sequel-4

THE SEQUEL

Chapter 4--The Shooting of Ben

      The Curtises returned from Japan to Shangri La, the large Spanish-style mansion on a hill dominating the highway west of Encino. Christine now owned Shangri La as part of her inheritance from her mother, who had inherited it from the countess. As Betty had while filming the story of the countess's early years in Hollywood, Christine and family had been living there while they were filming Romeo and Juliet, and intended to live there for the week or so before moving back to Laura's New York apartment to do The Tempest.
     Jack and Laura had plans to build another cabin on the second lot at Lake Arrowhead, since Henry and his family were now settled in the one they'd built years earlier and they didn't want to dispossess them. Knowing Henry's family would be arriving from Japan the next day, Laura called Mr. Brown to order groceries for the cabin, which he said he'd deliver after closing time. He knew where they kept a key.
     When Mr. Brown went to deliver the groceries, however, he discovered the cabin open and the body of Ben Winston lying in a pool of blood on the floor of the main room, as Betty and Jordan had been less than two years before. Mr. Brown judged that Ben hadn't been dead for long.
     The phone cord had been pulled loose, so Mr. Brown went back to his store to call the police.   Lieutenant Carlson, who'd investigated the deaths of Betty and Jordan, arrived on the scene--then called Shangri La and talked to Laura. She told him that Jack and Christine were in bed, but they'd be picking up the Gordons, who now lived at the cabin, at the airport late the next morning. Laura was shocked when the lieutenant told her about the murder, but did identify the dead man as Ben Winthrop. She told him what she knew about Ben, as best she could, and said she'd wake Jack and they could drive up to the cabin. The lieutenant said he preferred they not do that until the police completed their preliminary examination.

     So Laura didn't wake Jack, or Christine--just spent a sleepless night herself. She told Jack when he woke up the next morning. He called Lieutenant Carlson, whom he remembered as the same officer who'd come to interview him in Tokyo when Betty and Jordan had been shot. When he asked the detective what he knew about this shooting, he said, "Not much yet. That's why we'll want to talk to you."
     Jack said he'd pick up Henry and his family at the airport, but would bring them to Shangri La until the cabin was cleared as a crime scene. He and Henry would come to Lieutenant Carlson's office that afternoon to tell him what they knew--and find out what he could tell them. Then, Jack said, he'd like to see what had happened at the cabin.
     Jack had Henry and Shoko back to Shangri La by lunch time, where, together with Laura, they speculated on Ben's death.   Jack said, "Lieutenant Carlson said he was shot twice. I know Ben was drinking too much, especially now that the film was over, and tended to brood about things. He might have had suicidal tendencies, but the lieutenant said he was sure it was a homicide. Still, who'd have wanted to shoot Ben?"
     Laura said, "Maybe half the people who knew him, at one time or another. But the first thing I thought was how much it had in common with the deaths of Betty and Jordan. When I told Christine, it upset her so much that she's staying in her room. I'd like to go to Lieutenant Carlson's office with you and Henry," she said to Jack, "if Shoko is willing to stay here with Christine and the baby. Christine has Thomas, of course, but it would be good to have a woman here." Shoko agreed, for she had no desire to talk to the police.
     On the way into town Jack said, "Ben was a New Yorker, but seemed to be thinking of moving to California."
     "Yes," Laura said, "His parents live in New York and have always been active in theatre--working behind the scenes. Neither has ever become a prominent actor."

     "So Ben was the successful one," Henry added, "good enough to play important roles with the Players Company . . . thanks to Jordan. Jordan trained him to play major roles in support of him, like Octavius to his Antony, and the student to Jordan as your Mishima."
     "But Ben became a pretty good actor in the process," Laura said, "a real professional."
     They met Lieutenant Carlson at his office. He said he preferred meeting there, "not to clutter our discussion with looking around the cabin for clues--which is my job." He'd told Jack, "Since Henry Gordon is blind, this should be easier for him, too. We'll try to get that cabin back in livable shape, back like it was, before we return it to his family."
     As Jack helped Henry and Laura to seats across from his desk, the detective said, "I believe I met all of you before . . . and," specifically to Jack, "your daughter Christine . . . the last time we had a shooting in your remote cabin at the lake. I couldn't believe it when we got the report on this shooting--then I walked in on the murder scene. A touch of deja vu."
     "And just as unbelievable," said Jack. "What do you think? Who could have shot Ben?"
      "We have no real suspects as yet, but have just begun our investigation."
     Henry confirmed that they'd approved Ben's use of the cabin while they were gone. He'd told them that friends might join him there, but, though they assumed it would be people who had been in the film, he had many friends in Los Angeles now. They agreed that Arthur Cane had been his best friend--but might now have gone back to New York.
      "It's as confusing as the earlier case. But I think we can at least rule out suicide," Lieutenant Carlson said.
      "Why is that?" Henry asked. "That's the first thing I thought of when I heard what had happened. Ben was pretty unstable--a fine actor, but highly emotional."

      "Well, first, because of the half eaten ham and cheese sandwich. People seldom commit suicide while eating a sandwich. The killer could have left the sandwich after he shot Mr. Winston, but that would be almost as unusual."
      "No, it was probably Ben," Henry said. "He was fond of that kind of sandwich . . . as Christine is. They're easy to make when you're in a hurry, like peanut butter and jelly. They liked to take sandwiches out in the boat with them."
      "But it seems he was eating it there in the cabin. And we have the autopsy report," Lieutenant Carlson said. "He was eating that sandwich all right. But since there was just the one sandwich, perhaps Miss Curtis hadn't been there."
     Henry said, "Well, she could have eaten her whole sandwich, Lieutenant. Or took it with her."
     Jack looked at Henry and shook his head. "No, Christine wasn't there. If you have the time of the murder right, middle to late evening, yesterday, she was at Shangri La with us. We had just gotten back from Japan, and she was probably already in bed, as I was. And whatever there might have been between her and Ben while we were filming, it was all over by the time we left for Japan."
      "But they had been dating pretty regularly, as I understand . . . Christine and Ben."
      "Not dating," Jack said. "They'd been making a movie together, Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. He was her Romeo . . . as he had been in New York. They did spend free time together, sometimes there at the lake. They both liked to water ski. But they were never romantically involved."
      "Like the real Romeo and Juliet, you mean," the lieutenant said. Laura laughed, and he gave her a quizzical look. "But, Mr. Gordon," he said to Henry, "you and your family live in that cabin now, don't you?" He paused. "As you yourself did when Betty Fredricks and Jordan Simms evidently shot each other in that same room two years ago . . .

as I recall . . . when we had so many questions about their death, for both you and Miss Curtis . . . Christine."
      "That's right," Henry said. "But we weren't there this time, I'm happy to say. That was very traumatic."
      "And you came to Japan to question me . . . since Betty was my wife at the time," Jack said.
      "Yes. I remember having lunch at the McDonalds on the Ginza. I still have fond memories of that orange milk shake," the detective said, smiling.
      "Well, this time Henry has the alibi I had then. He and his family were in Japan . . . or maybe on the airplane coming home by the time the body was discovered . . . late yesterday evening, by Mr. Brown, did you say?"
      "Yes, if he hadn't delivered those groceries, the Gordons would have had the shock he had. But this time you were here, weren't you? And I see that you now have a new wife.   Why did you order those groceries delivered, Mrs. Curtis?"
      "We were back, but miles away, in Encino, recovering from our own flight," Laura said. "I ordered those groceries because otherwise Shoko would have to go to the store before they could fix a meal. We've often done that, called Mr. Brown. But you said the sandwich was only one reason you were eliminating the possibility of suicide."
     "Yes. The real reason was that the murder weapon--the gun--wasn't there. It's hard to dispose of a .38 after you've shot yourself in the head with it. Unless the man who discovered the body took the gun, the one who shot him must have. He, or she, may have thrown it into the lake."
      "He was shot twice?" Henry asked.
      "Yes, and with the same gun that killed those other two."
      "Your gun from Alaska? No! I thought you'd gotten rid of that gun, didn't you, Jack?" Henry asked.
     Jack looked from one to the other before answering. "No, when I got it back I couldn't throw it away. I had good

memories of that gun as well, from that summer in Alaska, when I bought it with my poker winnings and carried it in the woods. I put it in a box of things in the storeroom at the lake," Jack said, "but I didn't have any bullets with it, so thought it was safe enough."
     He stopped to think about it. "But I had showed it to Ben when he was there once, as I was getting him a book on Mishima . . . so he knew where it was. It seems he had a special fascination with guns. He liked that one because it fit in the hand so well . . . I liked that, too . . . and had a holster, which I always wore it in out in the woods in Alaska. Then the fact that it had killed Betty and Jordan interested him. So when I heard about him being shot, that was the first thing I thought, that Ben must have gotten the gun out of that foot locker. But he'd have had to get ammunition for it."
      "Don't you think it's more likely your daughter would have known where it was and got it?" the detective asked. "I've been told that she'd been having some rather serious arguments with this young man--with her Romeo--recently, and might have decided to shoot him."
     "I don't think Christine knew the gun was there. Or she might have thrown it in the lake."
      "But perhaps after she shot her Romeo with it," the detective said, raising his hand as Jack started to respond. "Don't get upset. I'm just speculating at this point. She was there the first time . . . saw the whole thing . . . when her mother and boy friend shot each other. She might know more about guns than you've suspected."
      "To see her mother shot in the head . . . and the man they both loved bleed to death before her eyes?" Henry interrupted. "It was a tremendous shock for me, and I couldn't see all the blood. She was hysterical. We couldn't talk to her at all."
     "It's still hard for me to believe they shot each other . . . both by accident. That's not exactly what Jordan Simms said

on the phone," said the detective. Then to Jack, "In this case, you and your daughter would be natural suspects--access to the weapon and relationship to the victim. But I understand there are two other young men who might've been there at the lake while you were in Japan." He looked at his notebook. "Charlie Morgan and Arthur Cane. Do you know them?"
      "They were both in the film with Ben and Christine, and I directed the film," said Jack, "so we knew one another. But Ben knew a lot of young men as well as Arthur and Charlie."
      "I've heard that one of them was her real boy friend."
      "Oh, I don't think so," Jack said. "I would have known."
      "Parents are the last to know, you know. We also found tire tracks-- down where you park the cars. For that Ferrari, with its special tires. That car was there the other time, too. It had rained that afternoon, so the tracks were pretty clear."
      "Yes, that's Christine's car, and I think she said she gave Ben permission to use it while we were gone."
      "But then the car should still have been there--with him dead in the cabin," the lieutenant said, "not just the tire tracks. You can see the problem. There were also the tire tracks of at least two other vehicles-- but no cars there at all when Mr. Brown arrived. Brown said he'd seen that car there several times earlier in the week. But not that night."
      "I think the Ferrari was there at Shangri La this morning, so Ben might have brought it back," Jack said.
      "Someone might have. If the murdered man, how'd he get back to the cabin? Walk? Take a bus? Or with someone else--who shot him and drove away?"
      "Well, Thomas takes special care of that car, and he'll know when it came back," Laura said.
      "It should have been returned," said Jack, though he was beginning to wonder about the car himself.
      "Well, if you think of anything that might help, give me a call," said the lieutenant, as he showed them out.

     On the way back to Shangri La, Henry said he liked to think he’d have been a pretty good detective. "Once back at the lake I might see what Shoko and I can do to solve this crime--if it's not already solved. There's not the personal trauma I had with Betty and Jordan to cloud my judgment."
     Laura said, "That would give you another job, Henry. What are you expecting to do with most of your time now?"
      "Good question. There's no movie deal to work on, until you do some things back in New York. Since I don't plan to go back there, I won't have much to do. Shoko and I have tentatively begun work on our joint biography of Betty and Jordan. But I'll be giving a lot of time to reading Plato, working with Shoko, and anyone else who'll read me the late dialogues. Charlie has been the best recently. He enjoys both reading and discussing the dialogues. So I hope it doesn't turn out that he shot Ben. Do you think he did?"
      "I think Charlie may already have gone to New York," Laura said. "But this is still his home--so he'll be back."
     After the group had finished reading the Tale of Genji, the year before, Henry had suggested they read all the Platonic dialogues, which he'd done as a graduate student at Cornell, and had a special reason for wanting to do again. He said it might take two years, the dialogues being neatly divided into two sets of about the same length in the two-volume translation of Benjamin Jowett: the early dialogues, culminating in the Republic; the later, in the Laws. All who had been reading the Tale of Genji agreed, with mixed enthusiasm, but the early dialogues went well. Henry had no trouble finding readers. Shoko still read to him most, but others helped, for most of these dialogues were short, and dominated by the character of Socrates.
     Charlie hadn't read any Japanese literature--didn't know any existed before he joined the Romeo and Juliet company. He wasn't involved in reading the Tale of Genji, but knew

about it. Then he heard the group had agreed to read Plato. After he and Henry became chess pals, Henry asked him one day at the lake if he'd be willing to read him part of the Symposium, which they were reading for that week. Charlie said, "Sure--why not?" Henry then asked him how much he knew about Plato.
     Charlie said, "Well, I read the Meno in an Introduction to Philosophy course at Glendale College last semester. Socrates was arguing that we all know the eternal truths, but, as we become mortal, like crossing the river Styx, forget them. He shows that the slave boy knows the Pythagorean Theorem without realizing it, because it's one of those eternal truths. I had been considering majoring in mathematics, and since that made a significant comment on how self-evident the principles of geometry are, I thought it was an interesting story--and it's a short dialogue."
     Henry said, "Excellent. The Meno comes next in Jowett. You can perhaps join the group discussing it. That main idea is pretty close to the center for Socrates. And the Meno has become particularly important to me, for I'm beginning to think that the mysticism that is the most attractive thing to me in Plato, and in Socrates, comes from Pythagoras. I begin to think of myself as a Pythagorean, in fact, for, though Pythagoras made clear advances in geometry that were important for the time, he also established a school, based on the quadrivian of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music--the liberal arts curriculum that Plato is affirming for his guardians in the Republic.
     "You think he developed Plato's theory of education?"
     "Pythagoras is something of a mythical figure, like the Duke of Chou in the Chinese tradition behind the I Ching. Almost nothing specific is known about either, but I identify with both, for what is attributed to each is an educational position I believe in, like the theory of liberal education

behind Thomas Jefferson's establishment of the University of Virginia. The school of Pythagoras pioneered the study of harmonics in music, leading to the Idea of 'the music of the spheres,' as mystical as Plato's Idea of the Good--so I might finally hope to look up to see the Idea of the Good--and hear the Music of the Spheres. These are the teachers for us slave boys. Do you know anything else from Plato?"
      "In high school we read a passage from the Republic, the 'Allegory of the Cave,' where people are chained in a cave and all they can see are shadows projected on the wall in front of them, which they take for the truth. Then one of them, the philosopher, gets out of the cave, sees the sun, and the real things those in the cave see only shadows of. When he goes back into the cave and tells them, I think they kill him."
     "Doesn't encourage one to become a philosopher, does it? But you called it 'The Allegory of the Cave.' Do you know what an allegory is?"
     "We were told an allegory is a kind of metaphor with a narrative line, a story about something you can see that's really about something you can't see, something abstract. So those prisoners in the cave, which we can visualize, are like all of us, the shadows they see like our knowledge. We only think we see the truth. I sometimes think of that when I'm watching a movie, and realize it's just light projected on a screen, like on a bare white wall. And we take what we see as reality, as truth, while we eat our popcorn or candy bar."
     "I like that," said Henry. "And surely you've heard of Platonic Love. What do you know about that?"
     "Well, nothing from reading Plato, but from what I've heard it's idealized love, either more or less passionate than romantic love, where people are thinking about kissing each other and having sexual intercourse. In one sense, it seems more passionate, as one loves the idea of beauty in the beautiful woman, say, in a way that transcends the experience

of any particular beauty. On the other hand, it's less passionate, the kind of love you have for your sister, or mother, that also transcends the animal impulses of sex."
     Henry laughed, saying, "You may have an aptitude for Plato, Charlie, but we must get you reading more. Let's go out in the boat and you read the Symposium to me. Then we can talk a little more about Platonic Love. And you might join our group in discussing that . . . this week. Then you might read the earlier dialogues, to catch up. Those are mostly short, with Socrates as an important character--and coming to know him may be the most important reason for reading the dialogues."
     "To know Socrates?"
     "Yes. Then bring your copy of the Meno and read it to me. We'll be discussing it next week. Soon we'll be reading Plato's dramatic trilogy, the Apology, Crito, and Phaedo, where you get the full presentation of the character of Socrates. That's important. Then we'll be ready for the Republic at the end of the year. How does that sound?"
      "Pretty ambitious!"
     Henry smiled. "If you take to the character of Socrates as I do, that'll give you a solid base for reading the later dialogues. We'll see if you're up to that next year. You may find the Symposium the best; it's the most dramatic of the dialogues, with several memorable characters--which, being an actor, you can role-play in reading."
     Charlie then did read the whole 45-page dialogue in the one afternoon there on the lake. He was delighted with it. So, about three months into that first year, he joined the Plato discussion group.
     He and Henry might discuss Plato anywhere--even while playing chess--and Charlie was looking forward to the Republic, which Henry said was Plato's greatest dialogue. But the filming of Romeo and Juliet ended, and Henry and

others went to Japan. Then, with almost everyone associated with filming Romeo and Juliet, including Charlie, moving to New York to work on The Tempest the end of that year, it became obvious that the group was losing its coherence, leaving Henry more and more often with Shoko as his only available reader.
     In reading those late dialogues the following year Henry would perhaps have lost most of the group anyway, for, as they looked ahead, those dialogues seemed pretty forbidding, not grounded so nicely in the character of Socrates, nor so dramatic in structure.
     Henry, himself, most admired certain dialogues in the first volume, some of which he knew very well, but he was looking forward to once again thinking through those in that second volume, some of which he'd only read once. And he had hopes for Charlie. He liked the way he read Plato, and how fond he was of stopping while reading to talk about the ideas. Henry had even begun to tell Charlie about his plan for using Socrates as a role model for his old age, in pursuing the extended study of Plato, Calculus, and the I Ching "until they all become one," when he might finally look up to discover the Idea of the Good in a kind of beatific vision--a glimpse of the immortality available to mortals. So working with Charlie had become important to him.
       "But here comes the end of the year," Henry thought, "and even reading the Republic is a problem. The group won't be together, as we were for the Symposium and the trilogy on Socrates' death, and the enthusiasm is waning, though they say they'll finish reading the Republic, and we'll discuss it when we can. Charlie has promised to read a book a week in New York, and as much as he can with me whenever he's home in California." He shook his head. "But this shooting of Ben complicates everything. Is it possible that Christine or Charlie shot Ben? I hope not."