“I…I don’t. He never told me about any friends. Only people he worked with.”
I thought we probably already had those, but I took down the co-workers’ names she could remember anyway.
“Did Brian stay with you after his mother died?”
“Yes. He was only sixteen at the time, so I brought him out here to finish school.”
“But he wound up in L.A.-”
She sighed. “Yes. He said he wanted to be a television writer, like his father. His plan was to save up the money to go to college out there and see if he could break in by getting a job as a production assistant. I told him that it’s a very hard road, with lots of competition, but Brian was determined.”
“Even though…?”
“You know about that,” she said flatly. “I never knew for sure whether that man really did steal Tommy’s script. But Tommy became a complete basket case over it…”
“I’m so sorry, Janice. I can only imagine how awful that must’ve been.”
“It was. It was a terrible thing.” Her voice shook a little. “What killed me was that he was a really terrific writer. In fact, I always thought he was better than me. I kept telling him to get out of Hollywood and write novels. But he wouldn’t listen.” Janice gave a heavy sigh.
“I hope you don’t mind. I’d like your opinion regarding things we’ve heard about Tommy.”
“All right.” But her voice was wary. I’d probably feel the same in her position.
“People who’d worked with him on the show said he complained a lot about other writers lifting his stories and his lines-”
“He wasn’t the paranoid type, if that’s what you mean. If he said it, then I’d bet it was true. Now, I’m not saying he couldn’t have been mistaken at times. But there was probably some truth to it.”
“Did he talk to you about the show, or the other writers?”
“Not much.” Janice paused. “As you can tell, I wasn’t a big fan of Hollywood. He didn’t want to hear me tell him yet again that he should get out, so he didn’t talk about it much. But of course, he did tell me when that man stole his screenplay.”
“So he didn’t complain to you about the other writers stealing his lines or anything?”
“No. He called them untalented hacks, but he didn’t say anything about stealing from him.”
I hadn’t considered the possibility before, but now I wondered whether those stories of Tommy’s constant accusations were just hype generated after the fact to explain his suicide.
“Had you ever known him to be suicidal before?”
“Never. Oh, he could be morose. He certainly had his moods. But suicidal? Not even a hint of it. That’s why I had an investigator look into his death. I thought it might be a homicide that’d been covered up to look like a suicide.”
I thought people read too much crime fiction. Then it occurred to me that Janice might be a thriller writer, so I kept that thought to myself.
“What happened?”
Janice gave another heavy sigh. “He couldn’t find any evidence of homicide.”
“So you have no doubts?”
“He did a very thorough job. Trust me, I made sure of it.” Janice gave a short, dry bark of a laugh. “I wish I did have doubts. But, no, I don’t.”
Neither did I. I’d read the reports on Tommy’s death and there was no indication that it was anything but a suicide.
“Did Brian know the story?”
Janice sighed again. “Not while his mother was alive. She refused to discuss it. Estelle considered the whole business of that script a sickness, and after Tommy died she was too angry to discuss it. All she wanted to do was get away from it all. She didn’t care anymore whether Tommy was right or wrong. In my opinion, she was profoundly resentful-watching him unravel month by month, and then in the end…well, you know. The truth was, she hated everything and everyone associated with that script. And that meant Hollywood. Her way of dealing with that was to move them out to Arizona and never speak of it.”
I don’t know whether I’d have done the same thing. But I sure didn’t blame her. “And after Brian moved in with you, did you tell him about his father?”
“Eventually, yes. Brian was a little guy when Tommy died. Barely nine years old. All he knew was that mommy seemed angry all the time and he believed it was his responsibility to make her happy. A task doomed to failure. Add that to his confusion over why daddy had abandoned them and you have a very sad child. Estelle was smart enough to get him therapy, and heaven knows she loved him dearly, so in spite of it all, he grew up into a sweet boy. But I could tell he was still confused about what had happened to Tommy. So I had to tell him the truth. I explained to him how and why it all happened, that his father was just too sad to go on living and his mother was angry about losing him because she loved him.”
“And that helped?”
“It seemed to. He’d periodically ask me questions about what had happened, what his dad told me, what he’d done about the theft of the script. Brian even bought the DVD of the movie. He watched it over and over again.”
So many things were clearer now. “Did he ever tell you that he wanted to avenge his father, clear his name by proving he’d originated the idea for the movie?”
“No. I mean, he was upset at the idea that someone might have stolen his father’s script and that it had pushed his father…over the edge. But he never spoke of wanting to do anything about it. I mean, what could he do? The whole issue is long in the past now.”
I didn’t want to tell her that Brian had indeed found a way to do something about it. So I wrapped it up, thanked her for her time, and gave her my number. She assured me that if she heard from Brian, she’d be in touch immediately. “He’s a lovely, gentle soul. Please believe me, he would never hurt anyone.” My silence provoked her to add, “I know, someone in the family always says that, and then you find the body.” The remark was so unwittingly accurate, it left me speechless. Janice exhaled and said, “Don’t worry, Ms. Knight. If this girl is with Brian, I’m sure she’s just fine and she’ll turn up soon.”
The bitter irony made my throat tighten. I barely managed to choke out a “thank you” before ending the call. When I got out of the car, the smell of greasy food filled my nostrils. It turned my stomach. I opened the door to the restaurant, intending to tell Bailey I’d wait outside, but she was already standing at the register.
“Man, you eat fast. Don’t you believe in chewing?”
A waitress behind the counter brought over a bag that gave off the smell of bacon and something sweet. Bailey handed it to me. “I ordered yours to go.”
Bailey finished paying. “Our pal Brian is on the move. He just bought a ticket to Paris using Hayley’s iPad.”
17
Bailey hustled me into the car and pulled out onto Sepulveda Boulevard. For some reason my appetite returned with a vengeance. I was aiming a forkful of the hash browns at my mouth, but we hit a dip in the road, and it missed and bounced off my chin instead. Flicking a piece of potato out of my bra, I asked, “Where exactly are we rushing to?”
“The station. Got to call my contact with the cell site info.”
Bailey’s contact might be able to tell us what cell sites the iPad accessed when Brian bought the plane tickets. And, hopefully, that would lead us to Brian. “Think he’s dumb enough not to know we can trace the signal?”
“He might think he can outrun us-”
And he might be right. Thus, Bailey’s rush. “Do we know what name he bought the ticket under?”
“I didn’t ask. We can do it at the station.”
As Bailey navigated the morning traffic, I tried to stuff some food down. But after a few sudden stops and sharp turns, I gave up. I decided I didn’t want to be Exhibit A for a new definition of pancake makeup.