Fade to Blue

by Bill Moody

  “Are you recording this? Are you working with the police?”

  “No, why would you think that?”

  “Because you’ve worked with the police before. For God’s sake, your friend is a cop, and your girlfriend is an FBI agent.” His voice rises in frustration to the point that several people stop and stare at us. Robbins glares back then loses it entirely. “What are you looking at? Fuck off.”

  I take his arm and guide him off the path, onto the sand. We walk toward one of the lifeguard stands. He takes a breath and stares out at the surf. “What do the police know for sure?”

  “They know everything. They know Fuller wasn’t strangled. He was already dead.” I watch him closely. His reaction confirms everything. He just silently nods.

  “I’d talked to him several times, but he wouldn’t listen. He threatened to go to the police, open up that whole McElroy mess again. Don’t you see? I couldn’t afford for that to happen. The picture was well underway. No matter what I offered Fuller, it wasn’t enough. He kept making more demands. Then the night I had dinner with Ryan and Melanie, he called and said he wanted to see me or he was going to the press with everything, including the tape.”

  “What tape?”

  Robbins smiles slightly. “You didn’t know about that? Fuller wasn’t dumb. The night he covered for Ryan on Malibu Canyon, he recorded their whole conversation. That was his insurance to get anything he wanted. That tape would have ruined Ryan and the picture.”

  That I hadn’t seen coming. That tape would be on the internet an hour after Fuller released it, and would show Ryan to be connected to McElroy’s death.

  “I left Mario’s and went right to Fuller’s. He was waiting for me, all smug and smirking, convinced he was going to get anything he wanted.”

  “More money?”

  “No, he wanted an exclusive interview and photos with Ryan. I couldn’t allow that.”

  “So what happened?”

  “He turned his back and just walked away into his bedroom. You can’t imagine how angry and frustrated I was. This arrogant prick in a trailer, smirking, dictating to me how he was going to bring down the whole production. I got angrier. I grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him, and shoved him back against the file cabinet.” Robbins squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers. “I pushed him harder than I thought. He hit his head and just slid down to the floor, like it was in slow motion.”

  “Are you sure he was dead?”

  “Oh, God yes, he was dead. There was no pulse. Nothing. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You could have called the police.”

  “How could I explain being there? Would they have believed it was an accident? Because, Evan, I swear, it was an accident. I had parked outside the trailer park. I wanted to just run for my car and get out of there as fast as I could. Your mind does funny things sometimes. Fuller was dead. There was nothing I could do about that, but I could confuse things, throw the police off.”

  “That’s when you called Anthony Torino.”

  Robbins stops and stares at me. “How did you know that?”

  “When Coop and I were in your office, you made a comment about how horrible it was, Fuller being strangled with a camera strap. But you made one slip, when you said it was Nikon. The only way you could have known that was if you had been there, or Torino told you.”

  He nods. “I thought about it later. I didn’t think anyone had caught it.”

  “So Torino came out, moved the body to make it look like a homicide.”

  “I guess he did. I didn’t stay around. He told me later about using the camera strap.”

  “Why Torino?”

  “We go back a long way, and I financed Mario’s.”

  Neither of us says anything for awhile. We listen to the sound of the surf and feel the warmth of the sun as it breaks through more. I look back across the beach and see Coop coming toward us.

  “What happens now?” Robbins asks.

  “I think you know. I’m betting the police are already questioning Torino. You’re going to have to tell the whole story, and I’ll have to give a statement after what you’ve told me.”

  Robbins nods. He looks up and sees Coop nearing us. “I see you weren’t taking any chances.”

  “Give me one reason why I should.”

  Robbins glances as Coop as he gets closer. “I can deny this whole conversation. Even if you give the police a statement, it’s all hearsay. I have a good lawyer.”

  “I’m sure you do, but do you think Torino isn’t going to give you up?”

  Coop stops in front of us. “You gentlemen have an interesting talk?”

  The three of us walk back to Coop’s car. There’s a black-and-white parked next to Coop’s with two uniform cops waiting. Robbins is totally subdued now. One of the uniforms opens the back door. He starts to pull Robbins’ hands behind him, but Coop shakes his head.

  “No cuffs?”

  “No, I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble.” He shuts the door and we watch them start to pull away. Robbins gives me one last look, then turns to face forward.

  Coop turns to me. “So, he tell you everything?”

  “Pretty much. The only thing I didn’t know about was the tape Fuller had.”

  “What tape?”

  I tell Coop about what I think of now as the Malibu Canyon tape.

  “Interesting. I wonder about Fuller being that smart.”

  “So do I. For all we know there was no tape. Ryan didn’t know about it at all. Robbins never saw it or heard it. Maybe just the threat was enough to push Robbins over the edge.”

  Coop shrugs. “Could be. Farrell says they found nothing on Fuller’s computer other than the e-mails. No tape. They went over every inch of the trailer. It does raise an interesting point.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Without it, there’s no reason to dredge up things with our movie star again. He didn’t do the right thing. He let Fuller do it for him.”

  “That’s it, then.”

  “Farrell will want you to make a statement at your convenience.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You done good, sport. I’ll let you know how this comes out. Go finish the music. You’ve earned it.”

  ***

  Two days later, Coop calls and we meet at his favorite Mexican restaurant, where he recaps Robbins’ questioning with the District Attorney.

  “He gave a full statement, with his lawyer present of course, and was released, pending charges. The D.A. is satisfied Fuller’s death was an accident. It looks like Robbins could be charged with leaving the scene, and maybe involuntary manslaughter, but they have everything to work out a plea deal, and this is L.A., after all.”

  “What about Torino?”

  “He’s been arrested and charged with contaminating a crime scene, withholding information, obstructing justice. He’s out on bail.”

  “That’s all?”

  “He didn’t kill anybody. Fuller was already dead.” Coop pauses for a minute, letting me digest everything. “Charlie Farrell agreed to keep you out of it.” Coop sees I’m not convinced. He leans forward. “Sometimes we just have to work with what we have. Like I said, you done good.”

  “Somehow it doesn’t feel like it.”

  ***

  What does it feel like? Later, back in my room I think about everything. Jerry Fuller’s death was accounted for, and the two people responsible would suffer at least some consequences for their involvement. It wasn’t perfect justice, but as Coop says, that was all they had. Grant Robbins would probably make a favorable deal, but there would be repercussions for him on the Hollywood scene. He would no doubt recover, but I wonder if his association with Ryan Stiles would survive. Given the way things are, box office receipts for Murder in Blue would probably determine things.

  I spend the next ten days locked away with Skip Porter and Sandy Simmons for the final cut of the film, going through it scene by scene.
There were a few more short cues to write, mostly solo piano themes, or a chord here and there, but in the end, Simmons is more than satisfied.

  Skip grins and gives me a hug. “This was cool, man. Hope we do it again.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Simmons says, “I’ll be in touch. As soon as we get a distribution deal and a release date, I’ll let you know.” He gathers up his things, then pulls a padded envelope out of his bag. “This is for you. It’s a little souvenir, a baseball cap for the film. Wear it with pride.”

  None of us refers to or mentions Grant Robbins once, pretending we haven’t read the flurry of news stories, or seen the television coverage citing Robbins’ arraignment and Anthony Torino’s arrest. Most of them end with Grant Robbins being unavailable for comment.

  ***

  When I get to Burbank Airport, I return the rental car and go inside for my flight. I check one bag, and head for security with my carry-on. It’s surprisingly quiet this afternoon, but they pull me aside and take my bag off the conveyer. I had forgotten about the envelope Simmons had given me, which I’d stuffed in my carry-on.

  The TSA guy asks me to open the bag. He looks inside and pulls out the envelope. It’s sealed and has my name scribbled on the front. “Will you open this, please?”

  I pull the flap open and take out the blue cap. It’s folded flat, and Murder in Blue is stitched on the front in gold lettering. The guard looks at the stitching then raises his eyes to mine.

  “I just finished scoring the music for a movie. That’s the title.”

  He nods and pushes my bag to me. “Have a nice flight.”

  I shove the envelope back in my bag and head for the gate.

  The flight to Oakland is on time, and for once, so are the bags. In a little over an hour, I make it to baggage claim and walk outside. Andie is already waiting. She jumps out of her car when she sees me and rushes over for a hug and welcome home kiss.

  “I see your escape from Hollywood was successful. Everything go okay?”

  “Yep, all done, and they liked the music just fine.”

  I throw the larger bag in the trunk, and keep the carry-on with me. We get in the car and, as Andie pulls away and heads for the exit, I open my carry-on, and take out the envelope, and don the cap.

  I grin at Andie. “I just scored a movie and all I got was this baseball cap.”

  Andie glances over. “Wow, I’m impressed. You can wear that all over town and let people ask what it means.”

  I take the cap off and start to put it back when I feel something rattle at the bottom of the envelope. I reach in take out a microcassette tape in a tiny plastic box. I stare at it for a moment.

  Andie looks over. “What’s that? Some of the music?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t know it was here or how it got in the envelope.”

  “I’ve got one of those micro recorders somewhere. You can play it when we to my place.”

  “I’m not sure I want to.”

  At Andie’s, I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge while she digs around in her desk drawers. “Here we go,” she says, holding up a pocket recorder. “I used it to tape some lectures.”

  I take the recorder from her and sit down on the couch. I put the tape in and press “play.”

  The first sound is a car door slamming, then a voice.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  Andie looks at me. “That’s Ryan, isn’t it?”

  I nod, hold up my hand, and turn up the volume.

  “No problem. Tell me what happened.” I’d never heard this voice before, but I know it’s Jerry Fuller, and I know they’re in Ryan’s car on Malibu Canyon.

  “It was that crazy photographer, McElroy. He started chasing me.” I can hear the anxiety in Ryan’s voice clearly. “We came around this curve. He was like, trying to cut me off. He pulled in front of me and went over the embankment. You gotta believe me, Jerry, it was an accident. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  Andie looks at me. “You gotta be kidding.”

  “Okay, just calm down,” Fuller continues. “Where did he go over?”

  “Back there, about a hundred feet.”

  “Show me.” We can hear doors opening and shutting, then the faint sound of them walking, their feet crunching on the shoulder of the road.

  “Right here I think,” Ryan says.

  “Too dark to see anything down there,” Fuller says. There’s no sound for a few moments. I imagine them standing, looking down the embankment.

  “You gotta help me, Jerry. I can’t afford to be involved in this. You know how the press is.”

  Again there are a few moments of silence, then Fuller says, “Okay, you go home. I’ll call the police and wait for them. I’ll just say he passed me and I saw him lose control and go over the side. That’s what happened, right? You didn’t hit him, did you?”

  “No.” Ryan’s answer is almost a wail. “I thought he was trying to run me off the road.”

  “Okay, I believe you. Go home. I’ll take care of this.”

  “Thanks, Jerry. I owe you big time.”

  There’s more silence, then the sound of a car starting and driving off.

  “Yes you do.” Then there’s a click as Fuller turns off the recorder. I fast forward a ways, but there’s nothing else.

  I stop the tape and lean back, thinking this totally proves Ryan had been telling the truth all along. But how did the tape get in the envelope?

  Andie says. “Any idea when it was sent?”

  “None. Sandy Simmons, the director, gave it to me. I don’t doubt if he knew the tape was in the envelope.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  Coda

  When I get a call from Sandy Simmons two months later, I still don’t know. “Evan, great news. It’s not an A-list movie, but Ryan is an A-list star. We’re opening in several key cities, and a premiere in Hollywood, red carpet and all.”

  “That’s pretty fast, isn’t it?”

  “You bet it is. You’ll get a formal invitation soon. Hope you can make it.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Sandy.”

  A few days later, the invitation arrives and is followed up with a phone call from Ryan.

  “How you doing, Piano Man?”

  “Pretty good, Ryan. Just trying to keep busy.”

  “You going to make the premiere?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I didn’t think so.” There’s a moment of silence then, “Listen, sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I just got, well you know, kind of busy.”

  “I understand.”

  “Look, I appreciate everything you did. I don’t mean just teaching me about the piano or scoring the movie. You were a good friend when I needed one. I won’t forget it.”

  “Neither will I.”

  “There’s one more thing,” Ryan says.

  “What’s that?”

  “Melanie and I are getting married.”

  “Well, congratulations.”

  “Surprised, eh? That’s what I’m calling about. We need a band for the reception at the Malibu house. You want the gig?”

  I can’t help but smile. “I don’t know. I’m pretty expensive now, having scored a film.”

  Ryan laughs. “I think I can afford you. Get those other two guys from the movie, and bring Andie.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  A few days later, Andie comes back from the store, carrying two bags of groceries. She pulls a magazine out of one of the bags and drops it on my lap. “Have a look at this. I saw it at the checkout counter.”

  It’s the latest copy of People. Ryan and Melanie are cheek to cheek, smiling on the cover. Inside, there’s a brief story about their upcoming wedding and the release of Murder in Blue.

  “You want to go?”

  “Why not,” Andie says. “I’ve never been to a H
ollywood wedding. I was just thinking though.”

  “About?”

  “What do you give a rich, famous, movie star as a wedding present?”

  “I think I have just the thing.”

  ***

  A few days later, Coop calls. “I got some news about our friend Mr. Robbins. As I expected, there was a plea deal. No trial. Involuntary manslaughter. He got six months in county jail, a thousand hours of community service, and three years probation.”

  “So Robbins will be in orange overalls, picking up trash along the freeway?”

  “Not likely. It’ll probably be some kind of teaching gig, but we can always hope.”

  “What about Torino?”

  “He got a year for tampering with evidence, contaminating a crime scene, and obstruction of justice.”

  “So that’s it then.”

  “Looks like it. Have you decided what to do about the tape?”

  I had told Coop about it and played it for him over the phone. “Yeah I have.”

  “Want to share?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

  ***

  By Hollywood standards, the wedding is small. The date and time was a closely guarded secret. When Andie and I arrive, Broad Beach road is crawling with a private security force augmenting a dozen police cruisers. Andie and I have to show our invitation three times to get to Ryan’s beach house. We’re almost late.

  The deck is festooned with streamers and pink and white balloons. Emillio bustles us down the steps to the beach where about a hundred people are gathered for the brief ceremony. Helicopters drone and circle overhead. I briefly think about Darryl McElroy, as I imagine what the photos will go for. This was one he wouldn’t have missed.

  Ryan and Melanie are both in white. Ryan in a suit, Melanie, looking gorgeous in a designer mini-length dress. When they kiss, there’s some light applause over the sound of the waves and a toast, then everybody drifts back up to the house.

  Gene Sherman and Buster Browne are both set up on the deck next to the electric piano. When Ryan and Melanie reach the top of the steps, I go into the Charlie Parker blues, “Now’s The Time.” Ryan looks over and gives me the thumbs up sign and that megawatt grin.