Cruel Vintage

by Huston Michaels

  “I’m Aubrey. How can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for anything you might still have on a young lady named Nicole Ingram. I understand she used to work here.”

  “I remember Nicole!” Aubrey exclaimed. “I really liked her, and her Texas accent was SO cute.”

  “You were friends?” Kaye asked.

  “At work, for sure,” Aubrey said. “We got along great. But we didn’t move in the same social circles, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Did you know any of her friends?”

  “Not really, I’m afraid,” Aubrey replied. “I mean, I met a few people she knew, but… Wait, why are you looking for Nicole?”

  “I’m not looking for Nicole,” Kaye said. “I’m looking for whoever killed her.”

  “Killed…Oh, my Lord,” Aubrey croaked, going deathly pale. “I wondered what happened to her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she was very good at her job,” Aubrey said, “and really liked it. At least, I thought she did. I mean, I know she wanted to be a screenwriter, but one day she just didn’t show up for work. We never saw her again.”

  “Did you try to find her?”

  “Me? Why would I try…?”

  “Not you personally,” Kaye said. “Did anyone here try to locate her and find out why she didn’t show up? Try to call? Stop by her apartment?”

  “Oh,” Aubrey said. “I know my boss tried her emergency contacts, but we didn’t really try to search for her, if that’s what you mean. I know it’s hard to believe, but people in West Hollywood tend to be, um, flaky sometimes, if you know what I mean. We all just thought something happened and she decided to go home to, uh, I think it was Armadillo. In Texas?”

  “Amarillo.”

  Aubrey laughed. “Like there’s a difference?”

  “Can I take a look at her personnel file?”

  “My boss isn’t in yet,” Aubrey said, then hesitated and added, “Oh, sure, I don’t see why not. I mean, who’s going to complain, right? Wait one sec.”

  Aubrey disappeared into a side office and returned carrying a gray file folder.

  “Here you are,” he said, handing it to Kaye. “Gray means we wouldn’t rehire her. Unreliable.”

  Kaye gave him a look and Aubrey blushed.

  “Oh…yeah, right,” he stuttered. “She’s, uh, dead.”

  The file was pretty thin, but he still took out his notebook.

  Nicole Ingram had worked at the Blue Whale for less than a year. She’d been hired on as a marketing assistant-slash-event coordinator at a thoroughly inadequate wage for living in West Hollywood, which to Kaye explained Rachel Turner.

  Nicole had done well on her 90-day evaluation, with her boss specifically calling out her writing skills. They gave her a half-decent raise and she had two letters of commendation for doing an outstanding job under difficult circumstances.

  Kaye wrote down the names of Nicole’s boss and the signatories of the letters of commendation, just in case.

  There was also a paper-clipped bundle of computer printouts showing biweekly payroll records.

  The last item in the file was Nicole’s handwritten job application. It showed the same address that was on the Santa Barbara County missing person’s report.

  In the space for local references, Nicole had written ‘I just moved here and don’t have local references’.

  At least she was honest, Kaye thought.

  Rachel Turner was listed as Nicole’s emergency contact and had the same address. Kaye made note of the contact phone number. Nicole’s parents weren’t listed, which made him wonder.

  “This is all you’ve got?” Kaye asked, handing the file back to Aubrey.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Did you know Rachel Turner? Nicole’s roommate?”

  “I think I met her a couple times,” Aubrey said. “She was nice, but not as nice as Nicole.”

  “Does the name Storm Chase mean anything to you?” Kaye asked. “Or Dennis Bettencourt?”

  Aubrey instantly blushed a deep crimson.

  “What?” Kaye asked.

  “You seriously don’t know who Storm Chase is?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” Kaye said, deciding to hear Aubrey’s version.

  “Storm Chase,” Aubrey said, “is…let’s see, how do I put this delicately to an obviously straight officer of the law? Okay. He’s the biggest, uh, thing,” Aubrey stopped, made air quotes and winked, “to hit gay porn in years.”

  Kaye stayed quiet and waited.

  “But that’s not all,” Aubrey continued. “He’s way past just doing it for the money. He has his own YouTube channel and does podcasts, too. He has over two million subscribers. The dude is going to be richer than God by the time he’s thirty-five.”

  “He does porn on YouTube?”

  “Of course not,” Aubrey said, rolling his eyes. “He does, like, this gossip show about Hollywood and the West Valley – that’s where most porn is made, you know – and he’s famous for outing current Hollywood actors that used to do porn.”

  “Really?” Kaye said. “That must make him some friends.”

  “Hey, you’d be surprised,” Aubrey said.

  “I probably would be.”

  “So, anyway, Storm made his rep in the porn biz, but he’s really smart and really funny in a calm kind of way, and he’s branched out. Started his own production company and wants to go legit. I mean, not that porn isn’t legit, but… You know what I mean.”

  “Have any idea why Nicole’s parents would know his name?” Kaye asked.

  “Sure do,” Aubrey said, smiling. “He is, or at least he was, Nicole’s roommate’s boyfriend. I’ve even met him.”

  “I thought you said he did gay porn.”

  “Hello!” Aubrey said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Detective, it’s a tough world out there. A lot of people do things they’d never do for free if the paycheck’s big enough. I will admit, I’m a fan of his work.” He blushed again.

  “Can you describe Chase, or Dennis, to me?” Kaye asked.

  “You know you can look him up on-line, right? He’s all over the internet.”

  “I did that,” Kaye said. “Hard to believe, I know, but sometimes the internet is wrong.”

  “Well, he’s tall, dark and handsome,” Aubrey said. “And, of course, well, you know…”

  “I got that,” Kaye said without looking up from his notebook. “Can you be more specific? Height, weight, general build, eyes, things I might notice if he had pants on?”

  Aubrey stifled a giggle and said, “Let’s see. Tall, and I mean tall, like six foot six, at least. Built like a basketball player, so, maybe two hundred, two ten? Dark hair and eyes. Honestly, probably the best description I can give you is that Storm looks just like a young Robert Mitchum, with even the whole chin dimple thing going on. Has the voice, too, which is probably why his podcasts are so hot.”

  “You said he was trying to go legit. You mean more mainstream Hollywood?”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “Any idea where he might live?”

  “None whatsoever. If people knew that, they’d be camped out with the paparazzi.”

  “How about Rachel Turner? Know where she lives?”

  Aubrey just shook his head.

  “Okay, I think that’s all I need,” Kaye said, tucking his paper brains back into his pocket. “Hey, Aubrey, thanks for the cooperation and help. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re very welcome. I hope you find whoever hurt Nicole.”

  ***

  Kaye walked back to the Duo Glide and saw the piece of paper, again tucked between the windshield bag and the windshield, from fifty feet away.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath as he looked around. He’d been attentive since finding the last note left on the bike, but had seen no sign he was being followed. Whoever was leaving the notes was, if nothing else, very good at being stealthy.

  He unfol
ded the note, knowing already that he’d find a page of Kanji characters. He at first crumpled the paper into a tight ball and looked for someplace to throw it away, but decided to keep it and let Roshi see it.

  He swung over and sat on the Duo-Glide outside the Blue Whale, making notes of his conversation with Aubrey, which, all things considered, hadn’t given him much he didn’t already know except now Dennis Bettencourt, a.k.a. Storm Chase, had been added to the mix.

  He still wanted to talk to Rachel Turner, and definitely needed to find and talk to Dennis Bettencourt.

  He grabbed his cell phone and punched in the number for Rachel Turner he’d copied from Ingram’s file. It was a Valley area code.

  “Hello,” a woman’s voice answered tentatively.

  “May I speak to Rachel Turner, please?”

  “This is Rachel. Who is this?”

  “Ms. Turner, my name is Ben Kaye. I’m a detective with the LAPD. I was wondering if you had a few minutes today that I might sit down and talk with you about a case I’m working.”

  “I don’t live in L.A. anymore,” Turner said. “I moved home about three months ago.”

  “Where’s home?” Kaye asked.

  “Tulsa, Oklahoma,” she replied. “I kept this number because I couldn’t afford a new phone.”

  “They’re not cheap,” Kaye said. “Obviously I can’t come to Tulsa today. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions while I’ve got you?”

  “I guess not. What’s this about?”

  “Nicole Ingram.”

  “Did she report me?”

  “Why would she report you?”

  “She accused me of stealing from her, which I did not, when we lived together,” Turner said. “It broke up our friendship. But that was a long time ago. Why would she call the police now?”

  “She didn’t call us, Ms. Turner,” Kaye said. “I’m investigating Nicole’s murder, and your name came up as a friend.”

  “Nicole was murdered?” Turner said, her voice cracking. “Oh my God. What happened?”

  “She and another individual were shot and killed last week.”

  “In L.A.?”

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Turner said. “Months ago, like six or seven months, maybe, her boss at Pacific Design Center called me because Nicole hadn’t shown up for work for a week.”

  “Had you talked to Nicole?” Kaye asked.

  “No,” Turner replied. “I told the woman that called that I didn’t know, or care, where Nicole was.”

  “Really?” Kaye asked. “Her parents gave me your name. They said you two were good friends.”

  “Not after she accused me of stealing from her and I moved out.”

  “What did she think you took?”

  “Some stupid pages out of something she was writing,” Turner said.

  “A screenplay?” Kaye asked.

  “I guess,” Turner said. “Anyway, it turned out to be her mistake and a big misunderstanding, but it ruined our friendship, so I moved.”

  “How was it her mistake?”

  “She found the pages in the trunk of her Jetta,” Turner said. “She must’ve forgotten where she put them. But she never apologized.”

  “I see,” Kaye said. “Things happen. Too bad it cost you a friendship.”

  “No joke.”

  “I’m also trying to track down a guy named Dennis Bettencourt, goes by the stage name Storm Chase,” Kaye said. “Did you know him?”

  For a moment Kaye thought Turner had hung up on him.

  “Ms. Turner?”

  “I’m here,” she said. “You know about Dennis? All I can tell you is that’s a part of my life I’d like to forget.”

  “You were his girlfriend for a while, right?”

  “Yes. Not for long, though. I don’t stay with anyone who plays that rough.”

  “I don’t need the details,” Kaye said. “If you can tell me where he lives or where I might find him, that would help me out.”

  “Last I heard, and it’s been since before I left L.A., he had a place in Venice. I don’t know the address, though.”

  “Thank you,” Kaye said. “One more question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who’s Ruthie?”

  “Ruthie was one of our neighbors,” Turner said. “Lived on our floor. Kind of became like our grandma, you know, somebody we could go to, who sort of looked out for us.”

  “Do you remember her last name?” Kaye asked.

  “Williams, I think. Maybe Williamson. Something like that.”

  “Thank you, Rachel,” Kaye said. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

  “Sorry I can’t help you more. Nicole was good people. I thought she’d make it there.” Turner’s voice was wistful. “And, Detective?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful around Dennis. He’s, uh, really kind of scary sometimes.”

  ***

  Kaye had no sooner put his phone away and was going through his start-up routine when the phone rang.

  It was Captain Thompson.

  “Kaye, where are you?”

  “I’m out detecting, Captain. It’s my job.”

  “Good,” Thompson said. “Don’t come back to the station.”

  “Did you say ‘don’t come back’?”

  “That’s what I said,” Thompson confirmed. “Sloan and Leale are here waiting for you. They want your phone.”

  “My phone?” Kaye asked. “They can have it if they want it. I’ll get a new one.”

  “Getting a new one might be a good idea,” Thompson said. “Seems the Sullivan woman visited them this morning and showed them the call and text history on her phone. Leale couldn’t help but spill to me that there were over thirty hang-up calls, a couple of voice-mails, and quite a few crude texts from your number.”

  “Bullshit. Somebody else is calling her and spoofing my number.”

  “That’s what I said. Sloan seemed to consider it, but Leale just laughed,” Thompson said. “And get this. Leale also let it slip that Sullivan has a court appearance scheduled for three this afternoon to request a temporary restraining order against you. I think IA wants your phone to help her case.”

  “Okay,” Kaye said. “Thanks for the heads up. Anything else?”

  “Here’s what I want you to do,” Thompson said. “First, get a new phone, forthwith. Call me with the new number, but do not, repeat do not, use it to call anyone even remotely connected to the Geller case. Before you go home today I want the phone you’re on now in my possession. I’ll wait here as long as I need to for you to bring it in.”

  “You sound like you’re building me a defense.”

  “Hell, yes, I’m building you a defense!” Thompson exclaimed. “This is serious shit. If Sullivan gets her order you’re out of a job on a firearms restriction and those two turds will be down at the DA’s office asking for a warrant for your arrest.”

  “Okay, I’ll get a new phone.”

  “Good choice, Detective. I’ll be here.”

  Kaye thought for a moment, then punched in another number.

  “District Attorney’s office, Kayla Okafor.”

  “Counselor, Detective Kaye. How’s it going?”

  “It’s going busy,” she said. “I can give you three minutes before I’m due in court.”

  “I’ll talk fast.”

  He recounted his conversation with Thompson, their plan for him to swap phones and what the Captain had heard about Sullivan going to court.

  “Okay,” Okafor said, “so what do you want from me?”

  “Who’s assigned to Orders today?”

  “Judge Gardner, I think,” she said. “Why?”

  “If you have time, could you visit with Gardner before three o’clock and get her to put a hold on this?”

  “Then do what?” Okafor asked, her skepticism obvious. “Ask her to quash Sullivan’s request just because you’re a nice guy? You know I can’t do that.”

 
; “I don’t want Gardner to quash it,” Kaye said. “I just want you to tell Gardner I need time to respond to this before something that’s total bullshit costs me my job. I have new information, too complex to explain right now, but I want to give Sullivan every possible chance to dig herself a deep, deep hole before she can stop my investigation.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “I am. In fact, tell Gardner I know what’s going on, and why, and just ask her to take it under advisement instead of just granting it on Sullivan’s say so. If she issues an order I’m suspended, if not fired, and I believe that’s why Sullivan’s doing this.”

  “Kaye, you’re –”

  “Trust me, Counselor. Please.”

  “Okay,” Okafor said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Kaye spent the next hour buying a new phone.

  Because he was getting an entirely new phone with a new number, and not trading in the phone he had, they refused to transfer any data. It led to a heated argument with the store manager, which Kaye lost even after he slammed a one hundred dollar bill down on the counter.

  “Sorry, dude” the young man told him. “Not our job to duplicate your stuff on two phones.”

  He left the store with a newfound appreciation of why Rachel Turner still had her Los Angeles phone number, and powered down the old phone on the way to the bike.

  He called Thompson, gave him the new number and recounted his conversation with Okafor. Thompson told him that Sloan and Leale had given up waiting for him, but he still thought Kaye should wait until after three to show his face at the station.

  “I wouldn’t put anything past those two weasels,” Thompson said. “Especially Leale. What did you do to that guy, anyway?”

  “He was in my Academy class,” Kaye said. “I must’ve done something to piss him off, but I don’t remember what.”

  “Well, have a nice afternoon, Kaye. And please keep detecting. It’s your job. For now, anyway.”

  Kaye’s next stop was lunch. While he ate, he went through his paper brains again, looking for anything he might be missing.

  Two things bothered him the most.

  One was how much time and effort Megan Sullivan was devoting to cause him trouble and block his investigation. Surely she realized it was a giant red flag. Why? Why would she be involved in Avi Geller’s murder? Was there a connection he’d missed, or hadn’t found yet? What could she possibly gain?