Cheating at Solitaire(131)

“Mr. Frank,” Gregor Demarkian said.

“They aren’t going to bring in that local kid in the cop uniform?” Carl Frank said. “I suppose that’s all to the good. He’s a nice kid, but he doesn’t have a clue.”

Gregor Demarkian pulled out a chair and sat down. Carl Frank sat down again at his own. Most people couldn’t stand the sound of silence. If the investigator just shut up, they would start talking and find themselves unable to stop. They would confess to the present crime and to a few more they’d committed, right down to the Raisinets they’d stolen from their lab partner in high school biology. Carl Frank was not one of these people. Gregor was ready to believe he would be able to stay quiet indefinitely.

“You know,” Gregor said, “if somebody had introduced me to you before any of this happened, and told me that you were the public relations man for this movie, I wouldn’t have believed him. You’re not the public relations man for this movie.”

“Oh, but I am,” Carl Frank said. “I’m good at it too. It’s where I started in this business. Although we ought to be clear. I’m the public relations man for this filming. It’s not the movie I’m concerning myself with, it’s people’s behavior while they’re making it. After the film is made, it’s no business of mine what kind of publicity it gets.”

“All right,” Gregor said. “Let me try again. You’re not just the public relations man for this… filming. And that’s not your principle job here.”

“No.”

“Are you what you’re rumored to be?” Gregor asked. “Are you Michael Bardman’s hit man?”

“Sometimes. When it’s necessary. It isn’t usually necessary. Michael Bardman is the most important producer in Hollywood, maybe the most important Hollywood has seen in fifty years. It’s not just that everybody wants to work for him, it’s that most people can’t afford to piss him off too much. Too many of the movies that do get made are his productions.”

“All right,” Gregor said. “Then let me ask you something off topic a bit. What does Michael Bardman want with this movie? I’m not entirely clear on it, but from what people tell me it sounds like something fairly minor. Much lighter than Bardman usually produces. No science fiction. Few special effects. So what are you doing here?”

Carl Frank didn’t blink. “The script was written by Christa Hall Grande.”

“And? ”

“Christa Hall Grande spends her real life as Mrs. Michael Bardman.”

“Ah,” Gregor said. “All right.”

“Not that Michael is an idiot,” Carl Frank said. “This movie is expensive, but not particularly expensive. It will come in under sixty million even with all the screwups, unless you’re intending to arrest Marcey Mandret for murdering Kendra Rhode. Which, by the way, is the kind of rumor I hear.”

“She’s a person of interest,” Gregor said. “She would have to be. She was on the scene in both deaths. In the second one, she was right there.”

“She was drunk the first time and coming out of a bad chain reaction the second,” Carl Frank said. “And I don’t have to hear rumors about that one. That’s the kind of thing I check out myself.”

“Assuming she wasn’t,” Gregor said, “would you think she’d be capable of it?”

“It depends what you mean by ‘it,’ ” Carl Frank said. “Pushing Kendra Rhode down some stairs? Hell, yes. I was capable of it. The woman was a pest. Shooting Mark Anderman in the head? I doubt it. Drugged up and scared and crazy, a spur-of-the-moment thing, anybody could do that. But anything that took even a second more thought, and from what I hear this took at least that much, no. Not at all. She may be a charter member of the Twits Club, but her real problems are ignorance, disorganization, and a complete lack of self-esteem. Or self-respect, for that matter. She was the one I wasn’t opposed to hiring when this project started, if you want to know the truth. She gets seven point five a picture and she can almost always be cajoled into behaving like a professional. I’ll admit I underestimated the ampliflication effects of having the other twits around.”

“Let’s go down the list,” Gregor said. “Stewart Gordon.”

“He gets five,” Carl Frank said, “and he’s worth it. He has a cult following that’s hard to beat. He’s thoroughly professional. Gets to work every day on time, knows his lines, knows his moves, gets the job done, stops at a bar for a couple of beers on the way home, keeps it to a couple of beers. I wish every actor in the world was like Stewart Gordon. If they were, there’d be no need for me.”