I nearly rear-ended the car in front of me. Doctor Diamond?
“Actually, commercial real estate is my primary concern. Our mission with Diamond Developments is to reenergize old Hollywood.”
“And you believe all this redevelopment…the gentrification of the old Broadway building, the Roosevelt Hotel and several of the others in Hollywood, turning them into lofts and business offices, will actually change the way we live in Los Angeles?”
“Absolutely. With the success of the subway, we’re seeing a healthy resurgence in old Hollywood. Our goal is to encourage economic development and to promote and retain the entertainment industry. We hope to revitalize the area, bring back the historic significance, and provide new housing, not just for the well-to-do, but for all income groups. We want to meet the social needs of the area and make this a vibrant part of our city, like it once was. ”
“That’s a pretty big ticket, Doctor. You are aware, of course, the City Council refers to you as Dr. Mad, the Mad Mogul of Development?”
He laughed. “Yes, I’ve heard that. Actually, the initials of my name, Malcolm Andrew Diamond, spell out MAD, an acronym that’s followed me my entire life. Perhaps that’s why I pursued my doctorate, to validate myself. However, I’m not crazy. I consider myself a visionary.”
“So you’re not a medical doctor?”
“Absolutely not. My doctorate is in business. Diamond Development is an umbrella company for a number of different business ventures, everything from finance and commercial real estate to helicopters.”
“That’s right. You own Emergi-flight, the ambulance service in the air.”
“As well as a transport service. I believe helicopters are the future for cities like Los Angeles. Emergency or otherwise. Just imagine a city where traffic was not a problem.”
He had me. I couldn’t switch the dial.
CHAPTER 19
I knew who the Mad Doctor Diamond was, I just hadn’t realized he was also a member of the police commission. Diamond was a big man, a regular on the local Sunday morning television talk shows and a popular figure in Los Angeles. His picture would frequently pop up in the society sections of the Beverly Hills Courier, and it was rumored he owned a number of buildings up and down the Wilshire Corridor and Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards. If LA were a Monopoly board game, he owned the equivalent of Boardwalk, Park Place and Madison Avenue. Diamond wasn’t just a developer; he was literally a pillar of LA’s new skyline.
I arrived at the station to find Diamond’s sinister black Rolls Royce with its personalized plates and sleek body parked directly in front of the patio entrance to the radio station, the engine running. Whoever was inside had avoided parking in the VIP visitors’ section, and I had to walk around his car to get to the front doors. I strained to see if I could identify the driver behind the blackened windows, but it was impossible to see inside.
Eddie, one of KCHC’s security guards, was standing behind the reception desk when I came in. I asked him if he was aware that a black Rolls Royce was parked on the sidewalk, blocking the entrance to the station.
“That’s got to be against fire regulations,” I said. “I had to walk around it just it to get through to the front door.”
“Sorry, Carol, that’s Dr. Diamond’s car. He asked his chauffeur to keep the engine running. Promised me he wouldn’t be long.”
“Really,” I said. “The man’s on the air. Just how long does he think he’ll be?”
Without waiting for a response, I went directly down the hall and stood in front of the large studio window. I crossed my arms and watched as Aaron continued to interview Dr. Diamond. I wanted to see him, up close, to compare his features to those Freddie had described as the regular, the Clark Gable lookalike that frequented the club, and the man I was convinced I’d seen with Tony just last night.
I was growing more and more certain the two were the same. I stared at him, mentally checking off the similarities: nice hair, square shoulders, same smile. The only difference I could see was that Diamond was wearing glasses, an expensive pair of thin, grey designer frames that flattered his square face. That, and his hair was different. He wore it slicked back, smooth and in place, with a lot of product that gave it a wet look, and there was no mustache. But still, he could be the same man, the Gable imposter I’d seen in front of Holly’s cottage. I hadn’t seen his face with Tony, but I did see the car. He had to be one and the same. This couldn’t be a coincidence. He glanced up at me, adjusted his headphones, and then as though he recognized who I was, smiled broadly. My stomach knotted as I stared back at his big teeth. I felt a cold clammy chill run down my spine. I glanced at my watch. If I wanted to talk to Tyler before I went on the air, I had to hurry.
I found Tyler in his office, staring at a computer screen. He looked like he was involved in a game of mental chess. I didn’t wait to be asked to sit down. I just sat.
“You know who that is, on the air with that new biz-whiz kid you hired, Aaron Whitehall?”
“That,” Tyler said, “is Dr. Malcolm Diamond.” Tyler’s eyes didn’t leave his computer. In front of him was a split screen with a digital read out of everything that was being said on the air. He read off Diamond’s long list of accolades. “He’s a member of the police commission, developer, entrepreneur, a.k.a. the Mad Mogul of Hollywood. I could go on, but why?”
“Because he’s—”
I was about to say the man I’d seen hustling my former client into his car last night and the same man I suspected I’d seen in front of the Holly Wood Tour’s cottage dressed like Clark Gable the night of the pub crawl. But I didn’t get a chance. Behind me someone was calling my name.
“Carol Childs?”
I turned around to see Dr. Diamond in the doorway, his large frame completely filling the entrance.
“I thought that might be you. I asked Aaron when you passed by the studio window. I wanted to get a chance to introduce myself and say thank you.”
He stepped into the room, his sheer presence nearly dwarfing Tyler’s small frame as he approached the desk. Diamond was easily six-five, probably close to two-hundred and forty pounds, well dressed and with a quick smile, a political animal.
Tyler and I stood.
Diamond extended his large, fleshy, man-sized hand in my direction, expecting me to take it. I glanced nervously at Tyler then back to Dr. Diamond and gripped his hand firmly, hoping to hide my anxiety.
“Name’s Dr. Malcolm Diamond.” His eyes, like his hand, locked on mine. “I don’t want to take a lot of your time. I know how busy you are. Just wanted you to know that as a businessman, I appreciate what you doing with your reports, Miss Childs.”
He glanced over at Tyler, as though he wanted to confirm with my boss his appreciation. “Particularly that last report about Monica Channing and the pub crawls. Keeping this city safe is important for business.”
Then he looked back at me, “But I do hope, Miss Childs, that you’re being careful out there. A young female reporter like yourself, you never know. Things happen, girls—particularly young college girls—they disappear.” He squeezed my hand incredibly hard. “But then, you already know that, right?”
An icy chill, like an electric shock, went from my hand to my heart. Was he talking about my daughter?
He dropped my hand, nodded to Tyler, then turned and walked out the door.
“Was that a threat?” I looked at Tyler. He sat down and leaned back in the chair.
“Tell me what you know.”
CHAPTER 20
Tyler agreed, after I shared with him my suspicions concerning Dr. Diamond, that getting LAPD to look seriously at one of their police commissioners wasn’t going to be easy. I had no proof. What I had was Detective Browne shooting holes in my theory. He didn’t believe there could be any possible connection between my sightings of Dr. Diamond and the Clark Gable lookalike I’d seen outside
of Holly’s cottage the night of the pub crawl. Or that I’d witnessed anything other than the act of a Good Samaritan helping a friend home after I’d spotted him outside of the City Grill in Century City with my missing client. My accusations—both of them—despite my help with Bessie Bixby, appeared to have caused my relationship with LAPD and Detective Browne to cool drastically.
“But what really worries me is,” I said, “based on what Diamond just said about girls disappearing—particularly college girls—is that he knows about my daughter. That she disappeared the night of the pub crawl.”
“Cate disappeared?” Tyler sounded alarmed.
“I probably should have said something. But you were busy and I—”
I paused. Why hadn’t I said anything? Did I think my silence might protect my daughter? Keep her from being exposed to the dangers of a news story she already knew too much about? All I knew was that I wanted her safe. I wanted her away from Hollywood, back at school, where she wouldn’t be a target. Where no one might try and come back and kidnap her. And I wanted my professional life safe separate from my personal life.
“What happened, Carol?”
“Someone drugged Cate at the bar, when we were at Hemingway’s. Nothing happened. Not really, but it made me realize just how easily she could have disappeared. I made a scene and evidently Diamond found out about it. I don’t know how. He wasn’t there. It didn’t make the news, and I sure as hell wasn’t talking about it.”
Tyler got up and closed the door. Something I’d never seen him do. Tyler has a strict open door policy. I watched as he came back around to his desk without saying a word, and sat down.
“You know, of course, Detective Browne’s close to retirement. He’s probably got twenty years in, and he’s not going to help you shine a light on a member of the police commission and do anything that might unsettle his pension.”
I hadn’t considered that, but Tyler was right. Detective Browne struck me as a good cop, a team player. Not someone likely to go looking to dig up dirt on a fellow member of the boys in blue, much less a member of the police commission.
“Meanwhile, the clock’s ticking on these girls, and if you really think Diamond’s your guy, you may have to find other sources for your information.”
“Any ideas?” I said.
“Yeah, you might want to start here. Did you see this?” He handed me a copy of this morning’s paper, the front section, folded and opened to an inside page. He pointed to a three quarter page color ad.
The advertisement was an announcement, a congratulatory ad for a fifty-thousand dollar contribution made by Dr. Malcolm Diamond to Tanya’s Rescue Center in Hollywood. A picture of Diamond smiling with his arm about the founder of the center, Tanya Day, stared back at me.
“You know who she is, don’t you?”
I looked at the photo and shook my head. “I’ve no idea.”
“Her name was Sugar Lips. She’s a former porn star.”
I studied her picture again. She could have been anyone: schoolteacher, nurse, office worker. With her hair pulled back and very little makeup she hardly looked like she’d worked in the skin trade.
“The man’s Teflon, Carol. He’s got ads, like this one, in the paper nearly every day. Some of them for bullied youth. Veterans. The disabled. He gives hundreds of thousands of dollars to charity. And today, there’s this one. Interesting, don’t you think?” Tyler nodded to me.
“You think this is real? The money, I mean? A color ad like this in the LA Times, it doesn’t come cheap, and then the donation on top of that. Just how much money does this guy give away?”
“Probably as much as he needs to make it look like he’s being philanthropic...or maybe he’s not really giving it away at all. Might be worth checking out.”
I started to get up from my chair.
“Wait. Before you go, there’s one other thing. Corporate’s demanding we make another change in programming.”
“Who is it this time?” I sat back down, expecting to hear they were cutting the news department.
“I wouldn’t bother you with this, but it may be connected to your investigation, and you are a friend.”
“Who?”
“Mr. King. KCHC’s go-to legal guru. I was on the phone with him before you came in. Corporate doesn’t think his legal show fits KCHC’s new lighter chick-news format. I expected him to go all ballistic on me when I told him I was going to have to cancel his show, but he surprised me. Says he’s been swamped with a case in federal court. And guess who his client is?”
I raised my hands, surrender style.
“None other than our good friend, Dr. Diamond.”
“Diamond hired King for a case?”
Tyler nodded.
“Not only that, the judge on the case was Judge Channing. And…” Tyler pointed a finger at me. “Wait for it...he ruled against him. According to King, Diamond was furious with the ruling. Cost him a bundle. Swore he’d find a way to get even.”
“What was the date of the ruling?” My eyes went to a large calendar Tyler kept on the wall with important dates and events.
“Tuesday, three days before Monica Channing’s body was found up on Mulholland.”
This time I did get up from my chair. I was due on the air in five minutes.
“You can’t use that, Carol. It’s pure speculation. But it might come in handy.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t plan to. Not for the newscast anyway.”
I hurried out of Tyler’s office, grabbed a stack of wire copy out of a basket marked chick-lite news, and headed down the hall for my report.
“Sorry, ladies, looks like George Clooney is about to be officially off the market…A great white shark has been caught off the Santa Monica Pier…and a La Canada Flintridge woman called police this morning to report two bear cubs were in her backyard. In other news, this is day six in the disappearance of Gabi Garrison, and police report there is no news concerning the whereabouts of Leticia Johnson or Brandy White.”
Then, on a lark, I added, “However, undisclosed sources close to the investigation for Hollywood’s Missing Girls announced today they plan to soon reveal the name of the kidnapper responsible for the abductions of Jessie Martin, Marilyn Ann Billings, April Hansen and a suspected number of other missing girls. This is Carol Childs, standing watch for KCHC and Hollywood’s Missing Girls...”
I got up and left the broadcast booth immediately after my report, satisfied I’d sent a message to Diamond as much as he had sent one to me in Tyler’s office. Two can play at this game, Doctor. You can hide behind LAPD for only so long. But I know who you are, and I’m coming after you. For the first time I wasn’t worried Tyler would come looking for me—like he had so often when I’d gone off script—because I knew he wouldn’t. I knew he’d be in his office, smiling.
CHAPTER 21
I walked out of the station with the newspaper in my hand and a growing list of people I believed each knew something about Dr. Diamond. If I couldn’t lean on Detective Browne anymore, like Tyler said, I was going to have to come up with a few sources of my own. Off the top of my head I was certain Monica’s best friend, Bethany, and Gabi’s boyfriend, Dr. Ericson, each knew something about Diamond, and I was certain Holly Wood and now, Tanya Day, whose ad I’d just seen in the paper, probably knew another side altogether. Something that LAPD didn’t. If I could combine those facts, based upon my strong suspicion, I just might be able to get a clear picture of who the mad Dr. Diamond really was and exactly how he was involved with Hollywood’s Missing Girls.
I decided to start with Tanya.
I called Tanya’s Rescue Center and asked to speak with their director, Tanya Day. She was busy, and I left a message with an assistant. I told her I was a reporter and wanted to talk with her about the center. I didn’t mention anything about Dr. Diamond, only that I thought her program tha
t helped young girls get off the street would make an interesting story.
I then hung up and headed over to the UCLA Medical Center. I didn’t try to call Dr. Miles Ericson. I didn’t want to give him a heads-up I was on my way. If Freddie Bleeker was right and he’d spotted Gabi and Miles inside his club and they’d been talking with someone, then Miles had lied to me. I needed to know why. I figured, based upon the time—it was almost noon—I had a better than fifty-fifty chance of catching him at the hospital, and that I’d probably find him near the Grab-and-Go where we’d met before.
He was standing at one of the vending machines when I came through the door. His back was to me.
“You didn’t tell me you and Gabi met with somebody when the two of you went clubbing.”
He turned around. The color of his face was white as his lab coat. He sighed heavily. “How did you find out?”
I nodded to the same small café table where we’d sat before. “We need to talk.”
“Like I told you last time, I don’t know anything. And I didn’t kill Gabi, so why are you bothering me?” He sounded angry.
“I don’t believe you.” I sat down at the table and waited for him take a seat.
“Yeah, well, evidently the police don’t either. They keep asking about her, like they think I’ve got her body hidden somewhere.”
I leaned across the table and put my hand on top of his wrist. “Do you?”
“You know I didn’t kill Gabi.”
“Look, as I see it, the police have two separate issues here. Your girlfriend Gabi’s vanished, and then there’s Monica Channing, her murder, and a possible connection to a human trafficking ring. They don’t think you’re part of that. At least publically they haven’t linked Gabi to Monica. But I do think they suspect you’re trying to cover up Gabi’s disappearance—that maybe you killed her—and that you’re trying to make it look she was kidnapped by this sex trafficking ring and hoping you can get away it.”
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