Shallow Graves

one that burned?”
    “Yessir?”
    “I’d like to take a look at it.”
    “Don’t think that’d be possible.”
    “Why not?”
    Not a nick in his deputy soul. The man was a real side of beef. “Well, sir, it just wouldn’t.”
    “I see. That explains it.” The men stood facing each other, the deputy scanning the street for crime. Pellam scanning the man’s face. “If you could just tell me where it might be.”
    “I really don’t know. I just know it was hauled away after the investigation.”
    “You do any forensics?”
    “I really—”
    “Got it,” Pellam said. “Never mind.” They both did the street scan this time. Pellam looked back and asked,“I don’t remember what the company was. Would you know?”
    “Company?”
    “Where my friend rented the car.”
    “We don’t have any Avis or Hertz here. Or nearby.”
    “It would be more helpful to know where he did rent it, rather than where he didn’t.”
    “Sillman’s Garage, I think it was. Up the road a quarter mile.”
    “Thanks.”
    The deputy said, “Kleman’s Funeral Home’s made all the arrangements.”
    “Thank you, officer. Appreciate it.”
    “Not at all, sir. I was to L.A. once. Me and the wife went to Disneyland. You know, the real one.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Suspect you’ll be going back for the funeral. The mayor’s got an airline ticket—”
    “No, I won’t be going.”
    There must have been a flicker somewhere in the brain, but there wasn’t one in the eyes. “No?”
    “I’ll be staying around for a while.”
    “Around here?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Oh. We expected you’d be leaving.”
    “Yeah, well, I won’t be. Now, I’d like to see the police report. And—”
    “Can’t do it, sir.”
    “What?” Pellam felt the anger popping like firecrackers.
    “That’s not public record material.”
    “Public record material?”
    “That’s right, sir.”
    “Well, I’m not public. I was his friend.”
    “Sorry, sir.”
    “How about the coroner’s report? Is that public record material?”
    “Nosir, it’s not. But all it says is he died as a result of injuries caused by a fire of his own making. I’m pretty much quoting.”
    “Officer, someone killed my friend. There were incidents of vandalism against our camper before he was killed and . . .”
    “In Cleary?”
    “That’s right,” Pellam said.
    “I don’t recall you reported them.”
    “We didn’t. I didn’t think anything of them until this happened.”
    “Yessir. Let me ask you, you drive into any small town, the local kids probably go fooling around some with your vehicle, don’t they? Pranks. That’s happened before, hasn’t it?”
    “Sure, but—”
    “There you go.”
    “But it’s never happened the day before one of my friends is murdered.”
    “Murdered? Nosir. The coroner said it was accidental.”
    “I guess there’s not much more you can tell me.”
    “That’s right, sir.” The sunglasses went back on and the big man’s eyes turned a delicate shade of purple. He said, “You staying around, sir, I’d be a bit careful. Already, these couple accidents. Maybe you’re kind of a bad luck fellow.”
    Pellam said he’d be careful, but he was thinking there was a good chance the deputy was right.

Chapter 5
    ALAN LEFKOWITZ SAT in his huge, completely immaculate office, rocking back and forth in a leather desk chair, and looked out the windows, which were also huge and completely immaculate. Beneath him the traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard flowed past Century City. His eyes were on this wide road, full of nice cars, but his thoughts were solely focused on upstate New York.
    President and principal shareholder of Big Mountain Studios, Lefkowitz, 52, put in at least ten sweaty hours a day working on his film projects. A law school graduate, a successful former agent, he took continuing education classes at UCLA and USC in accounting and finance—at an age when many of his friends (well, this was Hollywood; call them colleagues ), also producers, were delegating the hard work to underlings and spending mucho time engaged in the “Development” work (that is: thinking in Palm Springs and drinking at the Beverly Hills Hotel).
    Also on the asset side of the balance sheet: Lefkowitz had integrity. He’d pretty much resisted Hollywood’s strongest gravity, which pulled producers toward teenage comedies, buddy cop movies, specialeffects–fat science fiction and horror films. His own orbit wasn’t as lofty as