Private #1 Suspect (Private 2)

Some stood, some sat on the ground as Schuster gave Justine the floor. Scotty hung around at the sidelines, just watching.

Justine said hello to everyone and introduced herself as a senior investigator at Private. “The tabloids are watching for anything that they can exploit,” she told them. “Katie Blackwell, the girl in question—well, her parents have probably also hired private investigators. They could be following Danny, and any of you who are associated with him, just to find a questionable moment they can blow up, leak to the tabs, and use to tar Danny’s character.

“It’s critical to Danny’s case that he, and really all of you, keep the party down until after his trial. That means no drugs, no drinking, and especially no girls.”

“Sure, and no eating with your mouth open, no bare feet when entering this establishment,” Kovaks said.

Rose, the fight coach, said, “Dr. Smith, no offense, but we don’t need a PI dogging us. Come on,” he said to Larry Schuster. “You can’t be serious.”

Scotty watched Justine, fingers interlaced in front of her, smiling. She said, “Mr. Rose, it’s all of you or none of you. If you can’t go along with us on the terms, we’ll leave in peace. No problem.”

Scotty saw the job going south. Not what he wanted at all.

He said to the whiners gathered around the ball court, “What’s going on here? Danny Whitman needs our help. He’s being tried for the rape of a fourteen-year-old girl, isn’t that right? You want to help him with that? Or are you goons just out to suck his blood?”

CHAPTER 42

AFTER SCHUSTER CHILLED down the ensuing scuffle with a garden hose, after Justine said, “Scotty. Watch and listen,” Justine sat with Scotty and Danny Whitman in the music room on the third floor with its nice view of the Harlequin lot, one of the oldest film studios in Hollywood.

Danny was at the piano, plinking out “Lay Down Sally.”

Justine said to the movie star, “Tell us what happened, Danny.”

Danny sighed, came off the piano bench, fell into a cushy chair. Justine thought how much younger he looked than he did on the big screen. And he was bigger too, well proportioned, the famous dimple on one cheek, thick brown hair, could have been a high school ball player, although he was twenty-four.

She noted the number written in ballpoint pen on the cleft between thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Looked like a phone number.

Danny said, “This is going to sound idiotic, but I honestly don’t know what happened. We were at Alan Barstow’s house. My agent?”

Justine nodded. “I met Mr. Barstow.”

Danny said, “Alan was having a party. There were a lot of girls there. Dozens. I woke up in my own house in my own bedroom—alone. Next thing, before my alarm went off, the police are at the door. They say this…Katie Blackwell is lodging a complaint against me.”

“You say her name like you didn’t know her,” Scotty said.

“I know who she is,” said Danny. “I’ve seen her around, but that’s all. I didn’t date her. I sure don’t know her age. I can’t even say she was at Alan’s that night, except that my boys saw her hanging on to me.”

“And Katie’s story is what?” Justine asked.

“She says we left the party together, that I made her have sex with me in my car, and that I dropped her off at her front door. You should see my car. Sex in that thing is physically impossible. But she has a girlfriend who says she saw us drive off together. Otherwise it would be strictly he-said, she-said.”

“Did Katie go to the hospital?”

“No. In her deposition she said she was embarrassed, took a shower, didn’t say anything to her parents until the nex

t morning, then they called the police.

“Here’s the thing,” Whitman went on. “I was so stoned that night. If I did it, I deserve to be punished. But I really don’t think I had sex with that girl. I’m pretty sure I would have remembered.”

Justine said, “Pretty sure?”

“It’s all very sketchy. I just remember laughing. Falling down. Girls pawing me. That’s it. And none of my boys saw me leaving with Katie.”

“She could’ve been lying to get out of trouble,” Justine said. “If she was out late, that sort of thing.”

The star pulled on his lower lip, looking to Justine as if he was searching his memory, not making up a story.

Then again, Whitman was an actor.