When Somebody Kills You

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When Somebody Kills You Page 5

by Robert J. Randisi


  She frowned and asked, ‘What the heck are wet fries?’

  ‘It’s a Brooklyn thing,’ Jerry told her.

  ‘Put the same brown gravy from the roast beef on the French fries, too,’ I said. ‘Wet fries.’

  ‘Hmph,’ she said, and wrote it down.

  As she left, Jerry leaned forward and said, ‘She’s gonna ask if she can have one when she brings ’em.’

  ‘No, she won’t,’ I said.

  He sat back, a bemused smile on his face.

  ‘So where are we gonna start?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, honestly. ‘You know, every time I get pulled into somethin’ like this by the guys, I tell ’em I’m not a detective.’

  ‘Mr G.,’ Jerry said, ‘you’re a better detective than most detectives I know. Even your friend the Dick says that’s so.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ I said.

  The waitress returned and set our platters down in front of us. When she didn’t leave, I looked up at her. She had a tired look that aged her, making her appear fifty when she was probably forty. But at the moment there was a look of interest there, as well.

  ‘You mind if I try one?’ she asked.

  I looked at Jerry, who smiled.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  She took an extra fork from among the straws in her apron and actually speared two of my wet fries. She stuck them in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, nodding. ‘Not bad. Wet fries, huh?’

  ‘Wet fries,’ I said.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘both of you, enjoy.’

  ‘Mr G.… ’ Jerry said, and I knew he was going to ask me again what our first move would be.

  ‘Just eat, Jerry,’ I said. ‘We’ll talk later.’

  FIFTEEN

  Jerry demolished his plate and ordered a second helping. He was almost done with that by the time I had finished mine.

  ‘Dessert?’ he asked, looking at me hopefully.

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  The food was really good, so I figured a piece of pie would be even better.

  We both ordered apple, but Jerry ordered his with two scoops of ice cream, vanilla and chocolate. I took it plain.

  ‘OK,’ I said, over pie and coffee, ‘this is what we’re gonna do.’

  Jerry stuck a heaped forkful of pie and ice cream into his mouth and gave me his full attention.

  ‘I have some questions to ask Judy that I didn’t think of before.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, we need to talk to people who traveled with her, whoever made the travel arrangements. I guess that would be her manager.’

  ‘So who’s her manager?’

  ‘That’s the question,’ I said.

  ‘Do we have to go back?’ he asked. ‘Can’t we just call her?’

  ‘We could,’ I said, ‘but I’d like to check and see if Hiller has got his man in place yet.’

  ‘He sounded like a man who gets his job done,’ Jerry said.

  ‘You’re right about that,’ I said. ‘OK, we’ll go back to the cottage and call her.’ I started to slide out of the booth.

  ‘Wait,’ Jerry said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I want another piece of pie.’

  I sat back down.

  Finally back at the cottage, I dialed Judy Garland’s phone number. She answered on the third ring.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked after I identified myself.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I just have some more questions.’

  ‘So ask.’

  ‘Who arranged your trips to Australia and England?’

  ‘My managers, and my tour manager.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘My managers are Freddie Fields and David Begelman,’ she said.

  ‘Offices?’

  ‘Here in LA.’ She gave me the address and I wrote it down.

  ‘And the tour manager?’

  ‘Why do you need to talk to him?’

  ‘I’m going to talk to everyone connected with you, Judy.’

  ‘Not my children.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘not the kids. Don’t worry. Now, what about the tour manager?’

  ‘His name’s Mark Herron,’ she said, ‘and he’s a little more than my tour promoter.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’

  She sighed into the phone. ‘It’s complicated. He produced the London show and was my tour promoter … and in a few days he’ll be my fourth husband.’

  ‘You’re getting married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  That didn’t make my job much easier.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Let me have Mark’s address, too. Since he’s family, I’ll be … gentle.’

  ‘Married?’ Jerry asked. ‘Again?’

  I nodded. ‘Fourth time.’

  ‘Who’s the guy?’

  ‘Mark Herron,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure who he is, but we’re gonna talk to him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Today I want to see her managers, Fields and Begelman.’

  ‘Where are they?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve got the address here,’ I said, waving the slip of paper I’d written it on. ‘We’ll give it to Greg and he’ll take us there.’

  ‘Why can’t we get a car and drive ourselves?’ he complained. ‘Like a Caddy?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘Frank gave us that limo; we might as well get some use out of it and its driver. Besides, we won’t have to worry about directions.’

  ‘I like directions,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Let’s do it my way for now, Jerry.’

  ‘Sure, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘You’re still the boss.’

  ‘Let’s go out and see if Greg’s waiting for us.’

  SIXTEEN

  We hadn’t seen the driver or the limo when we went out to eat, but then we hadn’t left the hotel by the front door. This time when we walked out the front, there was Greg, leaning against the limo.

  ‘Ain’t you hungry?’ Jerry asked.

  ‘I had a hot dog.’

  ‘You’re a good-sized fella,’ Jerry said. ‘A hot dog ain’t gonna hold you long.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Greg said, laughing.

  ‘Mr G., next time we eat we gotta take Greg with us.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘but right now Greg’s gonna take us for a ride.’

  ‘Where to, boss?’ Greg asked, straightening up to his full six feet.

  I handed him the slip of paper with the address on it.

  ‘Piece of cake,’ he said. ‘Hop in.’

  Since Judy’s TV show had been part of her deal with CBS, it was no surprise to find the offices of her managers in Studio City, down the street from CBS Studio Center, in the MGM Tower. Greg dropped us off in front, said he’d sit there as long as a cop didn’t make him move.

  Inside, we found Creative Management Associates on the lobby directory. Also listed separately were Fred Field and David Begelman. We took the elevator.

  According to Judy, Fields and Begelman took over her management after her divorce from Sid Luft who, while her husband, had also acted as her manager. It was Fields and Begelman who got her the CBS television deal, and also arranged the Australia and London concerts.

  When we stepped out of the elevator, we found ourselves facing a perfect-looking blonde sitting at a large desk in front of letters on the wall that spelled out ‘Creative Management Associates’.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, giving Jerry a wary look, ‘can I help you?’

  ‘We’re here to see Mr Fields and Mr Begelman.’

  ‘Mr Fields is working from his home today,’ she informed us. ‘Do you have an appointment with Mr Begelman?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ I suggested. Judy had said she’d call ahead to clear the way. At first I thought to tell her not to, choosing to surprise the two men, but in the end I opted for the easier way.

  ‘One moment,’ she said, picking up her phone. �
�Mr Begelman, there are two gentlemen here to see you. Oh, yes, of course.’ She covered the phone and asked, ‘What are your names, please?’

  ‘Eddie Gianelli and Jerry Epstein.’

  ‘They are a Mr Gianelli and a Mr Epstein. Yes, sir, right away.’ She hung up and said, ‘He’ll see you. Follow me, please.’ She seemed neither surprised nor distressed by the news.

  We followed her down the hall to large double doors with ‘David Begelman’ painted on them. We didn’t pass any doors along the way that had Fields’ name. She knocked, then opened Begelman’s door. ‘Gentlemen.’

  A tall man in his early forties, wearing an expensive suit, stood up from behind a huge desk and came around, extending his hand. The smile on his face was practiced.

  ‘Mr Gianelli?’

  ‘That’d be me,’ I said, giving him my hand. He pumped it as if he was trying to get water.

  ‘And Mr Epstein?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jerry said. Begelman’s hand disappeared inside Jerry’s big paw.

  ‘Please, please,’ he said, ‘have a seat. Judy called and said you’d be here.’ He went back around his desk. ‘I’m sorry, Freddie isn’t here. He’s working from home today.’

  ‘So your girl said,’ I replied.

  Jerry and I sat across the desk from him. It seemed a long way.

  ‘So, what can I do for you gents?’

  ‘Did Judy tell you anything?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ he said. ‘In fact, she was very mysterious on the phone. Just said that two friends of hers were coming by and that I should give you some time.’ He frowned. ‘I must admit I’ve never heard her mention your names before.’

  ‘We’re friends of a friend of hers,’ I said.

  ‘Oh? Who would that be?’

  ‘You’ve probably heard of him,’ I answered. ‘Frank Sinatra.’ Frank had given me carte blanche to use his name while in LA if it would help to smooth the way.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, and no more. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. ‘All right, then. What’s it about?’

  ‘It’s about the tour Judy just came back from,’ I said. ‘Australia and England?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Seems like there was some difficulty in Australia.’

  ‘The shows didn’t go well,’ Begelman said. ‘From what we heard, she was late a few times, not at her best—’

  ‘Heard from who?’ I asked. ‘You fellas weren’t there with her?’

  ‘No,’ Begelman said, ‘neither Freddie nor I made the trip with her. She was in Mark’s care.’

  ‘Mark Herron?’

  ‘That’s right. He managed the tour and produced the shows.’

  ‘Then I guess we should talk to him. Does he have an office here?’

  ‘No,’ Begelman said, ‘Mark isn’t part of our firm. But my girl can give you his addresses, both home and business.’

  I didn’t bother telling him we already had them.

  ‘I’d also like to talk to Mr Fields.’

  ‘Sure,’ Begelman said. ‘My girl can give you his home address, too.’ He was being very helpful.

  ‘I’d appreciate that.’

  He sat back in his chair. ‘Was that all you wanted?’

  ‘Just a few more questions, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Have you noticed anybody hangin’ around Judy lately?’ I asked. ‘Any strangers, maybe?’

  ‘Is that was this is about?’ he said, as if pleased we had finally come to the point. ‘She thinks she’s being watched?’

  ‘She also thinks somebody’s been in her house,’ I said. ‘She’s worried for the safety of her family.’

  ‘Look,’ Begelman said, ‘the only threat to Judy’s safety is Judy herself.’

  ‘You wanna explain that?’

  ‘You must know what I’m referring to,’ he said. ‘The drugs, the booze, the … sex.’

  ‘How much of that is true?’ I asked. ‘And how much is just gossip?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Begelman said. ‘She’s probably the only one who knows the extent of her … addictions.’

  ‘You’re her manager,’ I said. ‘You’re supposed to be her friend, aren’t you?’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ Begelman asked, standing. ‘Or your friend?’ He walked to a bar against the wall.

  ‘No, not for me,’ I said.

  ‘Me, neither,’ Jerry added.

  He poured himself a drink from a decanter, then turned to face us.

  ‘I appreciate you wanting to help Judy,’ he said. ‘Freddie and I both want to as well. That’s why we got her the CBS deal, and the Australian and European engagements.’

  ‘But what about helping her with her fears?’ I asked.

  ‘Mr Gianelli,’ Begelman said, ‘nobody is following Judy; nobody is breaking into her house. It’s all in her head. To tell you the truth, nobody is really very interested in her these days.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s so.’

  ‘Well, excuse me,’ he said, ‘but I think I know her a little better than you do.’ He drank from the tumbler he was holding.

  ‘Longer maybe,’ I said, standing, ‘but not better. Thanks for your time.’

  Jerry followed me out.

  SEVENTEEN

  We gave Greg the address of Freddie Fields’ home in Beverly Hills and he drove us directly there. He seemed to have a map of LA in his head.

  As homes of the stars went, this one might not have been the biggest, but it was impressive. On a third of an acre, it was a two-story Spanish style home of more than six thousand square feet. Enough room for almost anyone.

  We were allowed through the gate, which meant that Judy – and probably Begelman – had called ahead. When we got to the front door, we were greeted by a stunningly beautiful woman wearing a filmy cover-all over a one-piece bathing suit.

  Fields’ wife, actress Polly Bergen, answered the door. She fixed us with her startling blue eyes. I didn’t know about Jerry, but I was almost struck dumb. She was not what you’d call a huge star in the business. She’d had a dramatic role opposite Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum in Cape Fear in ’62, but was probably better known for lighthearted films like Move Over, Darling and Kisses for My President, or for her beautiful singing voice. In fact, she’d had her own short-lived TV variety show in ’58. But in person she was just, well, shockingly beautiful.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘Uh,’ I said. Jerry was no help, so I knew he was feeling the same effects. ‘We’re here to see Mr Fields.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, ‘David called … are you Mr Gianelli?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then come this way, please.’

  She led us through the step-down entryway, down a hall to an office in the rear of the house.

  Fields was seated behind a more modest desk than his partner had been, but the view behind him – a swimming pool, fountain and koi pond – trumped Begelman’s view of LA. In the near distance was a beautiful guest house.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ Fields said to his wife, who withdrew. ‘Gentlemen.’

  He was a not overly tall, Hollywood-slick handsome man in his early forties, casually dressed in a polo shirt, shorts and sandals. To me, he demanded more attention than his nattily dressed partner had. We shook his hand and he waved us to chairs in front of his desk.

  ‘Judy called ahead and asked me to speak to you,’ Fields said. Behind him, Polly Bergen removed her filmy covering and reclined on a chaise-longue by the pool.

  ‘I assume your partner called, as well?’ I asked.

  ‘Actually, he did,’ Fields said. ‘I’m going to guess that you didn’t like David much.’

  ‘You guess right, Mr Fields,’ I said.

  ‘Please, just call me Freddie,’ Fields said. ‘Everybody does.’

  ‘Sure, Freddie,’ I said. ‘Whatever you say.’ Having not liked David Begelman at all, I was also prepared to dislike his partner, but Fields was di
fferent. He drew you in rather than repelled you. ‘I’m Eddie, and this is Jerry.’

  ‘Welcome,’ Fields said. ‘David told me this is about Judy’s fears.’

  ‘It is,’ I said. ‘Your partner seems to think it’s about her addictions, and her fears are just in her head.’

  ‘And you disagree.’

  ‘I do. I’d like to know how you feel about it.’

  ‘I just want Judy to feel more at ease,’ Fields said. ‘That’s all I care about. If having you in LA and in her corner does that, then I’m ready to give you whatever assistance I can.’

  I could easily have felt that he was ‘handling’ us, but somehow I didn’t.

  ‘OK, then,’ I said. ‘The time you’ve spent with Judy, have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around her?’

  ‘I have, yes.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s something. Can you describe this person?’

  ‘I can do better than that,’ Fields said. ‘I can give you his name.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, surprised. Was this job going to be so easy? And why hadn’t David Begelman offered the information? ‘Who is it?’

  ‘His name is Mark Herron.’

  Jerry and I exchanged a glance.

  ‘Ain’t that the guy she’s supposed to marry?’ the big guy asked.

  ‘It is,’ Fields said.

  ‘Your partner didn’t say a word about Herron,’ I commented.

  ‘David doesn’t agree with my assessment of the man.’

  ‘And what is that assessment?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, for one thing,’ Fields said, ‘he’s an actor.’ He said it as if that was enough to discredit the man.

  ‘Aren’t actors sort of your bread and butter?’ I asked.

  ‘Talented actors are,’ Fields said. ‘Herron’s type are a dime a dozen.’

  ‘And what type is that?’

  ‘Wannabes,’ he said. ‘Actors with more ambition than talent.’

  ‘So what does Judy see that you don’t?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you think?’ Fields asked. ‘He’s younger than she is, handsome, slick. He’s pulled the wool completely over her eyes. And to top it off …’ He stopped.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Look,’ Fields said, ‘I don’t begrudge anybody their proclivities, but Judy has this bad habit …’

  I waited for him to continue.

 

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