“What do you mean, ‘for now’？”
“As a sales tool, for you to sell the script and get a network to order the series,” Eve said. “But before a frame of this is shot, there will need to be some significant changes.”
“Like what?”
“The police procedure is all wrong, more TV than reality.”
Linwood snorted. “Have you seen Law & Order? The trials are held a week after the bad guy is arrested.”
“I understand the need for compression for dramatic reasons, but some of what Simone has got here is just ridiculous.” Eve listed some of the errors and wild deviations from reality.
“That’s all minor stuff. Easily fixed. Is that all?”
“I never said or even thought a lot of the things coming out of my character’s mouth, so that needs to go,” Eve said. “And the character is too manipulative and premeditated, immediately seeing how to leverage any situation for her own personal political advantage.”
“That’s you,” Linwood said.
“No, it isn’t, and even if it is, that’s not how I want to be portrayed on TV.”
Linwood laughed. “Do you also want her to be ten pounds lighter?”
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
“No, I’m just saying a perfect character is boring. She has to have flaws, even if you don’t.”
“The flaws are fine. I like them better than the insane bravery and sanctimonious heroics. But I don’t want to be seen as someone who puts her selfish interests first and her job second.”
“Got it. Lose the Wonder Woman outfit and Lasso of Power.”
“I believe it’s a Lasso of Truth,” Eve said.
“You would know. But overall, did you like it?”
Eve thought about that. It wasn’t a simple question. “Simone treated me fairly and handled the murder case with sensitivity.”
“Does this mean you trust Simone now to tell your story?”
“It means I can work with her. It will take a lot more to earn my trust.”
“Have I earned it?”
Now Eve laughed. “You’re a Hollywood agent!”
“So?”
“That is the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of untrustworthy.”
“Okay, baby steps then. I can live with that,” Linwood said. “Okay, I’ve got to go and make you a million bucks.”
She hoped he wasn’t joking, though there was a fifty-fifty chance if he succeeded that every penny would probably go to the lawyers and the family of the corrupt deputy who’d killed himself.
At least she wouldn’t end up living under an overpass in a cardboard box on urine-soaked dirt.
She called Michael Green on her cell phone from her desk at the Lost Hills station at 9:00 a.m. as Duncan and Shaw stood on either side of her chair. They’d researched Green prior to the call. They’d learned he was a divorced father of two teenage girls, who now lived with their mother in Riverside. He owed years of back alimony and child support and his business was on the ropes. He had no prior criminal record.
Green answered with a cheery hello.
“Mr. Green? This is Eve Ronin, we met a few days ago in Oakdale.”
“The detective who traded her Rolls-Royce for a Subaru.”
“That’s the one. You gave me your card and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
“I’m glad I paid the extra money for the glossy paper. The printer said it would leave an impression.”
Eve faked a laugh, which she hoped sounded genuine. “I’d like to talk to you about relandscaping my house, which isn’t saying much. It’s mostly dirt and weeds.”
“What we in the trade call ‘a blank canvas.’”
“It could certainly use your artistry. Do you think we can meet? I know this is last minute, but I have a very unpredictable schedule in my line of work and I’m actually free today.”
“I would be glad to. I can imagine how hard it is for anyone in law enforcement to make appointments and keep them,” he said. “You never know when somebody might get killed.”
“Sadly, that’s true.” Eve gave him the address of an empty house in a cul-de-sac in Calabasas, in an older neighborhood known as Saratoga Ranch, less than half a mile from the Lost Hills station. “If you come at noon, I’ll even throw in lunch. I make the best sourdough grilled cheese sandwiches in the galaxy.”
“How could I turn that down? See you at noon.”