“Why ‘poor Fritz’?”
“Because he was smitten with Austin and Austin’s the one who set him up. That night at the cabin . . . I’m assuming you know the basics of what went on . . .”
“More or less,” I said.
“Austin suggested we draw straws to determine who would carry the gun. Troy went first, then me, and both of us drew long straws. Fritz pulled the short straw, so the honor was his. Austin didn’t show us the last remaining straw, which fell to him, of course. I suspect the last two straws were both short, so he’d already made up his mind Fritz was ‘it.’”
“Really.”
“Look at the situation. Fritz was fifteen at the time of the shooting, so Austin assumed he’d be tried as a juvenile, which he was. His record was clean and this was a first offense. Not that killing is a minor matter, by any stretch, but Austin thought he’d skate out from under the worst of it. He could have done that, too, if he’d behaved himself.”
“You’re saying he knew in advance Fritz would shoot her?”
“I’m saying Austin knew if anybody used that gun, Fritz was the least experienced and the most likely to fire wild,” Bayard said. “Either way, better Fritz than him. Once Fritz broke down and confessed, Austin took off. By the end of it all . . . irony of ironies . . . Troy was tried as an adult and sentenced to five years, of which he served half. Fritz ended up at California Youth Authority until his twenty-fifth birthday, essentially eight years. Imagine his dismay.”
Irritably, Maisie said, “Bayard, she’s here to talk about Sloan. You’re obfuscating.”
“Oooh. Catch you using such a big word,” he said with mock admiration.
“You want me to define it? Darken, confuse, evade. You do it all the time. Someone poses a question you don’t like and you start beating around the bush.”
“Thank you, Maisie, but nobody asked you to butt in,” he said mildly.
“Sorry, sir.”
Personally, I appreciated her intervention, which allowed me to pick up the thread. “I understand you and Sloan were good friends.”
“I was the only one who stood up for her when she was shunned.” He finished the last of his Bloody Mary and set the glass aside with a smart tap of glass on glass.
“I’m told the shunning was Austin’s idea. Why’d you put up with him? You must have known what kind of person he was.”
Bayard’s smile was pained. “Thing is, all of us were a little bit in love with him. He was mean. He was unpredictable. We were all insecure and none of us knew how to handle him. If he smiled on you, you felt special and life was good. As long as you were in favor, you felt important. If he turned on you, you’d be stricken and you’d do anything to get back in his good graces. I can see it now, but I couldn’t see it back then.”
“Was it general knowledge that Fritz had a crush on him?”
“Sure. That’s why he worked so hard to impress Austin. That gun business was a case in point. Fritz pulls it out of the drawer and he’s waving it around. Scared the shit out of us because he’d been drinking and who knew what he’d do? Stringer and Patti and Betsy took off about then. The situation was volatile. So Austin’s putting Fritz down, insulting the shit out of him, which he’d been doing all day. Fritz was practically wetting his pants trying to show Austin what a cool guy he was. Later, Austin hands him the gun and makes a point of showing him how to take the safety off. Fritz is walking around, acting all goofy because he’s suddenly the apple of Austin’s eye. Austin set him up. He knew exactly what was going down. Have you seen a photograph of him?”
“There’s a cut-away to him on the tape.”
“I’m not sure you were treated to the full effect. There’s something intimidating about him—an inbred contempt. He’s handsome and haughty and very sure of himself. He behaved like an aristocrat and we paid tribute. He and Sloan had a brief romance. Austin broke it off.”
Maisie stirred on her chaise and sat up. She picked up her drink, slipped her feet into her sandals, and crossed the patio without a word, leather soles clacking on the pavement. There was something frigid in her body language.
“Is she upset?”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s a temperamental girl.”
I found myself following her progress into the house, where she disappeared from view. Subterranean frictions set my teeth on edge. This was a pair who fought in front of others without raising their voices or modifying their smiles: verbal abuse framed as jest, with words flying back and forth as softly as cotton balls. I returned my attention to Bayard.
“Why was Sloan the one made to suffer? If Austin rejected her, wasn’t that sufficient punishment?”
“Not the way he saw it. He’s sensitive about his public persona and careful nothing will tarnish his fa?ade. He was also highly competitive. No one got in his way.”
“I notice you switch between present and past tense. Do you think he’s dead or alive?”
“Alive. I mean, he must still be out there—unless you’ve heard something to the contrary. Death is the great unmasker, don’t you think? Alive, he could be anyone, anywhere. Dead, he’d be identified as soon as his prints were run.”
“He’s in the system?”
“I assume so. If he applied for a driver’s license, they’d have his thumbprint, wouldn’t they?”
“Why was Sloan such a threat to him?”
“If he ever shows up again, I’ll ask.”
“I’m puzzled by the underlying dynamic between them. Did you understand what was happening?”
“I knew about the falling-out. I didn’t know his intention, if he had one.”
Ellis appeared with another Bloody Mary. Bayard thanked him briefly and Ellis withdrew, padding silently into the house.
“You never guessed?” I asked. “No inkling at all about how the rift would play out?”
He did a one-shoulder shrug. “He’d called off the shunning. To all appearances, that was that. If he had any lingering animosity, he didn’t let it show. He made a point of inviting her to the party. If he was angry, why would he do that?”
“Maybe his plan was to lure her up there so he could kill her,” I said.
“Why would he want to kill her?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
Bayard gave that some thought. “I’m guessing his plan, if he had one, was impromptu. I don’t think he wanted her dead. He wanted her submissive. She stood up to him. He thought scaring her would make her back down.”
“Which explains the grave he dug earlier?”
He focused on me fully. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“The grave site didn’t come to light until the body was found,” I said. “That’s where he buried her. I should say ‘you’ since you all participated.”
“Right. Until then, as nearly as I could tell, there was nothing sinister going on. It was summer. The end of school. We were partying. Any intuitions I might have had were blunted by dope and alcohol.”
“At least you don’t pretty up your part in it,” I said.
“I wish I could claim credit for candor, but I’m not nearly so innocent.”