“I don’t know how, but you did.”
“I’m willing to believe you’re innocent, but how are you going to persuade everyone else?”
“Austin, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do this to me. I know you’re mad. I know you’re hurt, but that wasn’t my intention. All I wanted was a little time for myself.”
“And your wish was my command.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. I mean that.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. Hope you’ve enjoyed yourself.”
Sloan stared at him. “I can see this is not going to get us anyplace.”
“Afraid not.”
“Then why don’t we talk about the tape? And please, don’t play dumb. You know what I’m referring to.” She could tell she’d caught him by surprise.
“What is it you want to know?” A note of caution had crept into his voice.
“Whose idea was it to make that movie, if that’s what you want to call it?”
“You saw it?”
“Of course I saw it.”
“How’d you manage that? I gave it to Bayard for editing and he passed it on to Troy so he could have a look and then it went back to Fritz, who swore he wouldn’t let it out of his sight.”
“Fritz is a moron. You trust him, you’re dumber than I thought.”
“The point is, why come to me? You should be interrogating him.”
“How so?”
“The equipment is his. His parents gave it to him for his birthday.”
“Why is that relevant?”
“How do you know he didn’t come up with the idea himself?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Better yet, ask Iris. She said she’s always wanted to be a porno star. Well, I guess she got her wish.”
“She was drunk.”
“She was pretending to be drunk. It was a stunt. Iris was in on it from the get-go. No one ever laid a hand on her.”
“Really? That isn’t what I saw. I saw Fritz and Troy shove foreign objects up her ass while she was sprawled on a pool table completely out of it.”
“She was sober. Take my word for it.”
“Bullshit. Early on, Fritz pours her a glass full of gin and she belts it down. Next thing you know, she’s slurring her words, begging you for a kiss.”
“I thought I just told you, I never laid a hand on her.”
“You said no one ever laid a hand on her.”
“I didn’t touch her. Not once. I can’t answer for anyone else.”
“But there you sat in a sport coat and tie, idly looking on while those guys assaulted her. Fritz got out a fucking can of Crisco for god’s sake, and there’s Troy, dick in hand, ready to grease it up so he can stick it to her. Iris is fourteen and you were egging them on. You were the director, the man in charge. Isn’t that what you said? Do you know the penalty for sexual abuse of a minor?”
“What sexual abuse? You’ve got no proof.”
“Oh, but I do. The tape is the proof.”
Austin fixed his attention on her. “That’s bullshit.”
“Uh, no. Not so. I have the tape and I stashed it somewhere safe. If the shunning doesn’t stop, I’ll take it to the police. And by the way, there goes law school for you. How do you think your family will feel about that?”
“You’re nuts. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Fine. Explain to the cops just how blameless you are.”
“The tape is fake.”
“Doesn’t look like that. Now do you want to call off the shunning or not?”
“This is laughable. You think you can push me around?”
“To this extent, yes.”
“Sorry to disabuse you of the notion, but no deal. The shunning goes on for as long as I say.”
“Last chance,” she sang.
“Last chance, my ass. Treat me like shit and that’s what you get back.”
“No, Austin. That’s what you’ll get.”
16
Thursday, September 21, 1989
Thursday morning, I stopped by the office to pick up messages and mail and found nothing of note. I set the alarm system, locked up, and then drove to the Horton Ravine address I’d found for Bayard Montgomery in the telephone book. Most of the ravine was swathed in coastal fog, but on the elevated acreage where Bayard lived, there was full sun. His house was built along contemporary lines, sleek and low, the exterior sheathed in broad expanses of glass and vertical redwood beams weathered to a silvery hue. The lawn had been replaced with a drought-tolerant ground cover and looked more like Arizona than the typical California landscape of palms and bougainvillea. The climate in this part of the state is considered Mediterranean, but the coastal lowlands are actually semi-arid, and when water is scarce, the region reverts to desert conditions.
While the sex tape had provided graphic images of Fritz and Troy without their underpanties, I’d never seen a photograph of Bayard, so I was unprepared for the guy who answered the door. I figured Bayard, like his classmates, was in his mid-to late twenties, but he looked closer to forty, dark-haired, unshaven, and barefoot, wearing jeans and a form-fitting white T-shirt with the word “factotum” in lower-case black letters across the front. I assumed “factotum” was just another crappy rock band I’d never heard of.
I handed him a business card and said, “Kinsey Millhone. I’m a local private investigator. I apologize for showing up without calling first, but I’m hoping for a few minutes of your time.”
“Bayard’s the one you want. He’s been expecting you.”
“He has?”
“Isn’t this about the tape?”
“How did you know?”
“Let’s just say a little birdie told me. He and Maisie are out by the pool. If you’ll follow me.”
“Sure.”
“I’m Ellis, by the way.”
“Nice meeting you,” I said. Here I’d tried to be so dainty, conducting my business without revealing who I was working for and why, while everyone involved seemed to know. I tried to picture all the phone calls that had been flying around since I’d begun my inquiry. These “kids” may not have been on speaking terms for the past ten years, but they were certainly communicating now. Fritz to Troy to Bayard. I wasn’t sure if Iris and Poppy had been included in the telephone round-robin, but chances were good.