Linda Fairstein - Final Jeopardy

“Tell me what you know about Miss Lascar’s latest threats.”

“Well, that’s just it, Luther,” I said sheepishly. “I’m afraid I didn’t ask her much about them I thought they were mostly an excuse to ask me to use the house and to come up here for some privacy.”

He frowned and I knew he was telling himself how unprofessional of me that had been. He was right.

“She told me that she had gotten some messages at the hotel and even some callers who got through the operator, but then hung up on her. She didn’t save any of the slips of paper. Isabella attracted attention wherever she went, Luther, and she was used to dealing with it. She did tell me she was annoyed about a shrink her words and some letters she had gotten. I don’t know if it was her psychiatrist or just someone she met who happened to be a shrink.”

“Yeah, we had that information yesterday. Her agent’s getting the information on all her doctors for us. She’s been through six or seven therapists in the last few years. And we’ve got the agent and the cousin taking the LAPD through her house on Sunday – the funeral’s tomorrow…“

“Yes, I know.”

“They’ll be looking for that correspondence plus notes, love letters, business deals. Perhaps we’ll fax you copies of any papers that might be connected to things she talked to you about – you can tell us if they relate to the problems she discussed with you.”

“Of course, anything I can do.”

“Have you ever met her ex-husband, Richard Burrell?”

“No, no I never met him. She had told me a lot about him, and Nina Baum our mutual friend knew him quite well.” I waited to see where Luther was going with this before I offered the information that Isabella and Nina had gossiped about so freely when we first met.

“They’d been divorced for some time, I understand.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we’re giving him a close look, Alex. The reason she went to Boston was to meet with him last Saturday.”

“What?” That information really came as a surprise to me. Richard Burrell had produced a few of Isabella’s first movie projects and she had eloped with him one weekend when she was still an unknown. He had been a big deal in the business once, but just as she started to emerge, his cocaine problem engulfed him and cost him most of his money as well as his short-lived marriage. She dropped him instantly, accepting the advice that she would be poison in Hollywood if anyone suspected that she was as deeply into the white powder as Burrell was.

“I’d keep it under your hat, Alex, but it’s a fact. They were both at the Ritz-Carlton last weekend. Separate rooms, arrived and departed at different times but it was a planned meeting. Her agent thinks he’s been trying to reconcile – wanted to meet with her to show her he’s off the coke, clean. He’s been living on one of those small islands off the coast of Maine for the past year, trying to write.”

“You ought to talk to my friend Nina about Richard Burrell. I’ll give you her number. I think Isabella always had a soft spot for him, but reconciliation was out of the question.”

“Did she ever tell you he was violent to her, or abusive? You know, confide in you because of what you do, what your job is?“

”With a couple of drinks she’d have confided in anyone, Luther. Isabella was quite open about her personal life. Much too open. No, she had a lot of complaints about Richard, and how much it cost her to keep him out of trouble, but he never hurt or threatened her. He was wild when he was coked up – vulgar and coarse and unfaithful but he didn’t direct it at her.“

“How about guns? Did she ever mention he had guns?”

“No, not specifically. But when I listened to Isabella and Nina, I used to think that everybody in L.A. had guns. It always seemed so different than New York. Everyone in the Hollywood Hills, in the Valley, in town they all seem to have guns. Not necessarily to carry, but at home or to keep in their cars. Weird. The more upscale they are, the more guns, the more automatics. You know, Luther, when the revolution comes… they’ll be ready.“ I don’t think Luther followed me, but he was probably a gun freak, too.

“Do you have a gun? I mean, a handgun, for protection?”

“Luther, with my temper that would be a real mistake. No, I hate guns.“

“Oh. Well, that’s about all I can think of for now. We’ll be able to pick up some speed on this investigation next week. A lot of the West Coast friends and business associates will be more available to us once the funeral is over.“

We got up from the table and I glanced at the clock on the wall to see that it was almost two in the afternoon.

Mike and Wally were sitting in the sunshine on the deck off the kitchen, feet up on the railing, keeping themselves out of our way. Wally probably hadn’t had a fresh, captive audience like Mike in years and was undoubtedly telling him all the local news and island crime stories.

Luther and Wally thanked us for our help and we made arrangements to be in contact during the week. I saw them to the front door and waved good-bye as each car headed out the gate.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving me for Luther,” Mike said as I headed back out onto the deck. "That is one huge blast of hot air.“

“How come you didn’t ask me if I did him? You left me alone in there with him for almost two hours.”

“Nah. I figure Wally’s more your type. You got a real thing for those sweet old guys. I can see you living up here, married to Wally, running the local jailhouse, or maybe a saloon like Miss Kitty while he rids the island of all the vermin who sail in from the mainland.”

“You guessed it, Chapman. C’mon, I’ve got to call the office and check my messages. I’m sure you do, too.”

“Then you have to buy me some lunch – I’m starving. I’m dying to hear what you got from J. Edgar Waldron – Wally was easy as pie.“

Laura answered my phone on the first ring. She expressed her usual concern for me and told me that it had been a relatively quiet Friday.

All calls from police officers and witnesses had been transferred to Sarah Brenner. My mother had phoned to get Laura’s opinion about how I was holding up (just fine) and whether I was really in any danger (of course not). Nina wanted me to call her when I got back to the city. Dinner invitations from Joan Stafford and another friend, Ann Moore (Tell them thanks but I’ll be exhausted. Rain checks). And Jed called from Paris see you tomorrow.

Mike checked in with his office and then turned back to me.

“Okay, Coop, I’m ready. Who’s got the best fried clams on the island? I’ve got a craving.”

“That’s simple – the Bite. Grab a couple of cold beers and let’s go.”

A seven-minute car ride from my door was the best joint for fried clams in the world. It’s a tiny wooden shack on the side of the road in Menemsha – a stone’s throw from the commercial fishing dock with only two picnic tables next to it. But Karen and Jackie Quinn turned out thousands of the most lightly fried clams from late morning through late night in season, which was only from the Memorial Day weekend through Columbus Day.

I turned the ignition key on in our rented car as Mike asked, “Who’s Luther wound up about?”

“He’s so rigid, he didn’t give a lot away. He’s got Richard Burrell, the ex-husband, in his sights.”

“Sound right to you?”

“Not really, especially if he’s off the coke. But there’s no question she was with him in Boston last weekend, so who knows if he followed her here. And Wally?”

“Wally says they’re trying to find an old boyfriend who was sort of a loose cannon. An actor or stunt guy named Johnny Garelli. Ever hear of him?”