Deception

They were in Howard Grossman’s office, which was understated—no expensive furniture, just a long wooden table as a desk, shelves filled with books and scripts. There were no pictures on the wall with himself and celebrities, only a few family portraits with his wife and two teenage sons. Rosemaria liked that. He was a successful producer, but not self-aggrandizing. Howard was the one person she had eliminated as Levy’s killer. As her mother used to say about solid, upstanding men—this guy was a mensch.

Rosemaria and Coleman were seated in front of his desk when Howard walked in and sank heavily into his chair facing them, a little harried and distracted. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. We just broke for lunch. I’ve had so much to deal with—too many people to talk to about this show, the feature, backers wanting to know when and if production is starting, and I’m still reeling over Stan’s murder.” He stopped talking and sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re Sargant Baker and Detective Coleman and I’m happy to do anything I can to help you find Stan’s killer. I saw you at the funeral, but Lila insisted I come with her to the wake, which seemed more like a typical Hollywood party to me. Most of those people didn’t even know Stan but Lila insisted on inviting them, and, of course they came.”

“We know how busy you are, Mr. Grossman.” Rosemaria assured him. “We’ll just take a few minutes of your time.”

“Ask me anything.”

“We know from Detective Osborne that you and Stan had been friends for years, best friends even.”

“I hired him as assistant director right out of USC film school on Night Games, a show about undercover agents that had a lot of action. When my second unit director had an accident with a crane, Stan stepped in, took over, and the rest is history. Unfortunately, there was a lot of cocaine flowing on that show—cast and crew. Lots of night shoots, people had to stay awake—at least that was their excuse, mine too, if you must know. Stan and I had some high times together, literally. Fortunately, my wife stuck with me and helped me get clean. Stan kept right on going.”

Coleman’s eyes lit up like a diehard fan coming face to face with Leonardo DiCaprio. “You did that show? I watched it all the time. I loved those two actors—what were their names?”

“Terry Kline and George Matthews?”

“Yeah, they were great together. What are they doing now?”

“Don’t know. Prodding their agents to get them work, I suppose.”

Rosemaria tried to get things back on track.

“Was Moe Radanovich on that show?”

“That son of a bitch. No. Stan connected with him at some party. I didn’t know until a few weeks ago that Moe’s cousin in Vegas was Stan’s drug dealer. Moe will never work on my show again or any other show on the lot, if I have anything to say about it, which doesn’t mean much considering how the Teamsters throw their weight around.”

“How did you find out?”

“I caught Stan snorting that crap in his trailer on set. I almost fired him, but he begged and pleaded and swore he’d quit, so what could I do? He was my best friend. I was stuck with Moe till the season was over.”

Coleman seemed distracted for a moment. “I was wondering about Lila.”

“Worst thing that ever happened to Stan.”

“Could be, especially if she had anything to do with his death.”

“She’d never give up her meal ticket.”

“But we understand that you told Stan that she was no longer in the feature.”

“Joell wanted to do it. It was a no-brainer.”

“That must have made Lila very angry.”

“I witnessed her explosive temper a time or two. I wouldn’t want to be the target of that tornado.”

“Would that have made her angry enough to have someone help her kill him?”

“No, the two of them might have had a knockdown, drag out fight, but to wait and plot and have him killed, I don’t see it. She’s impetuous and can be coldly calculating but if she calculated for even a few minutes, she’d come to the realization that without Stan, she’d be just another pretty face in a town of pretty faces.”

“Olga mentioned that you might know who brought Lila to the party where she met Stan.”

“Oh, sure, that was Vanessa Sheridan—nice girl, good actress. I’ve used her on my shows a couple of times. She and Lila are no longer friends.”

“And Moe’s cousin, do you happen to know his name?”

“No. If I did, I’d call the cops on him as soon as he showed his face.” Howard pushed back from the desk and stood up. “Is that about it? I need to get back to the set.”

“I think we’re done here. Thanks for your help.”

Howard ushered them into the outer office, where Olga was sitting over her computer. She looked up at them briefly, gave them a weak smile, and went back to pecking at the keyboard as if she barely had the will to keep working. As they were going out the door, Howard turned to Coleman. “Say, would you like to come on the set for a visit? Sam Anderson is the guest star. He worked a lot on Night Games. You must know who he is.”

Coleman was instantly interested. “Sure! I remember him as their main contact at the bureau.” He looked over at Rosemaria who had a neutral expression on her face that he recognized as a no. “Sorry. Thanks for the invitation but we have a meeting in a few minutes.”

Howard walked out and gave them a brisk wave. “Any time. You’re welcome on any set of mine.”

Coleman knew he was in for it. Rosemaria looked at him with barely disguised amusement. Before she could fling one of her famous insults at him, he defended himself. “For Christ sake, so I watch TV and like certain actors! Are you totally immune to anything that has to do with acting and show business?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“But not singers, I’ll bet.”

Rosemaria was about to shoot an angry retort when they both spotted Osborne sitting with Moe at a picnic table by a food truck set up for lunch outside Howard’s set. They immediately made a beeline for the two of them and sat down, Coleman next to Moe, Rosemaria next to Osborne.

“I hope we didn’t miss anything important,” she said sweetly. “I’m Sergeant Baker and this is Detective Coleman. We’re investigating Stan’s murder, too.”

Osborne, calm as ever, nodded toward Moe. “He tells me his cousin knows nothing about drugs or murder or Stan’s addiction to cocaine. Says his cousin met Stan once and that was it.”

“Really?” Coleman sensed that when Rosemaria was nice to a suspect, the outcome would not be good for him.

“That’s so interesting,” She looked straight at Moe, “because we heard otherwise.”

“I don’t know who’d say that.” Moe, not very tall, muscular, and a face like a boxer who’d been hit in the face one too many times, was squirming under her intense gaze.

“We’re Beverly Hills cops, Moe. Do you know what that means?”

“You like the Pointer Sisters’ music?”

Rosemaria slapped her hand on the table. “Oh, ha, ha, you’re referring to the movie soundtrack of Beverly Hills Cop? Very clever, Moe. No, actually it means that we know a lot of people: Hollywood people, celebrities, actors, directors, producers, Las Vegas entertainers. Some of them get into a little trouble and we help them out and they help us out. You know what I mean?”

“What does that have to do with my cousin?”

“We know he deals drugs to people in this town and that he was Stan’s connection. We’re looking to connect him to Stan’s murder and if you know something and aren’t telling us, that is obstruction of justice and a felony. You want to go to jail, Moe, or keep driving trucks for movie producers?”

“Wait a minute. My cousin wouldn’t have anything to do with any murder. He drives trucks like me, like my uncle and my father. We’ve been Teamsters for generations. It’s what we do.”

Coleman looked at him contemptuously. “So, your cousin decided driving trucks wasn’t lucrative enough and on his jaunts down to Mexico, he managed to smuggle in some drugs. Very risky, Moe. What is he, an idiot?”

“He’s no smuggler!”

Osborne had his cell phone out and was studying it. “But he is a criminal. According to LVPD, your cousin, Sal Radanovich, was arrested on charges of consorting with the head of a burglary ring and was caught carrying stolen items from Best Buy on his way to California in his truck.”

“Charges were dropped on that.”

Coleman smiled. “With your uncle’s help, I’ll bet.”

Rosemaria glared at Moe. “Your father and your uncle can’t help you out of this one, Moe. We’re going to have Sal extradited and you’re going down with him.”

Osborne intervened as the kindly voice of reason. “That’s all so unnecessary. If Moe was merely an intermediary, then maybe he knows somebody else who might have sold drugs to Stan or maybe he has some other helpful information. What do you say, Moe? No need for everybody to get hard-ass about this.”

“I say you can talk to my lawyer.”

Rosemaria stood up. “You got it, Moe. Next time we meet will be in Beverly Hills, and I don’t mean Rodeo Drive.” Coleman and Osborne laughed and Rosemaria joined in. “He’ll find out soon enough that the Teamsters’ reach doesn’t extend to where we live. But he shouldn’t worry guys, right? Our interrogations are very gentle. So why do people always end up telling us what we want to know?” More laughter. “I think we can tell the Lieutenant we got this one solved.”

The three of them headed toward the parking lot laughing and were not surprised to hear Moe’s voice behind them. “Wait a minute! We can talk. Come on back.” The three gave each other knowing looks and walked back to the picnic table.