“Um.”
“Shut up, Jeff. We don’t have time to waste. Ms. Avery, are you still on board with helping us?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Give us your audio transmitter, and we’ll put a new battery in it while we talk.”
He was referring to the bug the policewoman had given me, I realized. The one I’d forgotten about. My mind flashed back to throwing my jacket into Connor’s washing machine after a messy encounter with a very full mug of hot chocolate. “I, er, don’t have it on me right now.”
They stayed silent, waiting for an explanation. Ugh. How could I have forgotten about it? This proved again that Connor had been justified in taking me out of the action yesterday. I’d been exhausted and overwrought from one too many unpleasant surprises, and my brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. Pity I couldn’t have just had Harper change over my spark plugs to stop my screwing things up.
But maybe it wasn’t so bad. Technology was pretty advanced these days. I’d once left a pair of earphones in the rain by accident, and they still worked afterward. Maybe I’d get lucky. Maybe…
“They don’t happen to be waterproof, do they?”
Jeff slapped his forehead. “You washed it, didn’t you? That was a three-hundred-dollar piece of equipment.”
His words slid right by me, my brain engrossed by a new horror.
I’d forgotten all about that bug. Which means I’d had it on me when Connor, Harper, and I had discussed how to investigate the case independently of Homeland. A case that was no doubt supposed to be confidential even if they hadn’t mentioned that. Had Harper made any disparaging remarks about Homeland’s competence? Had I? I couldn’t remember whether I’d gone into detail about Jeff and Joe’s entertaining partnership or remarked on Jeff’s overly ambitious ear hair.
Worse still, it meant I’d had the bug on me—well not on me, but nearby—when Connor and I had made love. Repeatedly. I was not an exhibitionist by nature, and the thought of them listening in made my insides squirm in mortification.
And worst of all—although it was a difficult toss-up between this and the sex thing—I’d discussed the Taste Society in front of unapproved witnesses. If I thought my job was on the line before, this would mean instant termination. No compromises.
Unless I could keep the Taste Society from ever learning about my lapse.
“How much did you hear?” I choked out.
Joe and Jeff were looking at me strangely. Jeff was the one to answer. “For three hundred bucks, you’d expect the audio quality to be pretty good, wouldn’t you? We heard all your conversations with Zac and your muttering to yourself on several occasions if that’s what you mean.”
I muttered to myself?
Focus, Izzy. “What about when I, um, went to my boyfriend’s place?” The question made my cheeks burn.
“Oh,” Joe said as realization dawned.
No points there. My red cheeks were like a lighthouse beacon leading the way.
“We didn’t hear anything. It is—or was rather—a GSM bug, which means we only heard the audio when we called it. The same way you would a phone. You’re not under surveillance, Ms. Avery, and we wanted to save the battery, so we disconnected whenever you left the area.”
Was he telling the truth? Or was he lying to make me feel better?
I guess if they’d heard anything, they might have heard me doing the washing and warned me, right? That was a good sign.
Or they’d just overestimated my intelligence.
It was impossible to know for sure that they hadn’t listened in. But I could try to make certain the Taste Society never learned about the possibility. Connor too. I didn’t think he was an exhibitionist either.
Joe cleared his throat. “Ms. Avery, Zac will be expecting you, so we need to move this along. We’ll acquire another bug for you as soon as we can, but for now you’ll be flying solo. However, we’ll give you a burner phone you can call us on if you run into trouble.” He passed me a cell. “The one number programmed into it goes to a second burner phone we have access to.”
“Okay. Thanks. And sorry.”
He waved a hand. “That’s quite all right. You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
Jeff glowered, suggesting he had a different attitude about it. Maybe he was still holding the soggy paper thing against me.
Joe went on, oblivious to Jeff’s feelings or choosing to ignore them. “You’ll be glad to hear we relocated the missing body last night.”
“Oh. That’s good.” Odd that it was a relief to shift the topic of conversation to a dead woman.
“Yes. Zachariah Hill transported her to the Angeles National Forest and buried her there at zero three hundred hours.”
That was less of a relief. It meant Zac definitely knew the woman was dead and had most likely killed her. Why else would he get rid of the body? So much for my valet theory.
Had he done it before? You could hide an awful lot of bodies in an area the size of the Angeles National Forest.
“We had our agents retrieve the body after Mr. Hill left and are analyzing the evidence now in conjunction with the LAPD. The woman has been identified as the suspect’s estranged wife, Alyssa Hill.”
“What? Really?” The bright orange baggy T-shirt and sweats had thrown me off, or I might have considered it could be her.
Fabulous. We’d spent all night surveilling an empty house.
I wasn’t sure how long Connor had been there for the “graveyard shift” as Harper had called it, but he wasn’t going to be happy about this revelation. And what did it mean for Zac? That he killed his own wife? The one he claimed he would always love on national television that same night?
Maybe that had been an attempt to build a case for his innocence. Then again, love was often a motive for murder, so it wasn’t a great defense.
“Early analysis suggests she was killed by blunt force trauma to the head a few hours before you found her in the trunk. Hill must have stored her in the freezer because she was frozen when they dug her up. It makes it harder to determine the exact time of death, but it should also have helped to preserve any evidence. We’re guessing he moved her in there to prevent you from smelling anything while he waited for a chance to dispose of the body.”
Which meant he must have gone down to the garage to shift her as soon as I’d left to get the juice he’d requested. The juice that had gotten me out of the house. Had he noticed the engine was warm? If so, he might have assumed I’d used the car but not opened the trunk. Or had he found my earring and arranged for that hitman I’d been worrying about?
Joe was oblivious to my scary train of thought and was continuing to fill me in. “The victim had blood and skin under her nails, so she must have fought back. That should help with a conviction when we’re ready for one.”
The image of Alyssa fighting for her life elicited a surge of sympathy for the woman I’d never expected to feel sorry for. But it meant I had information to contribute. “Would scratches like that be visible?”
“Yes, why?”
“I saw… almost all of Zac yesterday, and he didn’t have a scratch on him.”
“How much is ‘almost all of him’?”
“Um, everything but the groin area.”
“Have you been compromised, Ms. Avery?”
“What? No, I just saw him after he went swimming. He wears budgie smugglers.”
Joe’s eyes bulged a little. “Budgie smugglers?”
“Oh, right. That’s Australian for Speedos.”
He shook his head, maybe making a mental note to never visit Australia. “Okay. So it’s possible our suspect had a partner to help him with his dirty work. If we’re lucky, it might be the same partner who helps him with the human trafficking dirty work. In any case, we’ll announce her death later today.”
“Won’t that put Zac on edge?”
“That’s what we’re aiming for. We’ll wait long enough that Hill doesn’t think we’re onto him personally. We’ll clai
m a dog dug it up, and a hiker found it or something. When the press announces it to the world, we’re hoping it will stir up the human trafficking contacts. Make them uneasy. Make them restless so they need to touch base with Hill to make sure everything’s going ahead as planned. So we need you to be extra alert over the next few days. You don’t have to get close, just take note of anyone he speaks to in private.”
“Um, okay.” I could do that, right? It sounded easy.
“Once Mrs. Hill’s death is in the public eye, the LAPD will be going through the motions of a full-scale murder investigation without alerting Mr. Hill that we’re onto him. Detectives will only ask the suspect himself routine questions but will be gathering evidence for a conviction when the time comes. They’re aware of your role and won’t do anything to blow your cover.”
“Okay.”
“But because they’ll have to act like Zac isn’t a prime suspect, they’re limited in what they can do. So it would be great if you could get us a DNA sample surreptitiously to match against any we find on the body.”
That sounded less easy. But I nodded all the same.
Agent Joe flashed a smile. “Good. I’ll walk you to your car.”
Since my Corvette was parked a mere forty feet away, Jeff and I looked at him oddly, but I shrugged and got out, Joe close on my heels.
“Uh, Ms. Avery, you didn’t tell anybody what we told you yesterday, did you? I realized I forgot to warn you to keep quiet, but I’m sure it was obvious that the information we were sharing was confidential.”
The fact he was asking implied they hadn’t heard anything when I wasn’t with Zac. Unless this was a test of my trustworthiness. Crap. Should I lie? Plead ignorance?
“I did, sorry, but the two people I told are trustworthy and used to keeping confidential matters to themselves. My boyfriend’s a private investigator, and the woman who found the body with me has a PI background as well. They were worried about me and weren’t going to let me keep it from them.”
Joe put a fist to his mouth then dropped it with a glance over to where his partner was waiting. “Right. Well, er, I won’t tell anyone about this if you don’t. I could get demoted for an oversight like that.”
I kept myself from looking over at Jeff. “Understood,” I said. “What is it between you two anyway?”
Joe’s face went carefully blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
9
“You’re late,” said the man who’d spent a large chunk of last night burying his wife. “I need to be on set in thirty, so we better eat on the way.”
“Sorry.”
At least if he was annoyed at my being late, he probably didn’t suspect me of being an informant.
I felt uneasy whenever I thought about that earring, but it must have fallen out of my ear some other time. Surely.
Zac grabbed an Ensure breakfast shake out of the fridge and led the way to the hearse—I mean the BMW. The one I was supposed to arrange for Harper to bug. That would be easier when it was enclosed in his garage rather than in a public space, so it would have to wait. As would the photographing of his photo wall. And I would have to collect DNA samples in the more challenging environment on set. Not a good start to checking things off my list.
The movie was being touted as Twilight meets Pride and Prejudice. For the past few days, our location had been in some farmer’s grassy field over an hour’s drive away, but today we were back in the Hollywood film studio’s warehouse. We would have been shooting there yesterday except the director had demanded extensive modifications to the newly built rooms of the movie set.
The setting was straight out of the Victorian era, and Zachariah looked dashing in his costume. Noble. Not like the kind of man who’d kill his wife. Then again, he was supposed to be a vampire, so what did I know?
The man in question was quiet on the drive over. Considering he was the charismatic, friendly type who could make easy conversation with a predomesticated Tarzan, that was unusual. Maybe his horrific acts were weighing on him. Or maybe he was just short on sleep.
As we neared the studio, I felt tension creep in, and I wasn’t even part of the film crew. It had taken me less than an hour into my first day to realize I never wanted to be in the movie industry. When every minute is costing big bucks, regardless of whether that minute is useful or wasted, it’s the ideal environment for high stress and strained tempers. Plus I’d heard grumblings that this one was worse than most.
Two big-name stars, special effects, and a historical setting meant it was a high-budget affair, but the real problem was the director. The original woman slated for the role was a big name herself, but she’d come down with a nasty virus while directing a movie in the wilderness of Brazil. Normally the whole film might have been canned at that stage, but someone high up in management was a huge Twilight fan and had decided to give the director’s assistant a shot.
The movie would make or break the newbie director’s career, and he was obviously feeling the pressure. He micromanaged every aspect of the film and took anything that went wrong as a personal attack on his abilities. That meant there was a lot of yelling and cussing. The F-word was his favorite, and he used it so often that my mind had started bleeping it out.
Torres was not going to be happy when his star heroine didn’t show up for work.
He’d be even less happy when he found out she was dead.
Zac’s car was waved through the gates by security, and he parked next to his trailer. One perk to being a star. He grabbed his empty shake bottle before I remembered the DNA thing. Should I offer to take it to the trash for him? But my DNA would be on the rim too, and I wasn’t sure if that would contaminate it. I opted to wait for a better sample.
We walked the hundred yards to the warehouse and entered the frantic hive of activity.
“Where the [bleep] is Alyssa?” growled Torres as Zac strode past toward the makeup nook.
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” he said. A flawlessly bland reassurance that made me question everything he’d ever said. I mean, I should’ve known he was good at acting since it was his job and all, but still.
Did that mean his silence in the car was significant? Like no-point-keeping-up-appearances-when-she’ll-be-dead-soon-anyway significant?
Telling myself to get a grip, I parked my butt in the seat that had been provided for me. I’d yet to make any friends despite spending most of the past two weeks on set. Maybe it was because everyone else was too busy, or maybe they resented me for sitting on my ass all day while they worked hard and got shouted at. I earned the honor of a chair because Zac needed to sip water throughout the filming to keep his husky voice hydrated. Especially since there were between six and thirty takes of every single scene. It almost made me think my job was pretty good in comparison. Except for the finding dead people and winding up in criminal investigations part.
The repetition did make it easy for me to keep track of the corniest lines in the movie. The winner so far was: “My thirst for your blood is surpassed only by my hunger for you in your entirety.”
However, the scenes were shot out of order, so I was still hoping they’d begin the whole movie with something along the lines of: “It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a vampire of any sized fortune must be in want of blood.”
I wasn’t alone in thinking the script was corny. I’d overheard more than one person say that the production company would be lucky to make their money back. That whoever had green-lighted it must have been expecting miracles from the intended big-name director. Or snorting cocaine.
The no-name director was barking out orders to get ahold of Alyssa and telling the production assistants which scenes they’d shoot first without her. The newest PA—the one who’d replaced the girl who’d been fired on the last day of shooting—looked terrified.
When the scene was set up, the frantic energy of the film set stilled to tense anticipation as Zachariah-the-vampire-gentleman told his best friend seven tim
es that he’d prefer to stake himself than dance with human women hunting for a mate.
His best friend begged him to come not for Zac’s sake but his own.
While Torres treated his big-name stars with a small level of courtesy, the supporting cast and crew received no such consideration. Vampire Zac’s best friend was a relatively unknown actor—he was a friend of Zac’s in real life and had scored the part through that connection—and so was subject to nitpicking.
Take one.
“Try that again, and make me believe it this time.”
Take two.
“What are you, talking to a sock? C’mon give me some more emotion.”
Take three.
“More emotion. Again.”
Take seven.
“You couldn’t coax a [bleep]ing squirrel to pick up a [bleep]ing acorn with that performance! Let’s go again.”
Take eleven.
The tension was now so thick that if it were butter, you’d have to soften it in the microwave before cutting it with a knife.
“Do you need me to send everyone home since it looks like we’re going to be stuck on this [bleep]ing scene all day? It’s three [bleep]ing lines! Take a minute, and then you better bloody get it right.”
Take twelve.
“For [bleep]’s sake, Paul. This isn’t a [bleep]ing soap opera. Dial it down and go somewhere in between the two. [Bleep]ing amateur.”
Calling someone an amateur was the most grievous blow you could deal someone in the film industry. It was muttered with the vitriol usually reserved for the pushiest of paparazzi.
Take fifteen.
Slow clap. “Well [bleep] me. You got it right. Now just do that again five more times, and we can move on. Where the hell is Alyssa?”
Take sixteen.
Poor Paul started the lines again, and I squashed down a sudden urge to sneeze. I pinched my nose. I held my breath. I thought of puppies. None of it worked.
I sneezed.
Thirty glares swiveled my way.
“Cut!” Torres yelled, a vein in his forehead bulging.
Poison and Prejudice Page 8