High Risk 8.4

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[concluding chapter eight]

Cambridge seemed to collapse in on himself. “All right,” he said after a long silence. “If I’m honest, will you promise to leave me and Anthony alone?”

“As much as we can,” Casey said. “I’ve no interest in harming anyone. At least not anyone who isn’t connected with the murder.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not. I haven’t—hadn’t seen Lily for over a week when she died.”

“Why not?” Desiree asked.

“She’d told me we couldn’t—well, couldn’t see each other anymore,” Cambridge said. His eyes began to tear. Casey stared; this was not the reaction he’d expected. “In spite of what she’d said, I had hoped—oh, I guess it doesn’t matter now. What matters now is that she’d decided that she had to—move on was the way she put it.”



“To Jerry Straebo?”

“Stupid, isn’t it?” Cambridge laughed, making a raspy clattering sound that suggested to Casey that he should cut back on the cigarettes. “As if Straebo was going to stay interested in her for longer than it took to get the picture finished.”

“He does that a lot, does he?” Casey asked.

“I’ve only worked with him on a couple of pictures since he joined Monarch,” Cambridge said. “Usually I’m fortunate enough to work with other people. But I hear lots. And yes, Jerry seems to fall in love very easily. His affairs usually stop once a picture’s in the cutting room.”

“I’m surprised Eve Adams puts up with that,” Casey said. “Or is that how she got her start with him?”

“Of course it is,” Cambridge said. “And she doesn’t like it at all. From what I hear, her temper makes Straebo look pleasant.”

“Interesting,” Desiree said. “She hides it well.”

“For God’s sake,” Cambridge said. “She’s an actress, Desiree.”

“The jury’s still out on that charge, Ron.” The two of them laughed, sharing more bitterness.

“How’d you meet Lily?” Casey asked. “You don’t seem the type to be hanging around Central Casting.”

“We met in a club,” Cambridge said. “She was with some small-time bootlegger, or at least that’s what I was told the man was. She was laughing at something when I first noticed her. She had a great laugh, you know. It was sort of like the sun—I felt warmer every time I heard it.”

“I’m sorry to have to ask this,” Casey said, “but what sort of relationship did you have with her? Was it—?”

“I can imagine what you’re thinking,” Cambridge said. He sounded more tired than offended. “Why would someone like me get involved with Lily—or any woman?” He shook his head. “Everybody thinks they know what I am, what I’m like.”

“Not to be too blunt about it, Ron,” said Desiree, “but you don’t exactly leave a lot of room for doubt.”

“And you behave like a strumpet and talk like a stevedore,” Cambridge told her, “and I’ve learned over the years that you’re not like that at all. Well, hardly ever.”

Desiree laughed. “Point taken, sir.” Her expression darkened again. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a woman, except in a business sense.”

“I’m being discreet,” Cambridge said, and the two of them laughed again. Casey was astonished that they could be cracking wise with so much at stake. Then again, how was facing a murder all that different from what he’d lived in France? Gallows humor had been popular at the front, too.

“Since we’re all being so blunt here,” Cambridge said, “I might as well tell you that I do—well, prefer the company of men. But I’m not—totally immune to—damn. I wish this wasn’t necessary.”

“It doesn’t have to be that detailed,” Casey said. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to cope with hearing too much about Ron Cambridge’s love life. “But if you were sleeping with Lily Cross, you should probably tell us.”

“I was. It just seemed the logical thing to do. That doesn’t sound right, but I can’t think of another way to put it. We enjoyed each other’s company. I was helping her with her work; she gave me a shoulder to lean on when I needed one. I think she was as surprised as I was when we wound up in bed.”

“Was it a strong relationship? Were you angry,” Casey asked, “when she dropped you for Straebo?”

“It wasn’t really like that,” Cambridge said. He sighed, a little raggedly, and placed a cigarette in his long, amber and ivory holder. “I was unhappy at first, because I’d thought we’d had something special. She really wasn’t like any of my—any of the others. And here she was leaving me for that pompous, self-inflating pig.”

“That sounds a bit like jealousy to me, Ron,” Desiree said.

“Well, I just told you I was unhappy at first. But Lily and I had a talk a week or so ago. She told me she still loved me, but that we weren’t going to be able to see one another for a while. She had to concentrate on dealing with Straebo—it was her one big chance, she thought, to get herself a contract and some real movie work. For all I know, she knew exactly what Jerry Straebo’s interest was in her, and how long it was likely to last. And maybe she didn’t care, so long as she got what she wanted.” Cambridge lit the cigarette and took a deep drag.

“Wouldn’t be the first time that had happened,” Desiree said. “So aside from the fact that she was sleeping with somebody else, you think your relationship with Lily was going to go on the way it had been.”

“Maybe we were going to be more friends than lovers,” Cambridge said. “But sex isn’t everything.”

“What an astonishing thing to say,” Desiree said. “And even more astonishing if you really believe it.”

Casey kept his mouth shut. He was already having trouble keeping up with the revelations that were spilling from Cambridge’s mouth; he didn’t want to have to deal with Desiree’s attitudes as well. You just don’t want to betray your own ignorance and inexperience, he told himself.

“Were she and Straebo getting along, do you think?” Casey asked, desperate to change the subject.

“I couldn’t really say. They were discreet enough on the set, and I never saw them together outside work.”

“Well, if not you and if not Straebo, then who?” Casey tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Someone has to have decided to kill her,” he said. “What about Eve? If what you say is true, she could well be the jealous type.”

“I don’t think so, Casey,” Desiree said. “Eve’s tiny. Could she have done to Lily what you said had been done?”

“Not even if she was hopped up on coke,” Casey said. “Well, what about other boyfriends, then, earlier ones? You said she was with a bootlegger when you met her, Cambridge. That’s not exactly the right sort of male companionship for a budding actress.”

“You’d be surprised at who the extras spend their time with,” Desiree said. “Small-time gangsters, petty thieves, dope dealers. Even producers.”

“Sorry,” Cambridge said. “I don’t know anything about anyone she might have been seeing before, not really. She did say she’d been with a bootlegger, but she never told me his name.”

“We’ll have to find him some other way, then,” Desiree said. “Thank you, Ron. And I really am sorry we had to put you through this.” She got to her feet. Casey followed.

“It’s all right,” Cambridge said. Moisture was appearing in his eyes again, and his voice was suddenly a whisper, as though he was having trouble taking in sufficient air. “I think it’s probably been good to talk about her.”

“We could talk again,” Desiree said. “Give me a call sometime if you want a shoulder, Ron.”

Casey felt himself cringe; if Ron Cambridge didn’t have any more help to offer, what was the point of cultivating him? He was almost immediately ashamed: Cambridge might be a pervert, but he was equally someone who’d suffered a loss. And he was probably someone Desiree liked. Remember, he told himself, not everyone has your cold heart.

“Thank you for seeing us,” he said, shaking Cambridge’s hand. “I—” He couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t feel insensitive. He suddenly felt sorry for Cambridge. “You have a very nice house,” he finished, mumbling.

“Thank you,” Cambridge said. “I hope I’ve been some help to you.”

Desiree was silent as Cambridge closed the door behind them, and stayed silent as they walked down the walk to her car. “Well,” she finally said. “Wasn’t that the damnedest thing?”

“I feel badly for him,” Casey said. “Still, I wish he’d been able to tell us more.”

“What sort of a feeling do you get about him?”

“I was wondering,” Casey said, “while we were talking to him, whether he could have done it. But it just doesn’t feel like it to me. And I’m not saying that because he’s effeminate or anything.”

“I don’t think he is, really,” Desiree said. “I see women at the studio looking at him from time to time, and now I think I know why they do.”

“But you don’t think he killed Lily either.”

“No. I’m with you there. What he said back there might seem preposterous, Casey, but it’s not unheard of here. Men and women engage in relationships that you could only call alliances. Love’s got nothing to do with it, and business has everything. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Lily was doing that with Straebo. Nor would it surprise me if she told Ron that she was just sleeping with Straebo to further her career.”

“This doesn’t put us much further ahead.”

“Sure it does, Casey. We’ve eliminated one suspect. And we have an even better reason to find out just where Jerry Straebo was when Lily Cross died.”

As Casey got into Desiree’s car he saw the young man Anthony walking up the street toward Ron Cambridge’s house. Anthony’s face was a mask of petulance. Casey felt even more sorry for Cambridge as he contemplated the confrontation he suspected was about to occur.

Next     Prologue    Chapter One    Chapter Two    Chapter Three    Chapter Four    Chapter Five
Chapter Six    Chapter Seven    Chapter Eight