“I’ll help,” Olly said without hesitation.
“It’s tiring work, much of it spent on your hands and knees,” Rich replied.
Was Rich trying to get rid of him again? Olly put his hands on his hips. “You don’t think I’m tough enough? And I’m pretty sure I have far more experience at being on my knees than you do. Or is that the problem?” He glared pointedly at Rich.
Rich turned the color of a tomato, but he held Olly’s gaze. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t handle it well. What I said was pretty stupid.” He still didn’t seem to be able to say the G-word.
Olly chose to move carefully. “Was it your first time?”
“Putting my foot in my mouth? No.” Despite the residual redness, Rich kept his face straight, so it was hard to tell if his misinterpretation of the question was intentional.
“I mean squirting your man-juice all over another guy.” Olly hoped to soften the question with humor.
The redness returned, but Rich laughed. “Uh-huh.”
“Is it something you’re interested in doing again?”
“I…uh… Probably wouldn’t be a good idea.” Rich scratched the back of his head. “Look, you’re a nice guy, and I’d like to be friends. Can we just leave it there for now? And, I dunno, play it by ear?”
Olly could tell how much effort this much was taking Rich, and he had the good sense to appreciate it. He knew better than to rush the guy. So he shrugged. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Sure.” There was one more little thing Olly wanted to shed light on. “Where does an investment banker learn house renovation?”
Rich’s gaze faltered, but he recovered. “Did my sister blab?” His grimace was half jest, half discomfort. “You can’t trust women.”
Olly set the record straight. “She didn’t say a word. I went on the Internet. Richard Willson is a common enough name, but not many of them are ginger.”
“Ah. Betrayed by technology. I’ve always thought the steam engine was a mistake,” Rich said, taking Olly by surprise.
“Did you just make a joke?”
“It’s possible. So what did you find out?”
“Not that much, actually. You were working for a small firm in Chicago, until about six months ago, and then you weren’t. What happened?”
“I’ve told you—I had a dustup with a client.” Rich moved a few steps, craned his head around as if taking in the house from floor to ceiling. “I used to work on construction in the summers, starting when I was still in high school. It was a way to make some money. Hanging drywall, painting, sanding, these are easy things to learn.”
Clearly, Rich wasn’t ready to open up about Chicago either. It didn’t leave much to talk about. “I looked up Kane too,” Olly said.
Rich perked up. “And?”
“Not much. His full name is Chester Kane. He’s been photographing celebrities with or without their permission for a couple of decades. His camera was smashed more than once. A garden-variety asshole.”
Rich opened his mouth, but before he could utter a single word, someone knocked on the door. More like banged on it.
“Sir, is that your car parked out front?” Olly heard the authoritative male voice. As far as he knew, the closest car at the curb was his.
He moved up next to Rich and saw a man in a blue uniform. A few steps behind the cop stood another one, but female. The two exchanged a quick glance, and the female cop said something into the walkie-talkie thing on her shoulder. The whole scene started to remind Olly of a cop show. Law and Order. No, better: Southland.
What followed was surreal in its normalcy. The cops asked to come inside, then Olly found himself in the kitchen with the female cop, separated from Rich. Soon a couple of plainclothes detectives showed up too.
One of them—Detective Cooper, a tall, blond man with a somber face—asked if Olly knew Chester Kane. When Olly admitted to it, the detective told Olly that Chester was dead, and politely but firmly suggested that Olly accompany him to the station “to make a statement.”
And that was how Olly found himself in a tiny room at the Glendale police station with only two chairs, a small table, and a clock on the wall for company. After a wait that seemed like an hour—though only ten minutes, according to the clock—Detective Cooper joined Olly and started asking questions about how Olly knew Chester Kane and so forth.
Olly had every intention of keeping Sandy out of this mess, but he knew how badly he sucked at lying, so he had to keep it to the minimum. He told the detective about spotting Chester in front of Sandy’s house. The cops were going to find out about Sandy being an actor anyway; there was no way around it. He skipped the whole part about the blackmail and finding Kane. He did his best to make it sound as if Rich was upset about the photographer stalking Sandy.