Cam said, “We’ll also narrow the list by importance. For example, I don’t think an audition for a mouthwash commercial would be relevant. What we’re looking for are TV or movie roles.”
She saw that Doc had gotten himself together, and handed him a sheet of paper dated three months before, Deborah’s record of an audition for a role in a TV comedy. He looked at her neat handwriting and swallowed hard.
“Do you remember this audition, Doc? It looks like a meaty role, for Comfort Zone, a TV comedy, casting for a fall pilot. Do you know if she won that, or turned the role down for something else?”
He slowly shook his head. “I would know if she won a role like that. She’d have taken it, I’m sure. Wait, I think I remember her talking about that one, but then again, she was always talking about her auditions, worrying about them. It went on and on, there were so many.” He swallowed. “Sorry, I’m not making much sense. Please, give me more of her records, maybe one will stand out. It’s tough to think about the auditions, it seems so trivial now.” He looked at her helplessly.
“Tell us about Deborah winning the role in The Crown Prince.”
“How do you know about that?”
Cam smiled. “We do a lot of interviews, Doc. We know she was in Italy filming for two weeks.”
He nodded. “Yes, and she’d been back home for about two weeks. The rest of the filming was set to take place at the studio. It’s all she could talk about when she got that role. I didn’t want her to take it, not with her having to be in Italy for two weeks. But you want to know who she beat out for it? You think there’s some sort of crazed actress or boyfriend out there?”
“It’s a theory,” Daniel said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know. She didn’t include who she beat out in her records.”
Daniel looked through a folder with huge red stars drawn all over it. The Crown Prince was the top sheet. He scanned it, shook his head. “It doesn’t say. We’ll have to get those names from casting.”
Doc was staring down at his hands, clasped between his knees. “We drank champagne, not that night, because I had to be at the hospital. But the next night, we drank a whole bottle and she ate a burger. A big double-decker with all the fixings, just as she liked it. I remember Deb told me it was her last splurge. She had to lose five pounds before filming started. She had to keep herself so thin, it pissed me off.” He paused, swallowed again. “Look at all the red stars. She loved her red stars. She even put them on bills she’d paid off.” He looked down at the sheet of paper. “She had two weeks to prepare before she went to Italy for the actual filming.” He met their eyes. “This role meant everything to her.”
Missy looked like she wanted to say something, but Cam shook her head.
“So she went to Italy,” Cam asked.
“Yes, I knew it meant as much to her as practicing medicine does to me. I knew she’d come back to me, but it was two whole weeks, too long apart.” He stopped, put his head down, and Cam saw his hands were balled into fists.
Missy said, “There are so many parts, they tend to run together, but I just realized I didn’t tell you about a part I lost to Connie, sometime this past March, shortly before she was killed. They called me to offer the role. I have the exact date on my laptop.”
Cam said, “Did you take the part?”
“I couldn’t. I was already booked and couldn’t get out of it. But I was sorry I missed out.”
Daniel asked, “Missy, do you remember what the part was?”
“Sure, it was a small but juicy role as the younger, uptight sister of this biker chick in The Gravy Train. The movie’s out sometime this fall.”
“Doc, do you remember if Deborah was offered that role?”
He raised his head. “Sorry, Agent, I don’t recall her even auditioning for that one. I do remember Deborah getting offered jobs when other actresses couldn’t take them, for whatever reason. It happens all the time.” He looked blindly past Cam. “If there’s a reason you’re focusing on Deborah’s auditions, I can’t see it.”
“Do you remember a party about six months ago at a producer’s house in the Hollywood hills? You took Deborah because she wanted to mix with the L.A. movers and shakers? Like Theodore Markham?”
Doc’s pale face flushed with contempt and anger. “Oh yes, I remember. All those pompous arrogant snobs, feasting on those gorgeous young women. It was like a smorgasbord for them—like a bunch of degenerate sheiks looking over the latest crop of harem girls. I was disgusted, couldn’t wait to get Deborah out of there. I remember Connie Morrissey was there. I didn’t know her well, but she and Deborah were—well, acquaintances. I remember Connie tried to pull me away so this pervert producer could ogle Deborah, probably tell her he could make her a star, all the while hoping he could use his position to get in her pants. Since we’re looking for a murderer, any one of those debauchers would be high on my list.”
“Do you remember Theodore Markham?” Daniel asked him.
“Yeah, he was one of the worst, I could tell by looking at him. He was hanging all over Connie. I remember Deborah said she didn’t know if Connie was sleeping with him, but all I had to do was take one look at him and know he was just the sort to take advantage. He’s probably sleeping with some other young actress now that Connie’s gone.”
Missy said, “Wait a minute, Doc, I remember that party. Sure some of the guys in the business were on the make, and the deeper they’re into the booze the heavier it gets. It’s a professional hazard. None of us like it, but most of us learn to handle it.”
“Obviously she didn’t handle it. Do you know she blamed me? Me! All I wanted to do was protect her from those smug perverts, and she called me a dog in the manger, said she’d never take me with her again. It was all about making contacts, networking, and I was being a nut-job. I should open my eyes because the same thing happens everywhere, including the hospital—haven’t I seen male doctors trying to get the nurses in the sack?” He snorted. “As if there’s any time for that. Or any energy, we’re always exhausted.” Doc rubbed his forehead, and suddenly, tears filmed his eyes. “Yes, we fought about it, but we’ll never fight about it again. Deborah won’t go to any more Hollywood parties, with or without me.” He locked eyes with Cam. “She’s dead. She won’t ever do anything again.”
42
* * *
CADILLAC BAR AND GRILL
WASHINGTON, D.C.
WEDNESDAY, EARLY EVENING
Delsey Freestone had felt like this about a man only once before, so focused and excited about meeting him, simply nothing else in the world mattered. Her palms were damp and her stomach roiled. It didn’t help she remembered the first time she felt this way was about her criminal ex-husband.
She checked her watch for the umpteenth time. Five o’clock on the nose, exactly the time she’d set to meet Rob Rasmussen after their impromptu lunch date the day before that had ended abruptly when Rob had gotten an emergency call from a job site and had to leave. She couldn’t remember what they’d said to each other, it simply didn’t matter.
She had to be careful here, had to be. She wasn’t a stupid kid any longer. She herself had picked the Cadillac Bar and Grill. They would have a beer and talk quietly, see if this insane attraction was real, if it made sense. They would get to know each other a bit, see if they were compatible. She shook her head at herself, wondered what exactly it was about him that made her feel like this.
Delsey stopped in her tracks in the doorway, stared at the herd of government staffers, fresh out of the office, already hootin’ and hollerin’, nearly all of them under thirty and happy, making huge noise. They had to be celebrating a win, maybe a contentious bill had passed.
She saw him seated in a side booth, alone, rolling a bottle of Brau pale ale, her favorite, between his hands. Her heart skittered seeing him now. This was over-the-top crazy, but it didn’t matter; she knew she was a goner.
Rob looked up and saw her. His eyes locked on hers, his lovely smile bloomed
big. He rose so fast he nearly knocked over his ale, and stepped out of the booth. Getting to her was hard, so many happy folk in the way.
Then he was standing in front of her, still smiling big, his green eyes bright and hot, she couldn’t miss that. He was incredible, tall, lean and fit, splendid, yes, that’s what he was, simply splendid.
“Hi.” She couldn’t seem to get any spit in her mouth.
“Hi, yourself,” Rob said and took her hand. “Let’s see if I can’t navigate you safely through this government horde. No wonder the politicos hire them young in Washington. They’re worked like dogs and party like college frat kids, burn out at thirty.”
Delsey didn’t care if they were puppies freed from the pound.
The jukebox cranked up and Delsey’s brain kicked in. She tugged on his hand. “Listen, they’re playing one of my songs—no, not a favorite, I mean, one I wrote myself, for a friend.”
“You wrote it?”
“Yes. The title’s Bongo Beat. Do you like it?”
“Like it? My feet are already tapping. Too bad it’s too early to dance. You a good dancer?”
She grinned up at him. “Oh, yeah. You?”
“My moves are legendary.”
He led her laughing to his table, ordered her a bottle of the pale ale from a harried waiter, who rolled his eyes at government staffers blocking his way.
Rob had only to look at her face and his words came pouring out. “At lunch yesterday I sort of hoped it was an aberration or a weird temporary hallucination, but it isn’t. You’re incredible, Delsey, incredible. You’re beautiful; you’re smart; you’re funny. And your talent? You blow me away.” He stopped talking and stared at her glowing face, her dilated eyes.
“Thank you. My brother thinks I’m an idiot. All I could talk about was you.”
He reached out his hand, a beautiful hand with long strong fingers, and short buffed nails, like his. She didn’t hesitate, put her hand into his. He said, “I hate this place. I want to leave, I want you—us—alone, all right?”
“Yes, all right.”
He threw a twenty down on the table, and pulled her through the laughing crowd to the sidewalk outside the Grill. He pulled her against him, leaned down, and kissed her. People parted to walk around them.
There was a whistle, then a woman’s voice saying, “I’m jealous, go home.”
“Nah,” a guy said. “Go find a room.”
Delsey pulled back, saw the woman grinning at her and grinned back. She looked up at Rob. “A good idea,” she said, nothing more.
“The Gibson Hotel, it’s on the next block.”
They walked hand in hand to the hotel, and Delsey stepped away from him while he went to register in the small ultramodern lobby. People flowed around her, all of them talking, but she didn’t really see them or hear them. All of her was focused on him, only him, and what she was going to do to him and with him.
He was with her again, holding a key card. He took her hand and they nearly ran to the elevator. Two older couples got on the elevator with them, the two women talking up a storm, so many shopping bags in their hands, and in their husbands’ hands. They’d obviously had fun. But she knew she was about to have lots more.
Once inside the dim-lit room, Rob grabbed her, lifted her, and laid her on her back on the big king-size bed. He was over her, kissing her, and she kissed him back, her hands on his back, in his hair. He whispered, “You’re sure?”
She looked at him straight-on. “I probably shouldn’t be, but yes, I’m more than sure. If you don’t kiss me again, I’ll hurt you.”
He laughed, kissed her, and lay on top of her, and that was only the beginning.
The early-evening turndown maid stopped outside the door, her hand raised to knock. She heard moans and laughter, some words she couldn’t understand. She smiled. She left a dozen pillow chocolates outside the door, sitting on top of two towels.
* * *
Delsey lay on her back, her legs sprawled, her hair tangled about her head, half her clothes still on. Rob lay beside her, both of them breathing hard, his hand clutching hers. She felt deliriously content and happy. She felt sated. “I don’t want any more time to pass. I want it to stop, right here, right now.”
“That’d be good,” he said, his voice low and scratchy. “What’s your middle name?”
“Faith. What’s yours?”
“North, after an uncle back in the Rasmussen family tree. The old dude left my dad a bundle of money, not two days before I was born. Your brother’s name is Hammersmith. Why is yours different?”
“I was married once, for about thirty minutes. He was a criminal, but I really liked his name, so I kept it.” She grinned, turning to balance on her elbow above him. “I’m a mess.”
He raised a hand, ran it through her hair, pulling out some of the tangles. “I didn’t know you existed before yesterday. And now I never want you out of my sight. I’ve been pathetic, all I could do was think about you and grin like a fool, when I should have been working. My guys knew, the bastards. I couldn’t wait to see you. I wanted to call you an hour after you left but I didn’t know your cell number or where you were. I wasn’t about to call Savich or your brother. They might have shot me.”
He leaned down, kissed her, and began unbuttoning her blouse. “I don’t know how I could have left you half dressed. It’s like eating only half a slice of cake.” He looked down at her long bare legs. His fingers slowed. “Delsey, I don’t want you to think I do this all the time, you know, take a woman to bed the minute I meet her. I don’t. I haven’t wanted to, and that’s the truth. But you’re different, and I know this is different for you, too. Your eyes are green, like mine, only they’re darker, more beautiful.”
Everything was slow and sweet after that. Everything was right.
Delsey fell asleep, her head on his shoulder, her palm on his belly. They’d talk, but later, much later.
43
* * *
MISSY’S COTTAGE
MALIBU
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
Cam was scrolling through page after page of auditions from hundreds of film companies on a purple laptop. Some were highlighted in red and dozens were redacted, marked through in black so she couldn’t read them. She heard her mother’s voice telling her she needed those entries covered in black ink, otherwise how could she find the killer? Some of the red letters started to bleed, covering the screen, then fountaining down, sending ribbons of blood dripping over the purple keyboard. She knew that was the key audition, the one that would give her the big clue, but she couldn’t read it now, there was so much blood. Her mother was talking behind her, telling her she’d ruined it now. The bloody page must have flown free because she heard it striking softly against the glass in the window, but then she knew it wasn’t the paper, it was something else. Someone was outside, trying to get in.
She jerked awake, her heart pounding, her breathing too fast, too hard. She started to fling off the sheet and jump to her feet when her training kicked in. She lay still and listened. She heard it again, something brushing up against the bedroom window. She’d left it cracked open to let in the warm night air and someone was looking in. He could easily push the window up and climb in. To kill her? No, not me. Missy. He was here.
The Serial was outside.
Slowly, quietly, she reached over and pulled the knob on the bedside table drawer, eased it open. She slipped her hand in, felt the comforting steel of her Glock. Easy, easy—she lifted it out of the drawer. She didn’t need to rack the slide, she kept a bullet in the chamber.
She breathed low and quiet, completely focused, and eased off the side of the bed. There was a quarter moon tonight, its light streaming in through the window. She’d see him clearly if he crawled in. She listened for the sound of the window coming up higher.
She heard him breathing, heard his sneakers thunk lightly outside the window. He thought the room was empty. Did he have his knife in his hand, his goggles already on so when he slic
ed Missy’s throat he wouldn’t be blinded by her blood?
If Missy were alone in the cottage, sleeping in the master bedroom, she’d never have heard a thing. Until it was too late and she was about to die.
The bastard. She was ready.
Come on, come on.
But he didn’t climb in. He stood at the window for several minutes, looking into the room, and then he turned away.
Cam came smoothly up, aimed her Glock through the window at the man’s chest. “FBI. You move and you’re dead.”
His eyes flew to her face. “What, who are you? You’re not Missy. FBI?” He jerked around and started to run, tripped and landed headfirst into the thick bougainvillea bushes. He cried out as he rolled away onto the ground. She didn’t fire because she knew she could catch him. She was out the window on the ground as he pulled himself to his knees to take off again.
She kicked him in the back before he got to the street, sending him onto his belly against the ground, not two inches from a cactus. She dropped down on top of him, laid her Glock against his neck. “Don’t you even think of moving. It’s over.”
He wasn’t wearing goggles and she didn’t find a knife when she patted him down. He twisted, managed to kick his legs against her back, knocking her sideways, and slammed his elbow against her jaw. She saw bursts of white but she held tight to her Glock, no way would she let it go.
She caught his arm, jerked him around and chopped her hand against his throat. He lurched back, gagging, his hands clutching his throat, wheezing for breath.
She kicked his legs out from under him, slammed down on top of him, and stuck her Glock into his ear. She leaned close. “That’s enough. Feel that? You want me to shoot you in the ear, splat your brains all over the ground? Calm down now, there’s a lot you and I have to talk about.”
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