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“It's your client. She wants to talk to you, Mr. Lessor.”

I left the case in his capable hands and walked into our miniscule bathroom to take a hot, cleansing shower.

CHAPTER FIVE

Tentatively, I was on security duty from noon till six so I had the morning free. You never knew, because schedules were always changing. Em's condo was about one hundred yards south of the park where
Deadline Miami
was shooting and the show had actually used a couple of vacant units in her building for interior shots. Em was employed by her contractor father and usually worked from her office at home, so I figured she'd be in when I knocked on her door.

She was.

“Jesus, Skip. I saw
Eye Witness News
this morning. Alison Cole actually mentioned you by name. Said you saw the jump, and she even quoted you. You know, you could have called.” She seemed a little put out.

I vaguely remembered mumbling something to a lady with a microphone after we'd talked to the police, but I had no idea what I might have said. I was somewhat in a state of shock.

We walked into her twenty-third-story condo, and as always, I was struck by the view from her floor-to-ceiling glass window.
The marina, the bay, South Beach, and the ocean beyond. In another life, this would be my life.

“How bad was it?”

“We've both seen dead bodies.”

“We have,” she agreed as she reached up and placed her arm around my neck, pulling me close.

“But to watch someone jump—” there I was, reliving the event—“and fall through the air.” I shivered and started to choke. “Then crash to the ground.” I couldn't go any further. I had nothing left to relate.

“Celebrities, actors, they're crazy people,” she said.

I just nodded.

Em went to the kitchen and came back with two iced teas. We sat on the balcony in cushioned lawn chairs from Front Gate and looked out at the boats on the sparkling water. Serene and peaceful. What had Ashley said about Londell? He was a river of peace? What the hell was that all about?

Composing myself, I said, “I did watch the whole thing. He deliberately jumped, Em. Yet his girlfriend, the lead cop, and James are willing to suspend reality and believe he could have been murdered. I don't get it.”

“As close as you are, in the park right next door,” she said, staring into my eyes, “you've been a little distant since you and what's-his-name took this security gig. I don't hear from you, see you.”

I hadn't seen her every day. The ‘gig' as she referred to it required me to work a lot of weird hours, and I was trying to be respectful of her job and personal life. I was never certain that I was the main priority in her life. She was that in my life. No question about it, but I never took Emily for granted.

“As far as me and what's-his-name—” Emily knew James very well, but there was always this friction between the two of them—“it's been a little nuts,” I said. “We're dealing with the street crazies, then dealing with the movie crazies.”

“The good thing is you're being compensated well. And you could drop by during your free time.”

“I'm here now.”

I told her about James's side deal with Ashley Amber.

“She's a twit.”

One of Em's secret vices was that she read the gossip magazines.
People
,
Us
, even the
National Enquirer
on occasion.

“We've had clients who are twits before.”

Sipping her tea, she smiled at me. “Your partner's a twit. Maybe they're suited for each other.”

“Should I jump in? Take a cut?”

“You could use the money, boyfriend, but I admire your ethics. If you don't think there's a case, then—”

“But there apparently are some people who do think he was murdered. So maybe there is a case.”

Nodding at me she said, “The lady has a lot of jack. She's had a couple of movies in the last year, and now she's on a successful TV series. I'm sure they pay her a boatload of money.”

As an actress on
Deadline Miami
, Ashley Amber played a high-priced attorney for a cable news show in The Magic City, and although producer Clint Anders was aiming for a highbrow
West Wing
kind of show, he didn't have any trouble featuring the blonde actress in short skirts, low-cut blouses, and an almost obligatory bikini shot either at her pool or on the beach in every episode. So I kind of likened the program to a
West Wing/Baywatch
series where Amber played a smart Pam Anderson. But then, this was Ashley Amber so the smart part was a stretch.

“So, do I take the job?”

“Yes.”

“Really? You think I should? Even though I am quite certain that this death has an open-and-shut end?”

“Yes.”

“You have no problem with this?”

“Skip, you've just told me that Ashley Amber,” she rolled her eyes, “the lead detective on the case, your partner, and even the episode director are all wondering if this could have been a murder.”

“Yeah, but remember, they're all a little suspect.”

Em cocked her head, her eyes wide open.

“Think about what you just said.”

“They're all a little suspect?”

“Maybe they are. Maybe one of them
is
a suspect?”

Em always had a unique way of looking at things.

CHAPTER SIX

I am a pragmatist. I approach problems, situations, interests with a realistic viewpoint. I am practical. My father left us when I was young, and I grew up in a loveless home with a mother and sister who fought just to exist. And that is what we did. Exist. Barely. There were never dreams or visions of a grand future. The love of my life, Em, is sometimes even more of a practical person than I am. But James just floats out there on the periphery. That's what drew me to him and why he has been my best friend since childhood. And just when I want to pigeonhole him, when I want to accuse him of being the dreamer I never could be, he surprises me.

“Skip, I want you to be a part of this investigation.”

“James, I can't go over this again. You know what I saw and how I feel about the whole thing.”

“Amigo, compadre, hear me out.”

We sat on the steps of our Airstream aluminum trailer, James drinking a beer and me sipping coffee. He was off today, so he was wearing khaki cargo shorts and a faded T-shirt. I was dressed
in a maroon, collared shirt and gray pants, about to report for duty. Security detail had to look presentable.

“Here's where this all comes down.”

I couldn't wait to hear the spin.

“You're on a scaffolding seventy feet in the air.”

“Okay.” To go along with my partner, I pictured myself up there and felt my stomach turn.

“You are going to run maybe twenty feet, look over your shoulder, then leap and position yourself to land on a soft, helium-filled air bag.”

“Got it.”

“Maybe you're in over your head with personal problems. You're banging the sister of your pregnant wife. Possibly, this has caused you some serious concern. Suicide could be an easy way out.”

He was getting it. This was a positive sign.

“Or, maybe that didn't enter the picture.” He shifted his perspective. “Look, Skip, there were two grips and a camera guy on that platform. Am I right? Isn't that what you told me?”

“There were. Londell and three others.”

“Maybe these guys were contacted by the wife, this Juliana Londell. The lady, this Juliana, she knows he's been having an affair with her sister, and maybe she sees a big insurance claim if he dies.”

Randy Roberts had made a point of telling me that the production company had paid a king's ransom to insure Londell for the stunt. So possibly Clint Anders's film company would benefit with the policy. And James was right, if Juliana Londell had taken out a large policy on her husband—

“One of those three guys up there finds a way to trip him. Or distract him. Come on, Skip, that track was narrow. A bump in the road could send him over the edge. It's possible, am I right?”

And I'm sitting there, sober as a church mouse, thinking my
partner, my roommate, was making sense. The entire thing could come down to an insurance claim. But it sure looked like suicide.

“James, I saw what I saw, but—”

“But maybe things were different up top. Up on that catwalk. You were down below, amigo.”

“I was.” Suddenly this situation was taking on a new dynamic. I was convinced he took a dive. But maybe there were extenuating circumstances.

“Damn it, I'll try.”

“Try what?” James had a wry smile on his face, and I knew he was channeling a movie. “Plummeting? I suppose you could try it
once
.”

I knew the quote. It was from
The Muppet Caper
. Said by the famous nasal-sounding actor and singer Kermit the Frog.

“I'll try to believe that murder is a possibility.”

“Damn,” James said, smiling. “I was ready to take the entire five hundred bucks myself. Now, you're asking for half.”

“There's a but.”

“
But
what?”

“I'm in for the initial look. That's it. If we see nothing that makes us suspicious, if there is no sign of any foul play, then I take my two fifty and go home. I'm not going to manufacture a scenario where there isn't one, okay?”

He gave me a sideways glance, and I knew I'd tapped into his devious nature. James saw a fat paycheck from a rich movie starlet.

“I'm serious, James. We're not going to make shit up just to string this lady along. Understood?”

“Fine with me, pard. We'll play it straight. And, by the way, who's going to climb the scaffolding tomorrow and check, from seventy feet up, whether there was any glitch in the grid?”

My heart skipped a beat. There was always an ulterior motive with James. I could count on it.

“This is why you're making a case for me to be partner to this? Because you don't want to go up on that catwalk?”

“Hey, I'm going to be interviewing the camera guy and the two grips. They saw the whole thing firsthand.”

“James, I can't go up there and—”

“Skip, someone needs to go up there and look around. I am no good with heights. Dude, you know that.”

And I remembered a very scary time when I climbed up a very high, teetering carnival ride called The Dragon's Tail to save my partner from a gondola car that was ready to crash to the ground. I'd been scared out of my mind, but I'd done it. Subtly he was reminding me that I had already proven I could do heights. Even if it was to save his worthless ass.

“I don't even think we're allowed up there. There's yellow tape covering the steps and—”

“It's going to take fifteen minutes, Skip. If that. You can pull it off.”

“What am I looking for?”

“Come on, Skip, you already have the answer to that question. ‘You'll know it when you see it.'”

“Well, I need to do it soon.”

“Pard, I'll sub for you on the ground. Right now. All you need is fifteen, twenty minutes tops. You go up on the walkway and see what you can see.”

“How many beers have you had?”

“Two.”

“It's a good thing you aren't the one going up.”

“Son, I've got better balance drunk than most people do sober.”

I should have made him prove it.

“James, you said something about the two grips and the camera guy. They were up there watching. There's footage from that camera. I'm certain the cops have already questioned these three,
but you really do need to find them and get their recollection. And get a copy of that shoot.”

“Like I told you, that's a priority.”

“And what about Londell's wife?”

“Born 1989, got a job with William Morris at the tender age of eighteen, DDO Artists Agency a year later, and she quit a year after that to start her own company.”