looked at every photo again. I didn’t really know what I was looking for. But that was okay. That’s what I do all the time. Look at stuff others deemed inconclusive and try to make something out of it. Sometimes I find something. Sometimes I don’t.
I got out my case file where I’d put both the long and short versions of the events of the case that I had typed up. Looked at it. Found what I was looking for. Right, that was his name, Clay Blevins. And he had auditioned for the movie Friendship . I knew it, but now I was sure. I dialed up the young actor I’d spoken to at King’s Road Café.
“Hello,” he said.
“Clay. Hey it’s Tim—the casting director. I talked to you the other day at King’s Road. After your audition for Friendship .”
“Yeah,” with concern. “You were asking me about Suzanne Neal.”
“Right. Have you heard about her?”
“Yeah, man, it’s so crazy. We’re all so freaked out about it.”
“I’d like to talk to you about it.”
“Really? Why?”
“Clay. I don’t work at Raleigh Studios. And my name’s not Tim. My name is John. John Darvelle. I’m a detective. Of the private variety. I had met Suzanne prior to her murder. So now I’m looking into it to try and find out what happened.”
Quickly, “What? You’re a detective?”
“Relax. Yes, I’m a detective.”
“Listen, man. I don’t know anything or anything.”
People get strange when the heat is on. I don’t know anything or anything . What?
“I know, you were her friend. I’m on your side. Everything’s cool. I want to find out who did it. And I want to ask you some questions.”
“Can’t you talk to the cops or something?”
“Sure. And so can you. And you should. But I want to talk to you. Like I said, you were a friend of hers. You might be able to help me.”
“Well . . . when?”
“As soon as possible.”
“All right, yeah, I guess you can talk to me.”
“Let’s meet at King’s Road again. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“In an hour. You’ll be there?”
“Yeah, I guess. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
15
I was sitting in the restaurant when Clay ambled in. That’s what he did, he ambled. His jolly, friendly countenance was still there sort of, but it was hidden underneath concern and fear. He’d tamed his Afro a bit. And he was wearing a stylish, slightly snug, ill-fitting blazer. It’s like he had prepared for hipster court. I was sipping a cup of coffee.
“Hey, Clay.”
“Hey, John.” And then, “You know, I knew you weren’t a casting director.”
People always, always , tell me later they knew I was bullshitting them earlier. And those same people never, never question me in the moment.
“Right,” I said flatly. And then, “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Sure. I don’t know what I can tell you that I didn’t already tell you.”
A waitress came by and Clay ordered a coffee.
I said, “Well maybe you’re right. But let’s try. Tell me something about Suzanne that’s, I don’t know, unusual.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just tell me a story about her that you thought defined her in any way. Anything. Could be tiny.”
He thought for a long time—which I also appreciated. “Man, Suzanne was a mystery. ’Member I told you, she was always friendly, always nice. But it was different coming from her. Like she was so nice to all these guys who weren’t really in her league. It was cool. But the thing was, she had this air about her. Not like she thought was better than you. More like she was actually better than you, but she didn’t ever want you to think that she thought that. And she probably didn’t think that. It just was . She kind of seemed to sit on higher ground than us. Than everybody. But, still, she was like sweet to the core.”
“Did she ever indicate to you that there was some trouble in her life?”
“Man, I didn’t know her that well. Like I told you. Class, auditions, occasionally a bar.”
“Okay, but think
I got out my case file where I’d put both the long and short versions of the events of the case that I had typed up. Looked at it. Found what I was looking for. Right, that was his name, Clay Blevins. And he had auditioned for the movie Friendship . I knew it, but now I was sure. I dialed up the young actor I’d spoken to at King’s Road Café.
“Hello,” he said.
“Clay. Hey it’s Tim—the casting director. I talked to you the other day at King’s Road. After your audition for Friendship .”
“Yeah,” with concern. “You were asking me about Suzanne Neal.”
“Right. Have you heard about her?”
“Yeah, man, it’s so crazy. We’re all so freaked out about it.”
“I’d like to talk to you about it.”
“Really? Why?”
“Clay. I don’t work at Raleigh Studios. And my name’s not Tim. My name is John. John Darvelle. I’m a detective. Of the private variety. I had met Suzanne prior to her murder. So now I’m looking into it to try and find out what happened.”
Quickly, “What? You’re a detective?”
“Relax. Yes, I’m a detective.”
“Listen, man. I don’t know anything or anything.”
People get strange when the heat is on. I don’t know anything or anything . What?
“I know, you were her friend. I’m on your side. Everything’s cool. I want to find out who did it. And I want to ask you some questions.”
“Can’t you talk to the cops or something?”
“Sure. And so can you. And you should. But I want to talk to you. Like I said, you were a friend of hers. You might be able to help me.”
“Well . . . when?”
“As soon as possible.”
“All right, yeah, I guess you can talk to me.”
“Let’s meet at King’s Road again. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“In an hour. You’ll be there?”
“Yeah, I guess. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
15
I was sitting in the restaurant when Clay ambled in. That’s what he did, he ambled. His jolly, friendly countenance was still there sort of, but it was hidden underneath concern and fear. He’d tamed his Afro a bit. And he was wearing a stylish, slightly snug, ill-fitting blazer. It’s like he had prepared for hipster court. I was sipping a cup of coffee.
“Hey, Clay.”
“Hey, John.” And then, “You know, I knew you weren’t a casting director.”
People always, always , tell me later they knew I was bullshitting them earlier. And those same people never, never question me in the moment.
“Right,” I said flatly. And then, “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Sure. I don’t know what I can tell you that I didn’t already tell you.”
A waitress came by and Clay ordered a coffee.
I said, “Well maybe you’re right. But let’s try. Tell me something about Suzanne that’s, I don’t know, unusual.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just tell me a story about her that you thought defined her in any way. Anything. Could be tiny.”
He thought for a long time—which I also appreciated. “Man, Suzanne was a mystery. ’Member I told you, she was always friendly, always nice. But it was different coming from her. Like she was so nice to all these guys who weren’t really in her league. It was cool. But the thing was, she had this air about her. Not like she thought was better than you. More like she was actually better than you, but she didn’t ever want you to think that she thought that. And she probably didn’t think that. It just was . She kind of seemed to sit on higher ground than us. Than everybody. But, still, she was like sweet to the core.”
“Did she ever indicate to you that there was some trouble in her life?”
“Man, I didn’t know her that well. Like I told you. Class, auditions, occasionally a bar.”
“Okay, but think
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