Beyond a Doubt

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  “What if Diamond didn’t drive to the W, but flew?”

  “You mean by helicopter?”

  “Exactly. Think about it, Carol, the man’s a developer, he owns a helicopter service. My father used helicopters all the time to scout movie locations. He could be anywhere within minutes. Most of the old buildings in LA were built with helipads for emergencies. They’re all over the city. He could have taken off from Century City, from the pad on top of the Wells Fargo building, and landed on top of the W inside of fifteen minutes.”

  I knew Sheri was right. The station had recently run a story about LA’s new fire codes. The older buildings in LA had flat roofs and, with new improved emergency services, the city felt the old codes weren’t necessary anymore and was approving an exciting new skyline with peaked roofs and rooftop gardens.

  “You’re right, and once he’s inside the helicopter, he changes identities and assumes his Clark Gable disguise, then lands in Hollywood and nobody’s the wiser. He’s just another impersonator on the way to some gig. It’s brilliant. I like it: a real fake right, fake left play. I would have never thought of it.”

  I ran my finger across the side of the pie and licked the chocolate. Sweet as it was, it left an odd taste in my mouth, and not because of the chocolate, but because of something I was thinking. If Diamond knew I had seen him with Tony, I’d be the perfect alibi. I felt as though I was being drawn into some game of chess I hadn’t signed on for, and suddenly I’d been checkmated. Nobody would believe me if I said I suspected him of Freddie’s murder. I’d look ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly be in two places at once.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll mention this to Tyler in the morning.”

  I didn’t tell her Tyler had sent me home. I didn’t want to worry her. I wanted to leave work at work. After all, home was my safe place. Instead I said, “How about some pie?” Then taking the pie back out to the table, I asked Charlie if he’d tell me a little more about his game. But my mind was still thinking about Tony. Was he dead, or had Diamond faked his kidnapping to throw me off?

  The following morning I began my research with Tanya Day. Tanya’s rescue center was tucked up next to the Hollywood Freeway. It was a small campus, a scrappy piece of property Diamond owned in the middle of an industrial district off Van Owen in the valley. I had researched it, and found it had originally been developed as a short-term rehabilitation center for the elderly, and later converted to a non-profit home for girls. Outside the ten-foot high concrete walls was a sign that read simply, “Tanya’s Home.”

  “Tanya will be with you in a moment, Ms. Childs. Please have a seat.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder about the young girl who showed me into Tanya’s office. She was dressed conservatively, in a uniform, a blue skirt and white blouse, and was maybe sixteen years old. She wore her dark curly hair atop her head, away from her pretty face. Her slim, tapered fingers held the back of the thin wooden chair as I sat down.

  “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water?” She smiled. From beneath long lashes her blue eyes sparkled against her smooth, satin, cocoa-colored skin.

  “No. I’m fine, thank you. I’ll wait.”

  The small room was illuminated by the light coming in from a single window behind my head. It cast a grey bar shadow onto Tanya’s desk. Wrought-iron bars had been installed to keep the riff-raff out and the girls safe inside. On top of the desk, pens and pencils were all bound together, books neatly upright and organized by their size and in descending order. A large, potted plant sat on the corner of the desk, providing the sole color for the otherwise plain room. The leaves traveled down one long leg and nearly reached the floor. For all its austerity, Tanya’s small quarters provided a peaceful and quiet respite from the world outside the rescue center.

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” Tanya entered the room, her hands full of notebooks. She looked twenty pounds heavier and older than the photos I had seen of her online. I estimated her to be in her mid-forties. She was dressed in black, and looked more like a nun in a no-nonsense knee-length dress than a former porn star. She went directly to her desk, sat down, and smiled as though she were switching gears and used to doing it.

  “So, what can I do for you, Ms. Childs?”

  “I’m working on a story for KCHC—”

  “Yes, I know, about sex trafficking.” She sat back and folded her arms. From her body language I could see she didn’t think my report was going to make any difference.

  I didn’t want to tell her I agreed with her. That I knew one reporter filing one story on one radio station might not make any difference in a world I knew she knew more about than I possibly could.

  “Actually, I’m not here about that. I’m here because I want to talk to you about Dr. Diamond and the donation he made to your center.”

  I pulled a copy of the ad from my bag, placing it on the desk between us, and noticed the color in her face drain as she looked at it. Reaching into the desk drawer she took out a handful of hard candies.

  “If you think I’m going to comment on that ad, you’re crazy. One thing I don’t need to is to have Dr. Diamond upset with me. I’ve already got enough of that.”

  “Really?” I was surprised. I hadn’t imagined someone in receipt of so much money would react that way.

  “You don’t do what I do without a few critics.” She unwrapped one of the candies, popped it in her mouth and offered me one.

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Critics? I’d think people would be happy about the work you’re doing here.”

  “You forget, Ms. Childs, I was a porn star. I don’t have a problem with that, but a lot of people do. What I did was, and is, legal. In my opinion, if a girl’s of age, and wants to make a living shooting sex videos, that’s her business. What I have,” she accented the word heavily and paused, “is a problem with the pimps who kidnap young girls and have ’em working hot-sheet motels and truck stops. Most of ’em end up livin’ beneath some freeway overpass or crashing in some abandoned building, and the only thing more frightening for them than their next trick is facing their pimp empty-handed, or getting arrested and going to jail. Believe me, those pimps out there consider me an eyesore. They’d like to see me go away. And as for all those other good, well-intended people, who you seem to think should happy about what I do, I’m afraid they’re few and far between. I’m afraid I’m not very popular.”

  “Look. I’m not here to judge.” I raised my hands, palms forward, and shook my head. “My job is just report the facts, and—”

  “Yeah, well, the facts in this case won’t do me any favors.”

  “I guess I don’t understand.”

  “You’re assuming I knew Dr. Diamond. That maybe we had some kind of personal relationship? The fact is, I didn’t, and I don’t. Diamond contacted me five years ago. Like you, he was responding to something he saw in the paper. An article some hotshot reporter wrote about me rescuing girls, giving them a bed and a room in my home. Back then, I was trying to do exactly what I’m doing now, only on a much smaller scale. Then I get this call from Dr. Diamond. He says he’s got a rehabilitation center in the north valley and was about to close it. He wanted to offer it to me. He thought I could use it to rescue more girls. Beyond that I didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I wasn’t about to ask questions then, and I won’t now.”

  “Okay, but I still don’t get it. Why wouldn’t the fact that Dr. Diamond made a fifty thousand dollar contribution to the center be a good thing?”

  “Off the record?”

  I nodded my head, “Yeah, off the record.”

  “Because he didn’t. That’s why. He never donated fifty thousand dollars. It’s a scam. He puts a few thousand bucks in an account and promises he’ll add more later. But he never does. I’m sure it’s the same with all his charities. Everybody thinks he’s this big ri
ch guy, who’s got his picture in the paper all the time, giving money away. Believe me, nobody’s talking. Everybody wants to believe he’s going to come back and make another deposit. But I’m not about to say anything. I do and he’ll evict me. And then where would I go? Back to my apartment with two tiny beds and a leaky water closet? I don’t think so. I keep my mouth shut, and I imagine his other charities do as well.”

  I shook my head and reached for one of the candies. I had what I needed. Diamond was a fraud. I didn’t have to expose Tanya as my source; I could easily follow a paper trail of money transfers and expose him.

  “How about you give me a tour of the center, and I’ll see if I can’t find a way to tell our listeners what it is you’re doing here. Don’t see why I can’t include some word about the good work you’re doing rescuing kids off the street. Maybe a little profile story here and there. Talking about how you’re helping them get their high school diplomas, find jobs. You might have more supporters than you know.”

  CHAPTER 25

  I should have known I couldn’t keep a secret from Sheri. The fact that I managed to hide out at home, going about my business, quietly below the radar without making too many waves, exactly as Tyler liked, was bound to backfire. And it did. Friday afternoon, Sheri appeared at my doorstep. She had a bag of groceries in her arms and a look on her face reserved for naughty dogs and rebellious kids.

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Sheri had been in the car, on the way to Gelson’s, one of LA’s upscale supermarkets, when she heard Tyler on the air, doing my usual midday news report. In addition to the news, he deliberately let loose the fact he was filling in for me temporarily. I knew he was going to do that. Tyler knew he was going to do that, but Sheri didn’t, and when she heard I wasn’t at work, that I was taking some much-needed time off due to exhaustion, she made a beeline for my front door.

  “How do you think I feel, suddenly hearing my best friend is home sick or God forbid—knowing what I do about what you’re working on—even worse? I raced right over. What’s happening?”

  “Short story?”

  “Just tell me, Carol, and don’t spare me the details. I’m a big girl.” Sheri shifted her groceries from one hip to the other and walked past me and into the kitchen, her patience growing thin.

  “Okay. Tyler sent me home to investigate. On the QT.”

  I told her I hadn’t been exactly one hundred percent honest with her about Diamond. I didn’t want to worry her or discuss what I knew in front of the boys. But that once I had told Detective Browne I suspected Diamond might be involved with Monica’s murder and Tony’s disappearance, things between us deteriorated. He stopped returning my calls and LAPD closed ranks.

  “All of a sudden, I can’t get so much as a call back from anyone selling tickets to the policeman’s ball, much less any of the detectives investigating the missing girls.”

  “Are the police riding Tyler? Trying to stop to your reports?”

  “No. But what I found out about Diamond you won’t believe.”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay, brace yourself. Diamond’s not only involved in the selling and trafficking of young women.” I took a deep breath. “He’s been selling their organs, as well.”

  “You’re kidding! And I thought he was just your run-of-the-mill pimp with bad makeup.”

  “Ha! Ha! Very funny. No, I’m serious.”

  “Oh, my God, so you’re home because—”

  “He threatened me.”

  Sheri stepped back and hugged the brown paper bag full of groceries closer to her. Her mouth open, the look on her face like she was about to say something, but nothing came out.

  “And Gabi Garrison?” I said. “She is connected to this case, and in a big way. Turns out her boyfriend, Dr. Ericson, just happens to be on the UCLA transplant team. And the reason why? Dr. Diamond pulled some strings over at the university. Only thing is, Gabi and her boyfriend started to get suspicious about the donors and, guess what? Suddenly Gabi disappears and Miles shuts up. He’s afraid if he says anything, Diamond will kill his girlfriend.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Plus, I’m pretty sure I’ve found evidence to prove Diamond had it in for Judge Channing. He didn’t kill Monica because she wouldn’t cooperate, but because he was upset with a verdict Judge Channing handed down in a case that Diamond had before him the week earlier. So he shoved her out a helicopter.”

  Sheri dropped the bags on the counter.

  “And all those ads Diamond runs in the LA Times, showing him making some huge donation to charity? Fake.” I reached for the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

  “With what you just told me, I think I need something stronger. You have anything open?” Sheri put her groceries down and headed towards the bar where I had an open bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass.

  I followed, watched her take a large gulp and waited for her to hand me one. When she didn’t, I reached for my own. “Don’t mind if I do,” I said.

  “But why come home? Why not go to the pol—”

  “Because what I have isn’t hard evidence. It may have been good enough to scare Diamond into thinking I’m getting close. But that’s all it is, and Tyler thinks Freddie’s murder may be Diamond’s way of sending a message.”

  “To you?”

  “Me, or maybe the station. I think Diamond was afraid Freddie was starting to talk too much. He described the man meeting with Monica Channing the night she disappeared as an old actor-type with a thin mustache. It could have been any of a number of old actors: Errol Flynn, Douglass Fairbanks, William Powell. He didn’t use his name, but I suspect Diamond didn’t like what Freddie was saying. That he was getting too close to describing Clark Gable and he had to silence him.”

  “You think he might try to kill you?”

  “No, but after that little episode with Cate at Hemingway’s, I do think he believes he can scare me. Get me to stop my investigation and that in time, this will all blow over. And since there’s really no news to report and the police are sitting tight on the investigation, Tyler thinks it makes sense for us to pull back. So, right now, that’s exactly what Tyler wants him to think. That the station’s given up on the story and I’ve gone home to rest.”

  “And you knew this last night and didn’t say anything?” Sheri sounded agitated.

  “No, not everything.” I crossed my arms and tried to look reassuring. “I didn’t know Diamond’s donations to charity were all phony until this morning.”

  Sheri got up and walked into the kitchen, scoured around for a bag of potato chips from the cabinet, then came back to the bar.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Sheri said. “You see Diamond, or this Clark Gable lookalike who you think is Diamond, the night of the pub crawl and then again the night Tony Domingo disappears. But how does he know you saw him?”

  I took a sip of wine and tried to imagine why Diamond might think I suspected he was involved. I’d never mentioned any suspects in any of my reports. I’d only reported on the facts of the missing girls and how the police thought they were lured to Hollywood via the internet because they fit a certain profile.

  “Holly Wood had to have mentioned to him that I was there the night of the pub crawl. She was upset with me when she realized I had Cate with me and that she wasn’t twenty-one. She went back inside the cottage to get a pink scrunchie for her to wear because she was underage. Diamond must have been inside and come out after he thought we left. That’s why I saw him on the porch and when he saw me. As for Tony, he may have told Diamond he called me and that we were planning to meet at the City Grill the night he disappeared.” I paused and tried to connect the dots. “All I know for sure is that the other day, when Diamond was at the station doing an interview with our new business guy, he certainly seemed to know who I was. In fact, he made a point of coming into Tyler’s off
ice to introduce himself. Both Tyler and I got an uncomfortable feeling about him. That’s when I told Tyler I thought he might be threatening me.”

  “And then, Freddie dies and—”

  “And Tyler takes me off the air. Like I said, he wants me to continue the investigation, quietly, behind the scenes, while the station starts to pull back from the story until we have something more concrete to report. He’s convinced Diamond’s egocentric and that once he thinks we’ve given up, he’ll start to get careless.”

  Sheri downed the last of her wine. “So, what’s our first move?”

  I looked at Sheri. There was no way I was going this alone. I sighed and weighed my options. On the positive side, two would be better than one. Sheri might help to provide a diversion, and I could trust her. On the other side of the coin, there was the Mad Dr. Diamond and his body-parts business. I didn’t like to think about that, but I definitely liked the idea of Sheri’s company.

  “Alright, to start with, we need to find out exactly how Diamond’s operation runs. We know he uses the internet to attract young women. But where is it he’s keeping these girls, and how does he get around town? Could be he uses a helicopter. Flies the girls from wherever he’s hiding them to various hotels or even out of state. We know there’re a handful of high-rise hotels that have heliports and that W is one of them. Plus, he met Freddie there. So I’m thinking, Diamond has an apartment inside the W’s residential towers and keeps the girls hidden somewhere close by. Maybe there or inside one of the other hotels or...” I paused. The idea was chilling. “Or possibly beneath them. In a type of underground prison no one knows about.”

  A while back I’d done a series of reports on old Los Angeles. Back in the time of Prohibition many of the old hotels had speakeasies, private clubs for a discrete clientele, hidden in their basements. A password was necessary to obtain entrance, and once inside, the world was wine, whiskey and wild women. And because much of what went on inside was illegal, many had escape passages that led to a tunnel beneath the street, allowing those visiting to come and go without being detected.