"That's instead of what?"

"The bus depot," Sloan answered. "We don't need the bus depot anymore."

"Okay. That's easy. You want a house. You want to do interiors there?"

"I don't want to, no." Sloan's voice was exasperated. "Why would I want to?"

"I didn't mean want to, Tony. I meant are you going to?"

The eyes rose. "I want to build a set. On a sound-stage. I don't want to have to cram all the damn equipment into a twelve-by-fourteen-foot living room. But I don't have any choice."

"You want a bungalow with a twelve-by-fourteen living room."

"Well, I want bigger. If you can get me bigger."

"I'll-"

The voice was very close to Pellam's ear. "Excuse me." He started in surprise.

They turned.

"One of you John Pellam?"

Pellam smiled a greeting.

"I'm Detective Gianno, this's Detective Hagedom. With the Maddox Police Department."

Pellam saw ID cards and gold badges and immediately forgot their names. An Italian detective, dark-complected and short. And a WASP detective, blond, athletic, tall. He had a very square jaw. Pellam smelled after-shave. Something dry. He had been close to cops a few times in his life and could not recall smelling aftershave on a law enforcer.

Sloan said, "What's this all about?" His eyes now alighted on the Italian detective's and remained fixed.

The cop asked in response, "Who're you?"

'Tony Sloan." When they registered no response he added, "I'm the director."

The WASP turned away from him. "If you'll excuse us we'd like to talk to Mr. Pellam here."

"If there's some problem, I'm in charge of-"

"There won't be a problem, sir-" he glanced at Sloan as if he were a nagging panhandler "-if you'd just give us a few minutes alone with Mr. Pellam here."

Sloan gave him an astonished glance then turned to Pellam, who shrugged. "I'll get you that house, Tony."

The director wandered off to a motorized camera crane, a Chapman Apollo, the boom extended and the camera platform nearly ten feet above the ground. Sloan paused in the shadow of the boom and glanced back at the two men now standing on either side of Pellam. Several grips and gaffers noticed Sloans frown and stopped what they were doing to watch the three men.

The WASP stepped closer. The scent of lime was very strong. "The Post-Dispatch did a story about this film." He spoke with the same stilted formality that marks conversations between cops and civilians all around the world.

"It's a crime movie? About bank robbers?" The Italian detective said this as if people would not think of breaking the law if movies didn't put the idea into their heads.

"Armored car robbers," Pellam corrected.

"We've never had a movie made in Maddox," he added solemnly. "I hope you portray the town in a good light. We've had our share of trouble but that's not our fault."

"No, it isn't," said the WASP.

"What exactly," Pellam asked, "do you want?"

"Last night there was a shooting. We're wondering if you could give us some information about it."

"Around here?"

"It happened on Third, near the river."

He tried to remember if he had heard anything. He couldn't recall but with the tape deck playing and the Cardinals on TV and the noise of five men playing poker, a lot of sound outside would get missed. Pellam shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't think I can help you." He started to walk away.

The WASP detective put a firm grip on Pellams shoulder and laughed in surprise, like a schoolteacher insulted by a student. "Hey, hey, hold up there a minute. We're not through yet."

Pellam shrugged the hand off and turned around. "I can't help you."

"Well, we think you can, sir. A policeman was shot and critically injured and two people were killed. Vincent Gaudia and a Miss Sally Ann Moore."

"I'm sorry. That doesn't mean anything to me." *

"People are killed and you don't care?" the WASP asked. His hands, palms up, rose at his sides.

"I don't mean that. I just mean I don't know who they are.

The Italian was saying, 'The car? The Lincoln? Does that ring a bell?"

"No. I… Oh, wait. There was this guy got out of a big car, maybe it was a Lincoln. I didn't really notice. I'd bought some beer. He bumped into me."

"Could you describe him?"

"Was he the guy who was killed?"

"Description?"

"Not too tall, stocky, balding, a beard or mustache, I think. Mid or late thirties."

"Race?"

"White."

"Any scars or markings?"

"I don't remember any."

"What was he wearing?"

"A jacket, I think. Jeans. Dark mostly."

"He was alone in the Lincoln?"

"No. There was somebody else. They drove off after a while."

"They?"

"Well, he."

"Could you describe him?"

"I didn't see him."

The detectives didn't exactly exchange glances but their eyes swung like slow pendulums toward each other.

Sloan called, "Pellam, you gonna get me that house, or what?"

The Italian detective called back, "This is official police business, mister."

Oh, brother. Pellam cocked his head helplessly at Sloan and said, 'They're just asking me a few questions."

Sloan continued to stare for a moment, eyes no longer flitting with artistic distraction but now boring angrily into the cluster of men from the shadow of the crane.

"The thing is, Mr. Pellam," the Italian cop continued, "the officer who was shot…"

"He was shot a number of times in the back," his partner said.

"God, that's awful."

"… said he saw you talking to someone in the car. He-"

"He was the one got shot? That policeman? Danny? What was the name?"

"Donnie Buffett."

That's terrible. Yeah, I was talking to him. Is he going to be okay?"

They don't know," the Italian cop said.

In the thick silence that followed they stared at him. Pellam felt guilty under these gazes. "I didn't see him. The driver, I mean. I looked. I looked into the car but I wasn't really talking to him. I was just saying things. It wasn't like a conversation."

"How did you know it was a man?"

Pellam didn't speak for a moment. That's a good question. I don't really. I just assumed it was."

"You seem pretty sure it was a man," the WASP said. "You said him."

"I was assuming it was a man."

The Italian cop said, "It'd just be kind of strange, wouldn't it, you're standing a few feet from someone? not to at least see what they were wearing? What their sex was? Whether they were black or white?"

"I don't know what's strange or not, but that's what happened. It was night-"

"Adams is lit up like Gateway Park," the Italian cop said.

The WASP detective looked at his partner. "All those car accidents. That's why they put in sodium vapors."

"There was glare," Pellam said. That was one of the problems. On the windows. I was blinded."

"So the fact it was night wasn't the problem," said the WASP. "I mean, you said it was night as if you meant it was too dark to see anything. But now what you're saying is it wasn't dark at all. It was too bright."

"I guess," Pellam said.

"What kind of Lincoln was it?"

"Black."

"What kind?"

"How do you mean?"

Town Car? Continental?"

"I didn't notice. I wish I had but I only remember it being big and black."

"You're sure it was black?"

"Well, it was dark. Navy blue maybe."

They asked about license plates, dents, scratches, damage, bumper stickers…

Pellam couldn't help them.

The cops fell silent.

"Do you think I'm lying?"

"It's just kind of strange is all we're saying."

"What's strange?" Pellam rocked on his boot heels.

"Being so close and all and not seeing anything," the WASP said. That's strange."