Ed Gorman: Rough Cut

I swore, wondering what the hell was going on back there. My world had become one of the insane terrains you walk across with a rifle slung across your back and your hands filled with grenades.

"I'm sorry," I said to Bonnell, "would you mind if I find out what's happening back there? My agency seems to be disintegrating right before my eyes."

He stood up, looking very understanding. "Sure, it's all right, Mr. Ketchum."

I interrupted him before he could say anything else. "If you could just wait here-"

"That isn't necessary," he said.

I started around my desk.

He grabbed my arm.

"All I need is a simple yes or no answer," he said.

I looked longingly at the door. I would be happy to go in the back and referee a match between Ab Levin and Tommy Byrnes. I would be happy to spend a month or two in a leper colony. Anything-but answer Bonnell's question.

"How about it," he said, as if I had managed to forget what he'd asked me. "Was Clay Traynor with you the night that Denny Harris was murdered?"

I stared at him. He stared at me.

"They really need me in the back-" I said.

He smiled. "Yes or no, Mr. Ketchum. Then you can go." He paused. "Yes or no. Mindful of perjury laws. Perjury can be a very nasty business."

I knew what I had to say, knew that despite the evidence Bonnell seemed to have, I had to continue my risky poker hand.

"He was with me right up until midnight," I said. "Right up until midnight."

What surprised me was the look of disappointment on his face. He seemed to take my moral failings personally-as if I'd betrayed a real friendship we'd had.

"Yeah," he said sadly. "Sure he was."

He didn't wait for me to say goodbye.

By the time I reached the production area, a small group of people stood between Ab and Tommy. The glares the two exchanged, however, spoke of an argument still smoldering.

The general air was of melancholy. In the moments following a blowup, most men I know tend to fall into a kind of remorse. Maybe they're thinking of just how bad things could have gotten-that instead of some harsh words being exchanged, or even a few stray punches, there could have been real bloodshed.

Given two murders in the past few days, I'm sure that thought was not uncommon.

At Tommy's feet lay a piece of rope curled around like a snake in waiting. Everybody was careful not to get too close-as if it were radioactive.

"You think we could break it up?" I said. I looked at the half-dozen production people standing around-dressed more like warehouse workers in jeans and work shirts and flannel shirts-and shook my head. "I know the past few days have been tough for all of us, but we've got to get the work out no matter what."

There was no resentment on their faces as they started to disperse-only a kind of curiosity directed at Ab and Tommy.

Bill Malley, one of Ab's assistants said, "What Ab says is true, Mr. Ketchum. Honest."

Then Malley, with the rest of the men, went back to their area.

"What's true?" I asked Ab.

The man looked miserable, as if he were carrying around a secret so terrible it was literally destroying him. He said nothing, only stared at the rope, then glared up at Tommy. But there was more than anger in Ab's gaze-I saw the same expression that had been in Detective Bonnell's a few minutes earlier. There was disappointment in Ab's eyes.

"What's true, Ab?" I repeated.

"Aw, nothin'," Ab said. "I must've made a mistake is all." He turned and started away but I put out a hand and stopped him.

"Ab, I want to know what's going on here. You and Tommy disrupted the whole department. I think I've got an explanation coming."

Tommy, his Norman Rockwell face flushed, said, "I'll tell you what's going on."

He motioned to the rope on the floor.

"Ab decided to sneak some candy," Tommy said, "the way he usually does." A kind of fondness softened Tommy's voice momentarily-Ab and Tommy were father-son, Ab always sampling the candy Tommy kept in his desk. "Anyway, when he dug in my desk drawer he found the rope. I guess he thought…" The flush on Tommy's face grew deeper. Tormented. "He thought he'd found the rope that had been used to strangle Ron Gettig."

I glanced at Ab. His eyes were still downcast.

Tommy went on. "So he asked me about it-about the rope and everything, and when I told him I hadn't ever seen it before, he got mad and said I would only make things worse by lying." Tommy's voice gained an octave. "Honest, Michael, I've never seen this rope before. Somebody put it there!"

"Bill Malley," Ab said, speaking at last. "He saw me pull the rope out of Tommy's desk. He knows it was in there."

"Sure it was in there, Ab," Tommy said. "But somebody put it there-planted it there, can't you see that?"

Ab shook his head. "Aw, that's just in movies, Tommy. I saw you and Gettig arguing that day! Just tell the damn truth, that's all."

I glanced at Tommy. "What were you and Gettig arguing about?"

"Just because we were arguing doesn't mean I'd kill him," Tommy said, sounding very young, almost hysterical. "God, I… I couldn't kill anybody."

The whole idea of murdering somebody sounded preposterous to Tommy-as it seemed to at that instant to Ab Levin.

He smiled at Tommy. Suddenly. Surprisingly. "You're right."

Tommy smiled nervously in return. "Last time I killed anybody, Ab, was in a fantasy I had a year ago when another guy took my girlfriend."

I was glad they were getting along again, but Tommy still hadn't answered my question about Gettig and why they were arguing.

"Ab, you mind if Tommy and I speak alone?" I asked.

Ab's first response was suspicion. "Hey, the thing about the rope, that's all cleared up, right?"

"Right," I said. Then I saw that he wanted me to explain why I wanted to talk to Tommy. You pay a price for having a democratic managerial style. "I want to find out why he and Ron Gettig had an argument."

Ab said, "I'm curious myself."

Looks like I had company.

Tommy said, "About a week ago some videotapes Ron had wanted arrived-sample reels from various production companies. The package came and I took it in and put it on his desk. He came in and got all bent out of shape, like he was hiding something and I'd discovered it."

"That must've been when I came in," Ab said.

"Yeah, it was," Tommy said.

"I thought he was going to hit you."

"Yeah, so did I."

"Did you happen to find anything in his desk?" I asked.

"God," Tommy said, "what a day. First Ab accuses me of being a killer, and now you're calling me a thief."

"Tommy," I said, "all I meant was did you find anything that looked suspicious lying around on his desk. He's been murdered. We're trying to find out who did it and why. I thought maybe you'd seen something that could help the police."

Ab clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, kid. We're all just a little jumpy."

"Yeah," Tommy said, "I guess so." He shrugged. "Nah, I didn't see anything suspicious, Michael."

"And Gettig didn't give you any hint of what he might be trying to conceal."

"Uh-uh."

I sighed.

Ab and Tommy caught the significance of the noise I made.

"No offense," Ab said, "but you look like heck, Michael. I mean you got bags under your eyes that could hold three days' worth of laundry."

"Thanks," I said, trying to laugh.

The wide fatherly hand left Tommy's shoulder and came down on mine.

"You get some rest," he said. "Otherwise you ain't going to be worth a damn to anybody."

But I was no longer paying attention to Ab. Instead I was looking at the man in the dark raincoat and the dark fedora who stood in the doorway. The big man with the air of comic menace. My favorite private eye, Stokes.