You tell me, Jeff. But I restrained my Dragnet impulses. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. We’re talking to a lot of people, and when you mentioned the studio, I wondered about security, that’s all. Take a pill, Jeff. It’s just a question.”
He looked rattled, but he didn’t dare refuse to answer. “We have security that logs us in and out. I know when I left because I had to pick up a package from Mila to bring to Russell.”
“Mila?”
“A producer. It was a script.”
Better and better. Now we could confirm Jeff’s alibi with Mila. He didn’t have any more information to add to what Uma had told us about the events later that evening, so we let him go. I was tempted to tell him to surrender his passport and stay close just as a joke, but I thought he might stroke out.
“A little high-strung, no?” I said after he’d left.
“He was practically playing a tune he was vibrating so fast. But I’d say he’s off the list.”
“Agreed. Time to move up the food chain.”
Ian Powers affected an exaggeratedly imperious bearing that made me think of “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” He walked in slowly, with a studied casualness, then calmly settled into the love seat. The way he leaned back and spread his arms across the top of the sofa said “lord of the manor.” I wondered whether the posturing was partly an unconscious effort to counteract the shadow of the “little Mattie” persona. Powers confirmed that he had indeed been Russell’s manager since Russell was a co-producer on Brittany’s show, Circle of Friends.
“Then you were representing Russell when Tommy Maher accused him of stealing his screenplay,” I said.
Ian leaned forward, and for just a brief second, his features darkened. But just as quickly, they rearranged themselves into an expression of mild irritation. “It was tragic, really. I would’ve been glad to listen if Tommy had any proof to back up his claim-hell, I would’ve taken him on as a client.” Ian gave a short bark of a laugh at his own semi-joke. “But he didn’t. Just a lot of wind and noise. If you ask me, he saw his career tanking and got desperate, so he tried to horn in on Russell’s screenplay. Maybe he thought Russell would pay him off with nuisance money. I don’t know. But obviously, he was unhinged. You know he committed suicide-”
“Doesn’t that work both ways?” I asked. “Some might say his suicide proved that he was telling the truth and no one would listen.”
Ian nodded. “I suppose, but…I guess you had to be there. This wasn’t the first time he’d claimed someone had stolen credit for one of his ideas. And he was a basket case. He even attacked Russell at one point. Did you know that?”
