Page 121 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Soaked to the Bone

dumped them in a trash can at the airport early the next morning as
he left town, but the investigators hadn’t the enthusiasm or the
resources to troll through tons of refuse in hopes of snagging a
blood-stained track suit. The missing garments were glossed over at
the trial, and the prosecutors ultimately lost the case.
My ruminations terminated as we began the ascent up Camino
Costoso and Labelle spoke for the first time on the return trip.
“The police would appreciate your assistance in bringing this
inquiry to a rapid conclusion. If you agree that it is in your interest to
do so, and will further assent to keeping anything you hear—
including Mr. Little’s statements—to yourself, then I believe you can
help me.”
I was taken aback. Me, a police informant? A member of the
posse, sworn in by the sheriff and given a tin badge for the duration
of the hunt?
“How?”
“It is unlikely that Mr. Fish allowed anyone into his house whom
he did not know. You also know that particular group of people
whom I need to interview. They are coming to Fish’s house now; you
may consider it an ad hoc police command post. Your presence when
I question them might make it easier; my experience with show
business people is that they are highly reactive and will inopportunely
refuse to answer questions which are in no way accusatory.”
Ha! I couldn’t believe a word of that: she just wanted a stalking
horse, a turncoat who could smuggle her into the enemy camp. But
she was right about my interest. My job at Troglo was ruined no
matter what happened now, and I would have to leave with a totally
undeserved stigma—after all, wasn’t I hired, to some extent, to keep
Fish out of trouble?—making it impossible to get in the door at any
other studio. I had to get myself out of this crisis clothed in as many
shreds of credibility as possible. And then I could be the one who
winds up knowing the inside story and could be coaxed into telling all
for a tidy sum. I was certain I couldn’t be muzzled after it was over.
A brand-new sugarplum vision went into its dance: Fishing for Clues: a
Hollywood Horror Story, book and screenplay by Cora Sliner. Well, a girl
has to have a career path, hasn’t she?
With as much reluctance as I could muster, I consented. There
were risks, after all: no matter how much innocence I feigned, I

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