After another $182.64 in souvenirs, postcards, and gifts, Lucy called Baton Rouge to check her messages. I was hoping that there might be word on Pritzik or Richards, so I phoned my office, also. Sixteen messages were waiting for me. Of the sixteen, seven were from newspeople asking for interviews and five were from friends who had seen me on the news. Of the remaining four calls, two were hang-ups and two were from Elliot Truly. On the first hang-up a woman's voice said, 'Oh, shit,' and on the second the same voice said, 'Just eat me!' The voice was muffled and irritated. Truly's secretary left the first message from his office, asking me to return the call. Truly himself left the second message, saying, 'Cole? Cole, if you're there, pick up. This is important.' I guess Truly was irritated, too. Maybe I bring it out in people.
I returned Truly's call. When he came on the line he said, 'Thank Christ! I've been trying to reach you all day. Where have you been?' He sounded frantic.
'You told me to take the day off, remember?'
'Yeah, well, we don't want you to do that anymore. Channel Eight wants to interview you on the evening news and Jonathan thinks it would be a good idea.'
I said, 'Go on television?'
'It's maybe three minutes on the four o'clock newscast, and Jonathan wants you to do it.'
'Truly, I made plans. I've got guests from out of town.'
'Look, the team talked about this today and we want the press to have access to you. Either we're going to control the media or the district attorney's office will, and we'd rather it be us. Openness is important. Honesty is everything. That's all we have going for us.'
I was sorry that I had returned his call.
'They want to know how some guy all by himself beat the entire LAPD at their own game.'
'I didn't beat anybody. I followed a tip and got lucky.' Lucy had finished her call and was looking at me.
'Right. That's why you scored the breakthrough while eight thousand blue suits were sopping up coffee and donuts.'
'I didn't beat anyone, Truly.' He was getting on my nerves with that.
'All you have to do is sit there and be likable. People like you; you're a likable guy. That's all they care about. It's TV.'
I cupped the receiver and told Lucy, 'They want me to give a television interview this afternoon, and it'll interfere with going to Beverly Hills.'
Lucy smiled and rubbed my arm. 'If you have to you have to. We'll do Beverly Hills after.'
'It'll cut into your shopping time. Are you sure?'
She smiled again. 'We'll come watch you get interviewed. It'll be fun.'
Truly said, 'What did you say?'
'Relax, Elliot. I'll do it.'
Truly said, 'It's almost three now and they want you at Channel Eight by four-thirty. Grab a pencil and let me tell you where to go.'
Truly gave me the directions. Lucy, Ben, and I drove home, changed, then made our way back down the mountain to Channel Eight's broadcast studio just east of Western in Hollywood. KROK-TV. Personal News from Us to You – We take it personally!
We parked in the lot beside the building, then walked in the front entrance to a receptionist seated in a bulletproof glass booth. The lobby was walled off from the rest of the building with more heavy glass, and there was a big door next to the receptionist that she would have to buzz open to let you enter. I wondered if anyone had ever tried to shoot their way in. Put me on the news or die! You never know.
I told her who I was and why I was there, and a few minutes later a woman in her early forties appeared and opened the door from the inside. She said, 'Hi. I'm Kara Sykes, the news director. Are you Mr Cole?'
'That's right. This is Lucy Chenier and her son, Ben. They're with me.' I was holding Lucy's hand.
Kara Sykes held the door. 'That's fine. You'll go on in a few minutes, so we don't have much time. Please come this way.'
We followed her down a long hall, then through a newsroom filled with desks and production people and onto the news set. A man and a woman were seated at the anchor desk, facing cameras fitted with TelePrompTers. A floor director was standing between the cameras with his hand touching the TelePrompTer that the man was reading from. There were places at the anchor desk for a sportscaster and a weatherperson, but those seats were empty. The set was built so that the anchors were seated with their backs to the newsroom so the audience could see that the Channel Eight news team was bringing them personal news personally. Kara whispered, 'Lyle Stodge and Marcy Bernside are the five o'clock anchors. Lyle is going to interview you.'
'Okay.' Lyle Stodge was a rugged-looking guy in his early fifties, just going gray at the temples. Marcy Bernside was a profoundly attractive woman in her late thirties with dark hair, expressive eyes, and a wholesome, girl-next-door smile.
Kara said, 'Have you done a live interview before?'
'No.'
'It's no big deal. Just speak directly to Lyle. Don't look at the camera.'
'Okay.'
'I spoke with Jonathan, so I know how important this is. Everyone here is on your side.'
'My side?'
'Just relax and enjoy it. You're the man of the hour.'
Lucy squeezed my hand and whispered, 'I guess they heard how you were mobbed at Universal.'
Lucy's a riot, isn't she?
Lyle finished reading a story about illegal Taiwanese aliens found working in a sweatshop in Gardena, and Marcy began reading a story about Pritzik and Richards. She said that the police and the FBI had expanded their search into seven states, and that there was a growing though unofficial belief that Pritzik was, in fact, James X.
The floor director raised his hand, made a circling gesture, and Marcy Bernside said that Channel Eight's Personal News Team would return in just one minute. The director raised both hands, then announced, 'In commercial. We're clear.'
Marcy Bernside shouted, 'Fuck! Who blew the feed to my fucking ear phone?' She twisted around to glare at the newsroom. 'Come on, Stuart. What're you assholes doing back there? Jesus Christ!' So much for wholesome.
Kara pulled my arm and said, 'Showtime.'
She hustled me to the anchor desk and had me sit in the sportscaster's vacant seat while the camera operators repositioned for a two-shot of me and Lyle. I could see Lyle's lines frozen on the TelePrompTer, waiting for the commercial to end. The floor director clipped a tiny microphone inside the lapel of my sport coat, then ran the wire under my jacket and plugged it into a larger cable that had been lying on the floor. Kara introduced me to Lyle Stodge who said, 'I'm glad that you could join us. You're quite a guy.'
I said, 'Will anyone notice if I make faces at the camera?'
Lyle Stodge shuffled loose yellow legal sheets. 'Don't worry about anything. I've done this ten thousand times, and I can make anyone look good. Even you.' I looked at Lucy and Lucy laughed. I looked back at Lyle Stodge and he winked. Another comedian.
A makeup person was adjusting Marcy Bernside's hair. Marcy was singing to herself and moving to the song as if she were alone in her home. She was singing the Z.Z. Topp song Legs. Nervous energy.
The floor director said, 'Ten seconds.' He raised his hand above Lyle's camera. Lyle straightened his jacket and leaned toward the camera. The makeup person left the set. Lyle said, 'Would you stop with the goddamned singing, for Christ's sake?'
Marcy Bernside gave him the finger and kept singing.
'Three, two, one -' The floor director touched the TelePrompTer and Lyle's script scrolled upward. Lyle made his patented crinkly-eyed smile at the camera. 'As we reported at the top of the hour, a private investigator working for the Big Green Defense Machine has made a startling discovery that may shed new light on the Theodore Martin murder investigation. He joins us now in a Channel Eight Personal News exclusive, bringing you the people who make the news.' Lyle turned the pleased smile toward me. 'Mr Elvis Cole, thank you for joining us in a Channel Eight Personal News exclusive.'
'Thanks, Lyle. It's good to be here.' Mr Sincerity.
Lyle laced his fingers and leaned toward me, getting down to serious journalistic business. 'How is it that one man working alone was able to uncover these things when the entire Los Angeles police department working for three months couldn't?'
'I followed a tip that Jonathan Green's office received on the hotline. If LAPD would've gotten the tip, they would've made the same discoveries, and probably sooner.'
Lyle chuckled good-naturedly. 'Sounds like you're being modest to me.' The chuckle vanished and Lyle turned serious again, cocking an eyebrow to let everyone know just how serious he was. 'Tell us, was it dangerous?'
'It's just meeting people and asking questions, Lyle. It's no more dangerous than crossing the street.'
Lyle made the chuckle again, then twisted around to smile at Marcy Bernside. 'Marce, I'll tell you, I've never met the real McCoy who liked to blow his own horn, have you?'
Marcy Bernside said, 'Never, Lyle. Real men let their deeds speak for themselves.'
Lyle twisted back to me. 'Theodore Martin has proclaimed his innocence from the beginning. Many people are now saying that your discovery proves him right.'
'It's another piece of the puzzle.'
Lyle leaned toward me, serious and professional. 'Many people are also saying that the LAPD botched this investigation, and now they're unwilling to admit their mistake.'
'LAPD is the finest police force in the nation, Lyle.'
Lyle nodded as if I'd just laid out the Unified Field Theory. 'Well, sir, we've checked into your background and learned that you certainly have an excellent reputation, even among members of the police department and the district attorney's office.'
'Those guys. Did they really say that?'
Lyle nodded gravely. 'Personal News Eight is told that this isn't your first high-profile case. Apparently, you've worked in a confidential capacity for some very high-profile celebrities.'
'I never discuss my clients, Lyle. That's why it's called "confidential."'
Lyle squinted approvingly. 'A man of integrity.' He gave an encouraging smile. 'Most of us see private eyes on television or in movies but never get a chance to meet the real thing. Tell me, is it as exciting as it seems?'
'No.'
Lyle laughed. They paid him seven hundred thousand dollars a year for that laugh, and I wondered if he practiced it. 'Looks like you're a truthful man, as well. How does it feel to be compared to that famous, fictional Los Angeles detective, Raymond Marlowe?'
Marcy said, 'Philip Marlowe.'
Lyle looked confused and twisted to look at her again. I guess she'd said her bit and he hadn't expected her to speak again. 'What was that, Marce?'
'Raymond Chandler created Philip Marlowe.'
Lyle laughed again, but this time the laugh was strained. Guess you weren't supposed to correct the anchor while you were on the air. He twisted back to the camera and said, 'Well, it looks as if Los Angeles has found its very own Sherlock Homes, and, unfortunately, that's all the time we have for this segment.' Lyle Stodge offered his hand to me, and we shook as if he had just awarded me the Congressional Medal of Honor. 'Mr Cole, it's been my privilege to meet you. Congratulations, and thank you for taking the time to talk with us.'
'Thanks, Lyle. It's been personal.'
The floor director raised both hands. 'In promo. We're clear.'
Lyle Stodge glared at Marcy Bernside. 'You fucking cunt! Don't you ever do that to me again on air!'
Marcy Bernside gave him the finger again. 'It's Holmes, moron. Sherlock Holmes. With an L.'
'Oh, yeah, right. Sure.'
Kara Sykes undipped my lapel mike and helped me off the set. No one gave me a second glance.
We followed Kara Sykes back to the lobby, then left the building and walked to the car. Lucy hugged my arm. 'That was almost as much fun as Beverly Hills.'
'Un.'
She stepped back and looked at me. She cocked her head. 'Are you okay, Studly?'
I said, 'Luce?'
'Mm?'
'If Truly wants me to do another of these, I'm going to shoot him to death. Will you represent me?'
She smiled sweetly. 'Oh, you know that I will, hon. You shoot him all you like.'
Thanks, Luce.'