by Tripp Ellis
Roulette wheels spun, slot machines chimed, and dealers shuffled cards. It didn't have the cheap, overstimulated feel of a Vegas casino. There were no tacky lights, no flashing neon. Instead, magnificent chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Gold accents and crown moulding lined the opulent palace.
The entry fee was €10—a paltry sum compared to the dollar amount the high-rollers dropped. The whole city was the playground of the rich and famous, and nothing symbolized that more than the casino.
The wheels turn behind JD’s eyes. I knew exactly what he was thinking. I had to admit, I couldn’t wait to get a seat at a poker table and try my hand.
20
We met with the studio exec at the bar. Susan was considerably younger than I expected. Early 30s, brunette, brown eyes. We had a few drinks and talked for half an hour about everything but movies. The pitch about the story never came up, though JD did mention that he got shot the night before and eagerly showed off his stitches.
“Just so you know,” Joel said, finally getting around to business. “Susan has the power to green-light any picture up to $125 million. Over that, it needs committee approval.”
“Everything needs committee approval,” Susan said. “We do most things by focus groups. But, when I see something I like, my input counts very heavily.”
She made no bones about the power she wielded. Like many top-level executives, she had launched dozens of careers, and ended scores of others. The biggest stars on the planet would grovel at her feet.
I was nice to her, but I certainly didn’t kiss her ass.
“How did you get into the business?” I asked.
“I grew up in Florida, went to NYU film school, then got a job in the mailroom of IAA. That’s where I met Joel.” Then she said aside, “Honestly, I was a failed actor, and I decided quickly that the life of an agent wasn’t for me. I got an internship with a major studio. My boss liked me, hired me full-time. I followed him to a new studio, and when he got fired, I took over.”
“Something tells me you don’t have a lot of job security,” I said.
She chuckled. “We’re all one flop away from the unemployment line. Saying no to a project means that you keep your job. Saying yes means your neck is on the line.”
“I don’t suppose you say yes very often.”
A flirtatious glint sparkled in her eyes. “In regard to film projects, no. But I’m not immune to persuasive argument.”
There was a pause as she sipped her wine.
“So, Joel thinks you have a potential story.”
“Honestly, this meeting was Joel’s idea. I couldn't care less if we do business or not. I’m just trying to find out who killed Bree.”
Joel cringed.
“Were you two close?” she asked.
“We had an interesting 24 hours.”
“I really liked her,” Susan said. “She was one of the few actresses that I could have a real conversation with. She never seemed to have any agenda. She knew she was a star and didn’t have to prove it to anybody.”
I raised a toast. “To Bree.”
We all clinked glasses.
“To Bree,” they answered.
“So, are you staying for the Grand Prix?” Susan asked. It seemed to be the default question everyone asked when they couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you follow racing at all?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a big Formula X™ fan,” Susan said.
“I enjoy it,” I said.
“I’ve got a season pass and I watch it on my iPad. But it has gotten a little predictable. Is there any doubt that Mercedes, Ferrari, or Red Bull will be on the podium this year?”
I laughed. “They need to do what MotoXP™ did—offer concessions to teams without podiums. The race results in MotoXP are much more unpredictable. Keeps a level playing field.”
She agreed.
We chatted for a few minutes, then the meeting came to an end. Susan thanked us for our time, and Joel gave me a subtle nod that we would talk later. He stayed at the bar with her while JD and I headed toward the poker tables.
We got some game chips from the cashier and sat down at a game of Texas Hold 'em Ultimate. All the games here were played against the dealer. Things started off well, but quickly went south. And within half an hour, I had burned through all of our chips.
JD was astonished, and so was I. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
I shrugged. "Off day."
"You never lose."
"Yeah, well, shit happens."
We headed back to the bar with dejected looks on our faces. Another round of whiskey would take the edge off. Along the way, my eye caught a glimmering object on the floor. I knelt down and picked up a gold lighter that was studded with diamonds.
I recognized it instantly.
It had the initials K.T. on it.
I grinned and slipped it into my back pocket. Maybe I’d bump into Katya and return it. If not, I figured I’d turn it in at the bar, but I got sidetracked when I bumped into Joel.
“Susan loved you both. But she doesn’t want to do a biopic of Bree. Nor does she want to turn it into a true crime documentary series.”
“Oh, well,” I said, feeling relieved. “You win some, you lose some. It’s probably for the best.”
Joel had a mischievous grin. “I didn’t say she wasn’t interested in working with you. She wants to develop a series. Former spy and his trusty sidekick solve crimes around coastal locations. There will be mystery, action, sex, intrigue, and comedy. She wants you both to be her guest to the Grand Prix.”
JD grinned. “Looks like we’re staying in Monaco for another few days.”
“If we live that long,” I said.
A text from Carolyn buzzed my phone. [Meet me at TBD. We need to talk].
[About what?]
[Not over text].
21
We met Carolyn at a coffee shop not far from our hotel. She wasn't alone. The woman she was with wore a wide-brimmed hat, oversized sunglasses, and her hair was styled in a sleek blonde bob that hung just above her shoulders. At a close glance, I realized it was a wig.
This woman didn't want to be recognized.
They were seated in a booth toward the back of the shop. The blonde looked around, nervously. Then it hit me—this was Liam’s wife, Elena.
Light jazz filtered through overhead speakers, and the smell of fresh coffee was divine. The subtle murmur of conversation filled the air.
JD ordered a cup of coffee and grabbed one for me as well. I sat across the table from the two women, trying to figure out what this was all about.
"What's with the disguise?" I asked.
"If anyone sees me talking to you…" She didn't want to finish the thought.
“Go on, tell him," Carolyn urged.
"Liam wasn't with me at the time of Bree's murder like I said."
"Where was he?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"But you two were at the party together?”
"I left early. I had a headache. He didn't get in until 4:30 or 5 AM."
I exchanged a glance with JD. Then I looked back to Elena. "Do you think he killed her?"
She didn't say anything.
"Why are you telling us this?"
In a cold and dispassionate voice, she said, ”I caught the bastard cheating on me. I’m tired of covering for him.”
"What motive would Liam have for killing Bree?"
There was another long silence.
She glanced around again, her nervous eyes darted from table to table, then scanned the street through the window.
The other patrons in the coffee shop went about their business chatting, snacking on desserts, clacking away on laptops. Nobody was interested in our conversation. At least, it didn't appear that way.
"Bree wasn't bankrupt,” she said in a hushed tone.
She let that hang in the air for a long moment, drifting l
ike a wisp of smoke.
"Liam had been embezzling funds from her for years. It started small, then he grew more brazen. Bad investments. Fake art."
A bell of recognition chimed in my brain.
"You saw the news about Vincent’s death."
She nodded.
"Are you willing to testify?" I asked.
Her face twisted with fear. "Oh, no! Absolutely not.”
I frowned. "Why not?"
"You have no idea the kind of people Liam is involved with."
"Who is he involved with?"
She glanced around again. Then the large sunglasses aimed back at me. "You need to be careful. I wasn't here. We never talked. And I will deny we had this conversation. I've already said too much."
She excused herself, then slipped out of the booth and quickly exited the coffee shop.
"Well, that was sort of, helpful," JD said, dryly.
"How did you find her?" I asked Carolyn.
“I’m persuasive and tenacious." Carolyn smiled. "I saw her at a club and approached her. I asked her to get in touch with me if she knew anything about Bree’s death. I didn't expect to hear from her, then a day later, she called, and here we are."
"Nice work," I said.
"You'll also be pleased to know that I canvased the entire marina. I asked every yacht owner in the harbor if they saw anything. I kept detailed notes." She motioned to a spiral-bound notebook on the table.
"And?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Nobody saw anything. At least, nobody was willing to say they saw anything. But I’m not convinced. I met a woman who was hesitant and evasive. She seemed scared. I think she may be holding something back. I'll reach out to her again."
I took a sip of my coffee.
“Elena seemed pretty paranoid,” I muttered.
"Wouldn’t you be if your husband was a murderer?" Carolyn said.
“Just because he doesn’t have an alibi doesn’t make him a murderer,” I said.
JD flashed me a sour look.
“Just playing devil’s advocate,” I said. “I don’t think she was afraid of Liam. She was afraid of his associates. Who do you think they are?"
"From what I can tell, Liam has a lot of clients. And not all of them are aboveboard. I did some digging. One of his clients is a guy they call Nails. You might be able to find out more about him than I can. Word on the street is he is one of the largest traffickers in Europe."
“Drugs?” JD asked.
“Drugs and girls.”
“Isn’t he a film financier?” I asked.
Carolyn nodded. “He funds non-studio pictures in the $20-30 million range. Made mostly for foreign distribution. But the movies are just a way to move money around and launder money. His real business is the drugs and the girls. He brings aspiring actresses over from eastern bloc countries and passes them around to producers. The girls get bit parts in studio movies and get an H-1 visa in the United States. But they have to keep performing extracurricular activities, if you know what I mean, if they want to stay in the country. Otherwise their visa get’s revoked."
I thought about things for a moment. "You need to be careful." You’ve been running around asking a lot of questions. Somebody already made an attempt on our lives. I think maybe it's time you head back to the States."
Her face tensed. "No. I'm not leaving until we get to the bottom of this."
“I don’t think any of us are safe right now,” I said.
"I can handle myself," Carolyn said with confidence. "Nothing you say is going to make me stop."
Carolyn wasn't afraid, and I realized I couldn't talk her out of anything.
“Do you think Liam killed Vincent?” Carolyn asked.
"I think Liam could have been working with Vincent. Bree bought the fake painting, and maybe Vincent split the profits with Liam? Who knows?”
”He sure seemed upset about the painting being fake. Maybe Liam got scared we might connect him with Vincent,” JD said. “Maybe he was afraid Vincent would start talking?”
“Or maybe someone else found out Vincent was selling fakes,” I suggested.
“I say we grab Liam and beat a confession out of him,” JD said.
The idea was tempting. "This is all just conjecture. We need something concrete."
“Good idea. We’ll put that bastard in cement shoes and drop him to the bottom of the ocean and see if he starts talking. If he drowns, I guess that means he’s guilty.” JD smiled.
“We need to get hard evidence, then present it to Inspector Géroux.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” JD asked.
My phone buzzed, interrupting the conversation.
It was Aria.
I figured I should answer. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“I’m shocked,” she said. “You actually answered.”
“Sorry. It’s been kind of crazy.”
“I just wanted to call and see how you were doing?”
I excused myself and slid out of the booth. I stepped out of the coffee shop onto the sidewalk. “I’m okay. JD got shot. But he’s fine.”
Aria gasped. “What’s going on?”
I filled her in on all the details.
“So, did you have a thing with Bree? It’s all over the news.” Aria said with a slight hint of jealousy in her voice. “I mean, I understand if you did.”
I felt like I was walking into an ambush. “I thought we had an open thing going on?”
22
“We do,” Aria said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to get a little jealous when you bang a hot movie star.”
“Well, you don’t have anything to be jealous about now,” I said, dryly.
She huffed, not amused by my morbid sense of humor. “How long are you staying in Monaco?”
“Until I get this thing settled.”
“I finished my modeling job in New York. Maybe I could hop on a plane. I feel really bad that I ditched you.” She paused, changing direction. “You did use protection when you fucked her, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Good. ‘Cause I heard she got around,” she muttered.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
I don't know if Bree got around or not. I tended to take the gossip with a grain of salt. “I don’t think you should come here.”
“Oh,” she said, dejected.
“Not until I get this sorted. It’s too dangerous.”
“Oh,” she replied in a perkier tone.
“Listen, now is kind of a bad time. I’ll call you soon.”
“I guess I’ll be around,” she said in a sad, hesitant voice. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
I hung up the phone and went back inside.
I didn’t know what the hell was going on with our relationship, if you could call it that. It was sort of like a friends with benefits thing, but at the current time there weren’t any benefits. And I didn't feel like thinking about it at the moment.
I slipped back into the booth beside JD.
“I’m going to go back to the marina,“ Carolyn said. “See what else I can dig up.”
"We'll go with you," I said.
"That's not necessary."
"Yes, it is," I insisted.
Carolyn made a pouty face at me.
We left the coffee shop and strolled down to the Marina.
JD groaned occasionally, but he insisted that we keep walking instead of catching a cab. He said the exercise would be good for him. "Keeps the blood flowing. Promotes healing."
It was odd to hear something even remotely health-conscious come out of his mouth.
We followed Carolyn to a boat two slips down from the Silver Screams.
"Excuse me, is anyone on board?” Carolyn shouted.
A crew person emerged from the salon a few moments later.
The boat was a 90 footer. Modest in comparison to some of the other mega-yacht's, but it still looked like a floating palace.
Carolyn checked her spiral notebook. "I'm looking for Bianca Reshetkova. Is she aboard?"
"I'll check," the deckhand said.
He disappeared into the salon, and Bianca emerged a few moments later.
She had satiny brown hair and olive skin. She wore a black bikini with gold hoops connecting the fabric at the hips. There was lots of bling on her fingers.
Her face tensed, and she let out an exasperated sigh when she saw Carolyn. "I told you everything I know. I've got nothing more to say."
“I’d just like to ask a few more questions."
Bianca’s brown eyes flicked to me and JD. A wave of recognition washed over her face. She must have recognized me from the news.
"Please, leave now! I didn't see anything. It's terrible what happened, but I can't be of assistance to you."
She glanced down the dock, to see if anyone had followed us.
"Bree Taylor was murdered,” I said. “We know who did it. We just need some evidence.” I pulled out my phone and searched the Internet for a picture of Liam. I found an image of him and his wife at a movie premiere. "Would you mind taking a look at this man and telling me if he looks familiar?"
The muscles in her jaw flexed. She took a deep breath and hesitantly made her way across the gangway.
I stood on the dock, holding out my phone so she could see the display.
She took a brief glance, and in the micro-second before she answered, I saw a hint of recognition in her eyes. "No. I'm sorry. I've never seen that man before in my life."
I smiled. "Thank you for your time. Sorry to bother you. Let me give you my number, in case you think of any details that might be helpful."
"I don't need your number. There are no other details to remember. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, then spun around and hurried back into the salon.
"She's hiding something," JD said.
"That's exactly what I thought," Carolyn added.
“The slip next to Bree's boat was empty the night of her death. Bianca would have had an excellent view of the starboard side," I said.
We left the marina and headed back to the hotel. In the room, JD got a call from Madison, and the news wasn't good.
"What do you mean, she's gone?" JD’s face filled with concern.