg. “Oh, David, who could have done such a thing?”
“Good question,” said Rosenberg. He seemed truly shaken.
“Did he have any enemies?” asked Captain Mills, as the officers stood up and began to examine the room once again. “Any unpaid debts, angry lovers or husbands, a dispute over one of his pictures?”
Rosenberg shook his head. “Not that I know of. People liked him. And women couldn’t get enough of him. It was the accent, I think, and his high-class looks. All these British bastards have it over us that way.”
“All the more reason to look at women and husbands. Was there anything else? Disputes with employees? Some actor or actress he didn’t cast?”
Rosenberg shrugged. “You can never keep actors happy, but that’s nothing new …”
“Miss Banks,” the policeman asked, “do you have any idea who might have done this?”
She shook her head, still clutching my arm. “No, I can’t imagine who would have done something like this. I can’t imagine who’d want to hurt Ashley.”
Captain Mills had taken out a small notebook and was scratching in it with a pencil. “Who has access to the house?” he asked of no one in particular.
Rosenberg thought for a minute. “Well, he asked Gerard Normandy to keep an extra set of keys. Other than that,” he said, looking at Willy, “the only person I know of is him.”
All four of the policemen turned toward Willy now, who instinctively stepped back. “I found him this way,” he said. “I came round about 5, like I always do, and he was laid out just like that.”
“Mr… .”
“Parris,” David said. “Willy Parris.”
“Mr. Parris, how long have you been in Mr. Tyler’s employ?”
“Almost four years now. Four years this May.”
“Were you unhappy with Mr. Tyler in any way, Mr. Parris? Maybe he didn’t give you time off when you wanted it, didn’t give you a raise?”
“No, I never had no problem with Mr. Tyler. No problem at all. Best boss I ever had. I’d do anything for him.”
“You leave him alone!” Elizabeth shouted. “You leave Willy alone! Willy wouldn’t hurt an insect, let alone Ashley, and it’s shameful what you’re trying to imply!”
And slowly, all of the policemen’s eyes came to rest on Elizabeth. I could feel the shift, the new curiosity.
“Miss Banks,” Captain Mills began, “you were close to Mr. Tyler, correct?”
“Yes, very close,” she replied, and she didn’t seem to notice the way they circled her, the scent they picked up in the air.
“Would you say that your friendship was … intimate?”
“That’s none of your business!” she said, pulling her sweater around her.
“Well, would you say that you had a strong affection for Mr. Tyler?”
She touched her mouth, and her hand was shaking. “Yes. A very strong affection.”
“And was his affection for you equally strong?”
She shook her head—not as if she were answering no, but as if she were trying to deny the presence of their questions. “Oh God, don’t make me talk about Ashley when he’s dead and somebody’s killed him!”
Captain Mills stepped forward. “Miss Banks,” he said slowly, “how did you know to come over this morning?”
“Why, Mr. Stewart …” But when she peered at Rosenberg, he looked away. “Tom Stewart from Benjamin Dreyfus’ office called me.”
Captain Mills looked at Rosenberg. “Is this true?”
Rosenberg shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how she knew to come. She was here before I was, in fact.” Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief. “You bastard! You know he called me. He called everyone this morning. How the hell do you think these thugs knew where to come?” She gestured toward the studio men.
I held her and kept her from falling over, and now the captain turned to me. “And what might you be doing here?”
“I came with Miss Banks,” I replied.
“Were you with her when she received this supposed phone call?”
“No, I was at home, and she called me.”
“So you weren’t with her this morning.”
“No,” I said, and the glance the captain now exchanged with his deputy made me think I might have said something wrong.
“Well, at least we know where to start, gentlemen,” said Captain Mills. “Let’s take all three of them down to the station. We should have this thing solved by evening.” Before I could protest, the police grabbed us from behind and led us down the stairs. We stepped out into the courtyard. By now a small crowd had gathered, and the police had cleared a path to the street. The onlookers stood behind the policemen’s outstretched arms, and as we passed, they pointed and whispered. The three of us were
