Sex and Violence in Hollywood (55 page)

“Overruled,” Judge Lester said. “Answer the question, Mrs. Boam.”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Mrs. Boam said with a shake of her head.

“On May fourteen, nineteen ninety-one, Timothy Simon murdered his twenty-two year-old girlfriend, Penelope Graham, and her nineteen-year-old sister, Abigail Graham. He dismembered them and barbecued them in his backyard. He told the—”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Lazar shouted, shooting to his feet. “Adam Julian is on trial here, not—”

“Overruled, Mr. Lazar.”

Horowitz went on. “He told the police he was planning to eat them, but before he could, his neighbor dropped by to see what was on the grill and became rather suspicious when he saw Timothy flipping what were unmistakably human female breasts on the grill with a fork. Timothy Simon is currently serving a life sentence.”

Mrs. Beam’s small mouth hung open behind closed lips and her face lost what little color it had.

Horowitz asked, “Do you think, Mrs. Boam, that your assessment of Timothy Simon was correct?”

She did not move, just continued staring straight ahead.

“Mrs. Boam?” Horowitz said.

Her mouth closed and opened a couple times, but no sound came out.

Judge Lester said, “Answer the question, Mrs. Boam.”

“I...I...suppose it wasn’t,” Mrs. Boam said, her voice suddenly brittle.

“In that case,” Horowitz said, “do you think your assessment of Adam Julian could have been equally incorrect?”

“I...well...that doesn’t change the fact that—”

“Could you give me a simple yes or no answer, Mrs. Boam? Do you think your assessment of Adam Julian could have been equally incorrect?”

Mrs. Beam’s head slowly bowed. She muttered something.

“I’m sorry,” Horowitz said. “Could you speak up, please?”

“I...I suppose it could have been.”

“Thank you.” Horowitz smiled at the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Adam turned and lowered his head to hide his smile from the jury, thinking, Take that, you tight-assed church lady!

FORTY-EIGHT

One evening
in the third week of the trial, Adam got home and slumped on the sofa. He turned on the television and stared wearily from beneath low-hanging eyelids as he surfed the channels. He had no idea sitting in a chair could be so exhausting.

Horowitz’s car had dropped him off in his building’s parking garage. She had to go meet Max, and then appear on ABC’s Politically Incorrect. She had been very preoccupied with one, or both, of her appointments and had said little in the car.

Adam stopped channel-surfing in the middle of Rosemary’s Baby, which Raymond Lazar would no doubt claim was further proof Adam was a murderer.

But I am a murderer, he thought. He allowed his heavy eyelids to drop. Between Lazar and Horowitz, things were getting a little confusing. It was easy to forget the truth. Maybe that was best. He leaned his head back and dozed off on the sofa.

The doorbell woke him. He did not know how long he had slept, but Rosemary’s Baby had been replaced by The Goodbye Girl. He opened the door to find Max standing in the hall in jeans, a plaid shirt, denim vest, and reptilian-skinned cowboy boots.

“How’s it goin’, trialboy?” Max asked as he came in.

Adam shrugged silently and returned to the sofa. Max sat in the recliner.

“I thought Rona was supposed to meet with you,” Adam said.

“She did. I mean, we did. Now she’s taping that television show.” He nodded at the television. “You watchin’ this?”

“No.” Adam picked up the remote. “Something you want to see?”

“Turn on CNN.”

“Oh, Jesus help us.” He changed the channel.

Max smiled. “Wish I had time to sit in on the trial. I love watchin’ her work.”

A clip of the trial was running. Melonie Sands was on the stand and Rona stood in front of the lectern, facing her.

“I’ve apologized for what I did to him,” Melonie said, her voice tense. “I’ll keep apologizing if necessary, but at the time, I was having a substance abuse problem that severely clouded my judgment.”

“Sounds rehearsed to me,” Max muttered.

Adam shrugged. “Her whole story sounds made up to me. I don’t remember ever seeing her at the house.”

Melonie Sands claimed she had dated Michael Julian briefly, which was very possible. She also claimed to have been witness to an argument between Michael and Adam at their house during which Adam had threatened to kill his dad. Although Adam had thought often of killing his dad, he had never voiced it, except when talking to Carter.

“What substances were those, Miss Sands?” Horowitz asked.

The actress fidgeted. “Alcohol. Heroin. And, um...pills.”

“You were under the influence of alcohol, heroin, and pills when you attacked Adam Julian in Chinois?”

“Yes. A couple of them, anyway.”

“How long did this problem last?”

“It was over a period of...I don’t know, four years. Maybe a little more.”

“So, you would like us to dismiss that violent incident in the restaurant because of your addictions?”

“Like I said, I wasn’t myself.”

“Were you under the influence of any of those substances when you dated Michael Julian?”

“I might have been.”

“Were you under the influence of any of those substances when you claim you heard Adam threaten to kill his father?”

Lazar stood. “Objection, Your Honor. Miss Sands’s personal problems are—”

“Overruled,” Judge Lester said.

“Were you. Miss Sands?”

“I...I could’ve been. I mean...it’s not like I was stoned all the time.”

“But this incident you’ve described, in which you say Adam threatened to kill his father—that took place during the four years you were addicted to alcohol, heroin, and pills, correct?”

Melonie Sands continued to fidget, avoided Horowitz’s eyes. “Yuh...um, yes.”

“Tell me. Miss Sands. If we dismiss the fact that you attacked Adam Julian with a knife in a restaurant while under the influence of alcohol, heroin, and pills, shouldn’t we dismiss everything you did while under that influence?”

“Well...um, well...”

“If we dismiss that, shouldn’t we also dismiss what you think you heard at the Julian residence on—”

“Objection!” Lazar said, on his feet again. “There was no uncertainty in Miss Sands’s testimony.”

“Sustained,” Judge Lester said.

Horowitz nodded once and said, “Withdrawn. If we dismiss your attack on Adam Julian with a knife, shouldn’t we dismiss your entire testimony here today considering the fact that these events all took place during your period of substance abuse?”

Lazar stood again. “Objection, argumentative!”

“Sustained,” Judge Lester said.

“I have no further questions.”

As Horowitz returned to her seat. Judge Lester turned to the jury, gave them a stern look. “You will disregard Ms. Horowitz’s remarks.”

Adam asked, “How can they disregard something they just heard?”

Max’s body shook with laughter. “They can’t. And Rona knows it. You hungry?”

Adam had been trying to ignore his stomach’s growls. “I’m starving.”

“Wanna grab a burger with me? I missed breakfast this morning and I could eat the cow right now, hair and all.”

“Tommy’s?”

“Fine by me.”

* * *

Max drove them to the Tommy’s on the corner of Beverly and Rampart Boulevards in his black Cadillac Escalade SUV. The red-roofed shack stood on the original location of the first Tommy’s, opened in 1946, and served as the company’s logo. Tommy’s hamburger, stacked with everything and sloppy with chili, was Adam’s favorite food. It had been Carter’s, too. As kids, they’d virtually lived on them during the summer, and had been on a first-name basis with the employees who came and went at the Beverly and Rampart shack.

The night air carried a chill, as well as the smells of fried foods and car exhaust. Rap music pounded from passing cars and the laughter and chatter of the people in line gave the hamburger stand a festive atmosphere. Instead of tables or chairs, customers ate their burgers standing at long counters that stretched along the outside walls of the building.

The smells and sounds were achingly familiar, and Adam began to wonder if it had been such a good idea to eat there. As he stood in line, the figure beside him, seen from the corner of his eye, felt more like Carter than Max. It always had been Carter before.

“You okay?”

Adam started. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You look like you just had a bad thought.”

Shrugging, Adam said, “Carter and I used to come here a lot when we were kids. The last time I was here was with Carter. And Alyssa and Brett. It just...made me miss him.”

“Wanna go somewheres else?”

“No, this is good. It’s crowded and noisy and there aren’t any reporters.”

“You said your friend Carter knew Billy Rivers better than you did,” Max said.

Adam nodded.

“Did he ever say anything that might give a clue as to where Billy and Nathaniel would go while they’re on the run?”

Adam turned Max with a frown. “You’re looking for them? I thought the police—”

“Let me ask the questions, okay?” he said with a smirk.

Adam did not want to think about Carter. It hurt too much, made it harder to keep a distance from his whole situation. Thinking about Carter made him want to scream. To break something. Hurt someone.

When he heard of Stanley Pembroke’s suicide, Adam had waited for a feeling of rightness, a sense of satisfaction. He remembered what Horowitz had said during their first meeting. If we play our cards right, they might even do it to themselves. It had been an appealing thought at the time, but he had not taken her seriously. It had been inconceivable to him then that a single person—the tiny woman who had stood before him—could do such a thing. Of course, that had been before she’d begun repeating the officers’ names on television, day after day, reminding them, and the world, of what they had done.

He had seen footage of the funeral on television a few days later. Warren Buchwald had stood beside his partner’s casket at the cemetery, about thirty pounds heavier than he had been at Carter’s house last summer, face puffy and red. According to news reports, Buchwald had taken a leave of absence and was in counseling. It was unclear whether or not he would return to the police force. When Pembroke’s widow had appeared onscreen, crying and holding a wailing toddler, Adam had hit the remote quickly, changed the channel.

Rona did that, Adam had thought. For me.

Adam wondered how much difference there was between hiring someone to kill his dad and paying Horowitz to, among other things, drive Stanley Pembroke to suicide. Not much, it seemed. Except that for Horowitz, there would be no trial or punishment.

“You sure you’re feelin’ okay, pardner?” Max asked.

Adam blinked several times. “Yeah. Just thinking.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember anything Carter said that would help.”

“What about Nathaniel?”

“What do you mean?”

They reached the counter and ordered their burgers. When Adam reached into his pocket. Max opened his wallet and said it was on him. They took their burgers, fries, Pepsis, and paper towels—Tommy’s provided paper towels rather than napkins—to an empty spot at the end of one of the stand-up counters.

Max said, “When you were talkin’ with him at his house, did he say anything about...I don’t know, maybe about plans he had?”

“You mean, plans like blowing up his parents?”

“Maybe,” Max said with a shrug. “Just think about your conversation, things you said, things he said. Maybe he mentioned something in passing. A casual remark. Anything at all that might give a clue to where he and Billy ran off to.”

“You are trying to find him. What are you going to do, hand him over to the police? What good will that do us?”

“I plead the Fifth,” Max said. “On the grounds that I could piss off my boss.”

Adam bit into his hamburger, chewed slowly and savored the flavor. Thought about Max’s question, about his conversations with Diz.

“This’s a damned fine burger,” Max said with his mouth full.

“A religious experience,” Adam said before taking another bite. He washed it down with a couple swallows of Pepsi. “I don’t remember Diz saying anything.”

“Well, let’s see. You said you talked about, what...movies? Television?”

“Yeah, but that was it. I wasn’t there long.”

“Okay, okay.” He stuffed a few fries into his mouth. “But give it some thought, willya? Somethin’ might come to you.”

They ate in silence for a while. After only a few bites, Adam felt full. Thoughts of Carter and Pembroke had taken the edge off his hunger, but the idea of Max looking for Diz finished it off completely. Nothing Diz could say would match the statement Adam had given to the police. If Diz turned up, on his own or with help, and started talking, he would only ruin everything.