“Mr. Gillespie was found shot to death at a cemetery in Andersonville, Georgia.”
“Andersonville, Georgia?”
“You’ve heard of it?” asked Pine.
“No. And Layne never mentioned it.”
“I take it you and he were friends,” said Pine.
“Very good friends and professional colleagues. We performed onstage together.”
“How long had he worked here?” asked Wallis.
“About a year. But I knew Layne before that. I was the one who asked him to come to Savannah. I knew he’d be a star here.”
“So you knew of his…professional abilities?” said Laredo.
Blakely gave Laredo a searching look that ended in an enigmatic smile. “Yes, his professional abilities.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” asked Pine.
“Right here in this room, three nights ago. We had just finished the last act of the night. It was around two in the morning. We had a drink and went our separate ways.”
“Weren’t you concerned when he didn’t show up for work?” asked Pine.
“No, because he wasn’t scheduled to. He was taking some time off, a few days. He’d pulled a muscle in his right quad and his ankle was also swollen. It’s not easy doing what we do.”
“I’m sure it’s not. Do you know what he planned to do during his time off?”
“Just take it easy. I mean, I wasn’t aware that he was planning to travel anywhere. Certainly not to this—what was the town called again?”
“Andersonville,” said Wallis.
“No,” said Blakely. “He never mentioned going anywhere.”
“Was he seeing anyone?” asked Laredo. “Or was anyone giving him any problems?”
“No and no, at least that I know. I have a firm rule here: no fraternizing. I don’t care what people do with their lives or in their private time. But that sort of stuff always spills over into the workplace. So I just cut it off.”
“How many performers do you have here?” asked Pine.
“Including me, about a dozen. Two shows a night and a matinee on Saturday. It’s good, you should come sometime. Singing, dancing, acting. We do it all. Even comedy skits.” He glanced at Laredo. “You know, good, wholesome family entertainment.”
“More power to you,” replied Laredo.
“I started life as a corporate lawyer,” admitted Blakely. “Hated every minute of it. Now this, this is what I was born to do.”
“Did Layne Gillespie feel the same way?” asked Pine.
“I think so, yes. He got kicked out of the Army, you know.”
“We didn’t know exactly why,” said Pine.
“He was caught performing in full costume. It was harmless, and it wasn’t even on the base or anything. But they gave him the old heave-ho. And from what I heard Layne was a good soldier. He could fight. Strong as a bull, really athletic. He performed this one act where he had to climb these long, flowing fabric ropes and do cartwheels and such. He was the only one here who could do that. I would’ve broken my neck.” Blakely paused and looked down at his lap. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
“So no problems with anyone? Or someone new in his life?” asked Pine.
“No, no one that I can think of. Everyone really liked Layne.”
“No jilted lover or a patron here who wanted more than to see him in an act?” said Laredo.
“We do have some of that here, but nothing specific to Layne.”
Pine thought of something. “What was Layne doing before he came here? How did you know him?”
“Oh, well, it was through a friend of mine.”
“What friend?”
“He’s dead now. Boating accident down in Miami. But he was in the um, film business.” Blakely looked nervously at them.
They all looked at one another. Pine said sharply, “Wait a minute. Do you mean the porn film business?”
“Yes, Layne acted in porn films.”
“Where did he do this?” asked Pine, her tone betraying her excitement that they might have finally gotten a break in the case.
Blakely wadded up a tissue as he glanced at himself in the mirror. He absently rubbed a spot of wet foundation off his cheek. “He’d…he’d go down to Miami or close to there to do it. It paid really well, apparently. I thought about doing it once, but it just wasn’t for me. I…I couldn’t do it, not in front of a camera.” He blushed and looked around them. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. You don’t care about that, I know.”
Pine said, “Did Layne ever mention a woman named Hanna Rebane or Beth Clemmons?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Please think about it, it’s really, really important,” Pine urged.
Blakely did so but then shook his head. “I’m sorry. Those names don’t ring any bells.”