Brody raised his brows. “That’s not what I’m getting at.”
Oscar waited and wished he’d taken a cigarette, at least to have something to do with his hands.
Brody went on. “Today, I had an appointment to take statementsfrom William Randolph Hearst and Louella Parsons.” Brody threw the burning match into his coffee cup. He pointed to the front page of the paper, where Señor Lester’s picture looked up at him. “Let me tell you how things are, kid. Lester was the highest-paid actor at Cosmo. His wife, Victoria, is a rising star in the same studio.” Brody tapped ash over the floating matchstick. “Cosmo is struggling. Box office is down, and they don’t need a scandal. They want this case sewn up, and quick.”
In the pause that followed, Oscar voiced the first question in his mind. “I thought this was police business, not studio business.”
“Kid,” Brody breathed out a cloud of bitter smoke, “everything in this town is studio business, especially when William Randolph Hearst is involved.”
“Hearst.” Oscar made the connection. “He owns Cosmopolitan Pictures.”
Brody confirmed it. “And the biggest newspaper in town.”
Oscar was still lost. “You think Hearst had something to do with Lester’s murder?” Hadn’t they been friends? He tried to remember the gossip Alonso was always spouting.
“It’s not that simple.” Brody shook his head. “Hearst made a statement. His story is sewn up tight with alibis, witnesses, lawyers. It’s all too pat. Which means something stinks.” Brody narrowed his eyes through the haze of smoke. “Kid, you ever hear of Thomas Ince?”
Oscar remembered some story from years ago. “A big shot. Died of stomach trouble?”
“Stomach trouble caused by a bullet to the brain. On Hearst’s yacht. Hearst shut down that investigation before it even started. Louella Parsons was part of that whole bit, too. They say she saw it all but was protecting her buddy Hearst.” Brody rested his finger on Roy Lester’s picture. “This has the same kind of smell, kid. Likea pig trough in July.” Brody considered the cigarette ashes floating on the coffee. “Problem is, we don’t know who else is on the Hearst payroll. Don’t trust a single one of them, kid.”
Oscar’s neck tensed. “Why are you telling me this?”
Brody stubbed his cigarette, smoked down to the nib, on his saucer. He leaned back and gave him a long look, as if assessing him. “You need a job.” Brody met his eyes. “I need eyes and ears. Somebody people will talk to and I can trust. Everybody from the DA to the cop on the beat is on the take in this town.”
Oscar jerked upright. “A job?” He didn’t trust Brody any more than any othergringo.
“Two dollars a day sound about right?”
Two dollars a day? That was twice what Oscar made gardening. But work for the police? He motioned to Brody for a cigarette, lit up, and took a couple deep pulls while he thought about what Brody had said. If Max’s woman hadn’t killed Roy Lester, somebody else had. And if they found out who, she would be in the clear. That meant he’d be out of danger, too. But work for Brody? Even if he could, he wouldn’t know what to do.
“It’s basic stuff,” Brody said, as if reading his mind. “Talk to your people first. The Garcias. See what they know.”
Oscar tensed. “They don’t know anything.” And he wasn’t a traitor, questioning his own.
Brody held up a hand. “Don’t get all worked up. They might know something, more than they told me. Just about the party, who was there. You follow?”
He followed. But he didn’t like it. And yet two dollars a day would pay the rent, and asking a few questions wouldn’t be so hard. But could he trust this man? “Detective—” he leaned forward—“if the studios pay everybody off, they’d pay you off, too.”
Brody raised a brow and might have looked a little impressed. “The bottom line is, you’ll have to trust me.”
“You just told me not to trust anyone.”
Brody flashed a smile. “I knew you were quick.”
Brody wasn’t like anygringoOscar had known, even if he was police. Oscar needed the money, but he wasn’t born yesterday. “If I have to trust you, you do the same for me. I want a week in advance.”
Oscar thought he might have seen a flash of respect in Brody’s gray eyes before he nodded and fished a worn wallet from his pocket. A ten-dollar bill and a handful of ones came out. Oscar felt a little like Judas with the thirty pieces of silver.
Brody slid the money across the table. “Use your nose, kid. Something smells, ask questions. Look for pieces to the puzzle. You get enough, you start to get the picture. And remember, if it seems like a coincidence, it’s not.” He threw two dimes down beside the coffee cups. “Call me tomorrow.” He pushed a card across the table and picked up his bowler. “And one other thing, kid. Be careful.”
Oscar felt another flicker of panic. “What do you mean?”
“Just this.” Brody raised his bristly brows. “You and me, we’re kicking a hornet’s nest. And when you do that, you might find out what’s inside, but you’re likely to get stung.”
——————
Oscar sat in his own kitchen and took a gulp of his too-hot coffee. Ask some questions of Lupita and Alonso. It was easy enough. All his life, he’d lived next door to Francesca, his mother’s best friend, to Maria Carmen and Alonso and Lupita. He’d never hesitated to walk across the packed grass and up the two cinder-block steps to their door.
