“My father runs Esmer Funeral Home in Georgetown,” Ann Marie continued.“I spent my childhood around people experiencing the worst moments of their lives.”
Malcolm’s posture shifted subtly—a slight relaxation of his shoulders, a tilt of his head that suggested curiosity rather than defense.
“I look at you, Mr.Hartley,” Ann Marie said, her voice dropping slightly as if sharing a confidence, “and I see someone carrying a burden.Not guilt—not necessarily.But something heavy.Something old.”
Ewing stirred beside his client.“Agent Esmer, if you have a specific question—”
“It’s all right, Marcus,” Malcolm said, speaking for the first time since they’d entered.His voice was softer than Riley had expected, with the careful enunciation of someone accustomed to academic discussions.“I’d like to hear what Agent Esmer has to say.”
“The bulletin board in your office—it’s not recent work, is it?Those photos, the way they’re arranged, the precision of the cuts...that’s years of accumulated resentment.That’s not about her death.It’s about something she did to you.”
Malcolm stared at her for a long moment.Then, to everyone’s surprise, he chuckled—a dry, humorless sound.“Very perceptive, Agent Esmer.Yes, Veronica Slate and I have history.Not the kind you’re implying, but history nonetheless.”
“Malcolm,” Ewing cautioned, “you don’t need to—”
“I’d like to explain, Marcus,” Malcolm said firmly.“I’m tired of being treated like a suspect.”He turned back to Ann Marie.“I was a film historian before I became a security guard.Did my doctoral work on Hollywood during the McCarthy era, specialized in the impact of the House Un-American Activities Committee hearings on the film industry.”
Ann Marie nodded encouragingly.“That’s quite a leap—from academic to security chief.”
“Not by choice,” Malcolm replied, a flash of bitterness crossing his features.“Ten years ago, I was researching a book on Roberta Rimes.A comprehensive biography that would have included previously undisclosed information about her testimony in 1955 before HUAC.”
Riley’s interest was piqued.“What kind of information?”
Malcolm adjusted his glasses, a habitual gesture that seemed to help him organize his thoughts.“Roberta Rimes cultivated an image as one of Hollywood’s golden girls—talented, beautiful, untouched by scandal.But like many stars of that era, she had secrets.During the McCarthy witch hunts, she was called to testify before HUAC.”
“That wasn’t unusual for actors at that time,” Hayes interjected from his position by the door.
“No, it wasn’t,” Malcolm agreed.“But unlike the public hearings that ruined so many careers, Roberta’s was conducted behind closed doors.And for decades, the contents of that testimony remained classified.The very fact that she testified at all was never made public.”
“Until you discovered it,” Ann Marie prompted gently.
A spark of professional pride briefly illuminating Malcolm’s features.“I found references to it in the personal papers of a HUAC committee member that had been donated to a university archive.Followed the thread, filed Freedom of Information Act requests, cross-referenced with other sources.It took years, but I eventually uncovered the truth.”
“Which was?”Riley asked.
“Roberta Rimes named names,” Malcolm said simply.“She testified against fellow actors, directors, writers—people she’d worked with, people who trusted her.She did it to save her own career.”
“And you wanted to include this in your biography,” Riley prompted.
“It was historically significant,” Malcolm insisted.“I approached Veronica about the biography, thinking she might appreciate an honest accounting of her mother’s life.”
“I’m guessing she didn’t,” Ann Marie said quietly.
Malcolm’s laugh was sharp and bitter.“That would be an understatement.She not only refused to cooperate—she threatened me.When I made it clear I intended to publish with or without her blessing, she hit me with a cease and desist order.Used her connections to pressure my publisher into dropping the project.And when that wasn’t enough, she started calling colleagues, department heads, journal editors.”
“She blacklisted you,” Riley said, the irony clearly not lost on her.
“Exactly,” Malcolm confirmed, his face flushed with remembered humiliation.“Just like her mother did to others.She systematically destroyed my academic reputation.Suggested I was fabricating evidence, that my research methods were questionable.Within a year, I couldn’t get published anywhere.My department ‘failed to renew’ my contract.My career was over.”
“That explains the bulletin board,” Anne Marie said.
Malcolm nodded, some of his anger seeming to deflate.“Not my proudest creation.But yes, after losing everything I’d worked for, I developed a...fixation on Veronica.The irony wasn’t lost on me—being essentially blacklisted for trying to expose how her mother had blacklisted others.”
Riley said, “Mr.Hartley, I understand your anger.But it doesn’t explain why you ran when we approached you at the café.”
Ewing reasserted himself.“My client has explained his history with Ms.Slate.That doesn’t obligate him to account for every action, especially when he hasn’t been charged with a crime.”
Ann Marie tried another approach.“Were you at the studio the night Veronica died?”
