Sunset Express

'Thanks, Lyle. It's good to be here.' Mr Sincerity.

Lyle laced his fingers and leaned toward me, getting down to serious journalistic business. 'How is it that one man working alone was able to uncover these things when the entire Los Angeles police department working for three months couldn't?'

'I followed a tip that Jonathan Green's office received on the hotline. If LAPD would've gotten the tip, they would've made the same discoveries, and probably sooner.'

Lyle chuckled good-naturedly. 'Sounds like you're being modest to me.' The chuckle vanished and Lyle turned serious again, cocking an eyebrow to let everyone know just how serious he was. 'Tell us, was it dangerous?'

'It's just meeting people and asking questions, Lyle. It's no more dangerous than crossing the street.'

Lyle made the chuckle again, then twisted around to smile at Marcy Bernside. 'Marce, I'll tell you, I've never met the real McCoy who liked to blow his own horn, have you?'

Marcy Bernside said, 'Never, Lyle. Real men let their deeds speak for themselves.'

Lyle twisted back to me. 'Theodore Martin has proclaimed his innocence from the beginning. Many people are now saying that your discovery proves him right.'

'It's another piece of the puzzle.'

Lyle leaned toward me, serious and professional. 'Many people are also saying that the LAPD botched this investigation, and now they're unwilling to admit their mistake.'

'LAPD is the finest police force in the nation, Lyle.'

Lyle nodded as if I'd just laid out the Unified Field Theory. 'Well, sir, we've checked into your background and learned that you certainly have an excellent reputation, even among members of the police department and the district attorney's office.'

'Those guys. Did they really say that?'

Lyle nodded gravely. 'Personal News Eight is told that this isn't your first high-profile case. Apparently, you've worked in a confidential capacity for some very high-profile celebrities.'

'I never discuss my clients, Lyle. That's why it's called "confidential."'

Lyle squinted approvingly. 'A man of integrity.' He gave an encouraging smile. 'Most of us see private eyes on television or in movies but never get a chance to meet the real thing. Tell me, is it as exciting as it seems?'

'No.'

Lyle laughed. They paid him seven hundred thousand dollars a year for that laugh, and I wondered if he practiced it. 'Looks like you're a truthful man, as well. How does it feel to be compared to that famous, fictional Los Angeles detective, Raymond Marlowe?'

Marcy said, 'Philip Marlowe.'

Lyle looked confused and twisted to look at her again. I guess she'd said her bit and he hadn't expected her to speak again. 'What was that, Marce?'

'Raymond Chandler created Philip Marlowe.'

Lyle laughed again, but this time the laugh was strained. Guess you weren't supposed to correct the anchor while you were on the air. He twisted back to the camera and said, 'Well, it looks as if Los Angeles has found its very own Sherlock Homes, and, unfortunately, that's all the time we have for this segment.' Lyle Stodge offered his hand to me, and we shook as if he had just awarded me the Congressional Medal of Honor. 'Mr Cole, it's been my privilege to meet you. Congratulations, and thank you for taking the time to talk with us.'

'Thanks, Lyle. It's been personal.'

The floor director raised both hands. 'In promo. We're clear.'

Lyle Stodge glared at Marcy Bernside. 'You fucking cunt! Don't you ever do that to me again on air!'

Marcy Bernside gave him the finger again. 'It's Holmes, moron. Sherlock Holmes. With an L.'

'Oh, yeah, right. Sure.'

Kara Sykes undipped my lapel mike and helped me off the set. No one gave me a second glance.

We followed Kara Sykes back to the lobby, then left the building and walked to the car. Lucy hugged my arm. 'That was almost as much fun as Beverly Hills.'

'Un.'

She stepped back and looked at me. She cocked her head. 'Are you okay, Studly?'

I said, 'Luce?'

'Mm?'

'If Truly wants me to do another of these, I'm going to shoot him to death. Will you represent me?'

She smiled sweetly. 'Oh, you know that I will, hon. You shoot him all you like.'

Thanks, Luce.'

CHAPTER 17

Lucy, Ben, and I spent the next two days seeing Disneyland and Malibu and the Griffith Observatory. We saw Ronald Colman's house. We shopped in Beverly Hills. I called Jonathan's office twice each day, asking to speak with either Jonathan or Truly, but neither was ever available. Busy, they said. In meetings. No one returned my calls.

I stayed away from my office because of the press. The answering machine was flooded with so many interview requests that I deleted them without playing them. The eat-me lady called back twice.

Elliot Truly's assistant phoned to arrange three more television interviews and two appearances on local talk radio. It's important to Jonathan, she said. We need our side of it known, she said. I asked her about Pritzik and Richards. I said that I wanted to know what was going on. She said that she would talk to Jonathan and get back to me. She didn't.

News reports questioning LAPD's investigative techniques appeared with greater frequency. A summer marine layer moved in, filling the morning sky with an oppressive layer of dark clouds. Sometimes they burned off by noon, but not always.

On the morning of the third day, Peter Alan Nelsen took Ben to spend the day on the set of his new movie and Lucy was dressing for her second meeting when the phone rang and Elliot Truly said, 'We're meeting with Teddy Martin at ten this morning in the Men's Central Jail.

Teddy wants to meet you, and Jonathan would like you there. Can you make it?'

I said, 'What in hell is going on, Truly? How come no one returns my calls?'

'You're not the only investigator we have on this, Cole. We've been swamped. Jonathan's working sixteen hours a day.'

'I'm an investigator. I investigate. If you don't want me to investigate anymore, fine.' I was feeling sullen and petulant. Mr Maturity.

Truly said, 'Look, talk about it with Jonathan at the jail. One other thing. Jonathan's having a get-together at his home tonight, people who've been behind Teddy through this thing, some press people, like that. Jonathan personally asked me to invite you. You can bring a date if you want.'

I cupped the phone and looked at Lucy. She was standing in the kitchen, dressed and Guccied and ready for business, eating peach yogurt. 'Would you like to go to a party at Jonathan Green's house tonight?'

Lucy blinked at me and the spoon froze between cup and mouth. 'Are you serious?'

'Truly just asked.'

She shook her head, the spoon forgotten. 'I don't have anything to wear to meet Jonathan Green.'

I uncupped the phone. 'Forget it, Truly. We can't make it.'

The yogurt cup hit the floor and Lucy grabbed my arm. 'I didn't say that! I'll get something!'

'My mistake, Truly. We'll be there.'

Truly said, 'Great. I'll see you at the jail. Ten o'clock.'

I smiled at Lucy. 'How about that? You'll get to meet Jonathan.'

Her eyes were glazed and distant. 'Ohmigod, what am I going to wear?'

'Wear what you have on. You look great.'

She shook her head. 'You don't understand. I'm going to meet Jonathan Green.'

I said, 'You've got time. Go to your meeting, then go into Beverly Hills. You'll find something.'