by Jacob Stone
A black Cadillac sedan pulled up to the front of the restaurant. It would be a cliché if this were Penza’s car, but life was chock full of clichés, and it didn’t surprise Morris when a minute later Penza lumbered out of the restaurant and worked his large body into the backseat of the sedan. When the car pulled away from the curb, Morris followed it, making sure to keep half a block’s distance from the Cadillac.
He followed Penza to a Russian bathhouse in West Hollywood. So the mob boss needed a spritz after his disappointing meal. Morris drove past the bathhouse, swung an illegal U-turn, and parked half a block away on the other side of the street. He watched as Penza walked into the bathhouse accompanied by a thick-necked bodyguard.
Morris called Charlie Bogle, got an update regarding the mayhem Bobby Gallo was wreaking, then filled Bogle in on what had happened.
“You had to poke the bear,” Bogle said.
“Yeah, I know. It was a mistake. But I thought I had a chance of appealing to his better nature.”
“Bull. You were pissed and you wanted to vent.”
“Probably some truth to that.”
Bogle snorted on his end. “You think?”
“Okay, a lot of truth.”
“Morris, you know I trust your judgment and I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth with you helping me track down Chandler, but how about you tell me slowly and in small, understandable words why your dad was so convinced the Nightmare Man murders were connected to the mob?”
Morris explained his dad’s reason.
“How does that explain what happened in 2001? Or yesterday?”
“I don’t know,” Morris admitted.
A call came in from Fred. Morris put Bogle on hold so he could take it. Fred had just pulled into the MBI parking lot and would soon be ready to take over Penza’s tail.
* * * *
The woman wouldn’t stop sobbing. Annie Walsh fully understood the reason: Her coworker had just been murdered by a serial killer. Still, Walsh had a tough time sitting still and generating empathy as she waited for the woman to get a grip. Before the waterworks started, she had told Walsh that Lori Fletcher had been in fear for her life.
The coworker, Heather Mackey, had gone through a third of a box of tissues before her crying subsided to a gasping sniffles. It might’ve only been a temporary break before the waterworks started up again in earnest, so Walsh jumped in and asked her who had been threatening Fletcher.
That confused Mackey enough to put a halt to her crying. “I didn’t say anyone was threatening her.”
“You said she’d been afraid.”
“But not because anyone was threatening her. It was because of her dreams.” Her mouth crumbled a bit as she thought more about that and added, “Or I guess I should say her nightmares.”
“You’re saying she had dreams someone was going to hurt her?”
“That’s right.” She gasped, and her voice took on an astonished tone as she added, “I guess you could say Lori had a premonition this was going to happen.”
Yeah right. Another witness claiming the victim had been psychic. Walsh didn’t buy it for a second. “How long ago did you two talk about this?”
Mackey gave Walsh a stunned look. “Yesterday,” she said. “My God, was it only yesterday? It seems so much longer ago.”
“Tell me everything she told you.”
“Lori was looking exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in days. I took her aside and asked what was wrong, and she confided to me that she’d been having this irrational fear that someone was going to do terrible things to her. I thought maybe an ex was threatening her, but when I pressed her on it she swore that wasn’t the case. She insisted that it was something from her dreams. That she’d wake up feeling like someone had been whispering to her, telling her that he was going to do terrible things to her, but she had no idea who this person was. Somehow she knew what was going to happen.”
“Was this the first time she’d mentioned this to you?”
Mackey stared at the remains of a tissue she’d been shredding, as if she were noticing it for the first time. “Yes. I knew several weeks ago something was bothering her. She just looked so worried. But when I tried asking her about it, she insisted it was nothing. Then she adopted Lucky and she seemed like her old self again. I guess over the weekend Lucky ran off, and on Monday Lori was back to looking miserable again. Yesterday I forced her to talk to me. I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Were the two of you friends?”
Mackey showed a bleak smile. “We’re the only graphic designers working here.” Her eyes became wet with tears as she realized that wasn’t true anymore. She blinked back the tears. “We ate lunch together most days. We’d go out for drinks after work. When she told me how anxious she’d been feeling, I invited her to spend the night at my apartment, but she insisted she wanted to be home in case someone found Lucky. Maybe she believed this killer would get her no matter where she was. I thought if she had a good night’s sleep she’d be able to get past this craziness, so I gave her some Valiums.”
Her head jerked to one side as if she’d been slapped, and she brought the knuckle of her index finger to her mouth.
“What if it was because of the Valium that Lori’s dead?” she asked. “Taking it could’ve left her helpless. She could be alive now if I hadn’t given it to her.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Walsh said. Morris had filled her in enough about the Nightmare Man’s past killings for her to know this was true. Several of his long-ago victims had been overpowered and knocked unconscious with chloroform. Lori Fletcher was as good as dead the moment the Nightmare Man had picked her out to be one of his victims. Maybe if her monstrous dog hadn’t run off things would’ve been different, but he had. “I can’t go into details, but whether or not she took a Valium last night wouldn’t have mattered. If anything, it might’ve helped to keep her calmer and lessen the suffering.”
Mackey’s mouth dropped open as she stared at Walsh, and then her face crumbled completely and she started bawling. Walsh still had more questions for her, particularly about Lori Fletcher’s past boyfriends or strangers Fletcher might’ve mentioned. It was going to be a while before she’d get a chance to ask them. No doubt Mackey would be going through many more tissues.
Walsh was going to have to work on her bedside manner.
Chapter 31
The lock Morris had ordered for Rachel had been delivered earlier that day to MBI, but he needed to go home to pick up his tool bag. This gave him a chance to make himself a cold meatloaf sandwich and feed Parker his food. Of course he had to wait until the bull terrier licked his bowl clean before he went near the refrigerator. He took pity on the dog, who was still sulking over his failed mooching experience, and added a thick slice of meatloaf to the bowl. By the time they left the house, Parker was in better spirits.
Natalie was planning to be at her office until nine that night. They had talked on the phone, and he knew she hadn’t been able to convince their daughter to spend time at home while this madman was terrorizing Los Angeles. That was pretty much what he had expected. Rachel had inherited his stubbornness, and when her mind was made up, she could take it to a whole different level. Even more so than Parker at his most mulish.
His early detection system went off when they were still five doors away from Rachel’s apartment, and Parker started grunting excitedly, his tail-wagging going into overdrive. So Rachel was home. He checked his watch. Twenty past six. Why wouldn’t she be?
He knocked on her door, and when Rachel answered she had her hands on her hips and was giving Morris an exceptionally stern look. That didn’t last as she immediately had to deal with Parker’s onslaught. Within seconds she was on the floor laughing as she wrestled with the bull terrier and tried to keep him from licking her face. By the time she disengaged herself from Parker, Morris was halfway
done installing the new lock.
“You think you can come in here and put whatever lock you want on my door?” she demanded coldly.
“Pretty much.”
There was cold silence, then, “I thought the last lock you installed couldn’t be picked.”
Morris had two more screws to put in before he’d be done. “The key could be copied. This one can’t.”
He gave each screw one more try with the screwdriver to make sure they were in solid, tested the lock, then got off his knees and onto his feet, slowly straightening his back. Rachel was still on the floor hugging Parker, who was in seventh heaven. The bull terrier might’ve ostensibly been Morris’s dog, but Rachel was his true love. Morris showed her the key for the new lock.
“See those four magnets? The way they’re positioned makes this key impossible to duplicate, and the lock impossible to pick. No one is getting in here unless you let them in. And you be careful who you let in.”
Rachel’s tough act softened. She accepted the three factory-made keys for the lock. She then got to her feet and moved in for a hug. Morris held her tightly.
“I wish you’d come home until this mess is over,” he said.
“Come on, Dad, with the new lock my place is safer than Fort Knox. The semester just started. I have to be in class, and I can’t be hiding out at home every time you hunt a serial killer.”
“This one’s different. I have a history with him. So did your granddad.”
Morris’s cell phone rang. He kissed Rachel’s forehead before breaking off the hug so he could check the caller ID. The White Swan Hotel in Galway. He answered the phone, and an excited Philip Stonehedge told him he’d been calling around Hollywood like Morris had asked.
“I have a good idea where Benjamin Chandler is hiding out,” Stonehedge said. “From what I’m hearing, Chandler is one of these method actors who takes things way too far when he prepares for a role. Three years ago he was going to star in Sons of the Apocalypse, a biker gang crime film that ended up getting canned, and he started hanging out with a badass biker gang, got involved in a melee at a North Hollywood strip club, and broke some serious biker dude’s jaw. According to a reliable source, he hid out at his agent’s cabin in Wrightwood until things could be worked out and he could show his face around town without having it shot off.”
Wrightwood was a small mountain town an hour and forty-five minutes outside of Los Angeles. So Brownstein had lied to him. Maybe he’d heard something through the grapevine, knew Morris had been in touch with Big Joe Penza, and thought he was protecting his client. Morris was impressed that Brownstein had taken the beating he had from Gallo without giving up Chandler. The fact that Brownstein pointed them to Chandler’s little black book meant that the book wouldn’t lead them to his mountain cabin.
Morris asked, “How reliable is your source?”
“Very reliable. She was with Chandler at the cabin. She’s also married, and her husband believed she was on location for a shoot. She asked that I not give out her name.”
“Did she give you an address for this cabin?”
Stonehedge laughed. “Come on, man, you have to know I’d get that address before calling you. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know. I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks, Phil. You really came through for me.”
“That’s what I do, and that’s why I keep telling you to make me a part-time PI at your firm.”
They’d talked about this before, and Morris knew Stonehedge was partly serious—that he wanted to work as a PI between movie gigs. As with those other times, Morris told him they’d discuss this more after Stonehedge retired from acting.
As Stonehedge had promised, he texted Morris the cabin’s address. Morris looked away from his phone to see Rachel and Parker staring at him intently.
“A lead?” Rachel asked.
“A lead that might get me to a legitimate lead.”
“In other words, you’re still groping in the dark.”
“Hopefully, it’s better than that, but I’ll know more later tonight.”
“Don’t be out too late. Mom needs you at home.”
Concern showed in Rachel’s eyes. Morris promised her he’d be heading home as soon as he checked out this new lead.
Rachel came in for another hug, and Morris gave her another kiss on the forehead. She was twenty-four and in another year would be starting her career as a tough-as-nails prosecutor, but there were times when he had a hard time seeing her as anything other than the skinny little six-year-old girl he had comforted after she fell off her bicycle and badly skinned her knees. This was one of those times.
“Be careful, sweetheart,” he said. “Don’t let anyone in here you don’t know. I’m serious. If someone comes knocking on your door dressed as a cop, call me. I’ll come over and make sure he really is one.”
He wanted to ask whether Doug Gilman would be sleeping over. Although Gilman and his daughter had been a couple for over six months, this was still a subject he hadn’t broached with her, or with Gilman, as tempted as he might’ve been. He’d feel better knowing Rachel wasn’t alone while the Nightmare Man was out there.
“I’ll be fine. Just be careful yourself, okay?”
“How about I leave Parker with you?”
Rachel didn’t exactly roll her eyes, but she came close. “Come on, Dad, that wouldn’t work. I’ve got law school plus twenty hours each week at my job. Parker would be miserable left alone all day.”
“I could drop him off at night and pick him up in the morning.”
No hint of an eye roll this time, only a patronizing smile. “Dad, I love you, but it’s time for you and the little guy to get going.”
Morris took the hint. She was just too stubborn. Once her mind was made up, that was it. It had always been that way with her. He almost asked if he could search her apartment before he left to make sure the Nightmare Man hadn’t gotten in and was hiding somewhere inside, but he knew if he did that he’d get the full eye roll, and for good reason. Forget one in a million, there wasn’t even a possibility of that happening. If there was someone else inside the apartment, Parker would’ve let him know already.
He needed to get a grip. Badly. He had demonstrated that earlier with the way he handled Big Joe Penza. Of course, what he really needed was to put the Nightmare Man out of commission, and he needed to do it before anyone else got hurt.
He told Rachel one more time to be careful, and she somehow restrained herself from showing her exasperation. He led Parker out of the apartment, and after the door closed behind him, he stood quietly and listened for the lock to turn. Only after he heard it did he head for the elevator.
Chapter 32
Charlie Bogle wouldn’t let the argument drop. He insisted, “Brownstein didn’t do his client any favors.”
Morris shrugged halfheartedly. This had been going on for a while now. After he left Rachel’s apartment, he’d called Bogle to fill him in on Stonehedge’s discovery. Bogle had earlier watched Gallo drop off his thug associate and followed him to his high-rise apartment building. Since it appeared as if the gangster was done for the night, they decided to meet at MBI and drive to the mountain town of Wrightwood together.
“These agents are a pain in the ass,” Bogle muttered half under his breath.
“Brownstein thought he was protecting him,” Morris said.
“How exactly was he doing that? He knows I work for Starlight Pictures. He also knows who you are.”
“I’m sure the painkillers they’re giving him clouded his judgment.”
Morris’s cell phone rang. Dennis Polk. He put the phone on speaker.
“I got the goods,” Polk said, sounding pleased with himself. “Not just one photo, but a couple of dozen.”
“Is that so?”
“Damn straight. Melanie Penza was prettying herself up for a big da
te, like we thought. Thirty minutes ago she met up in Malibu with her boyfriend.”
“Bobby Gallo?”
“That’s right.”
Bogle checked the time and frowned. “Gallo must’ve gone back to his place for a quick shower and change. I’m betting he left right after I gave up his tail.”
“Is that Charlie Bogle?” Polk asked.
“The one and only,” Bogle said. “How are tricks?”
“Not too shabby. When I see you next we’ll catch up over some beers.”
“Not if I see you first.”
“Ha ha. Always the joker.”
Morris interrupted them, saying, “Where are they meeting?”
“Yeah, the lovestruck couple,” Polk said. “They’re using a beachfront home. Nice place, very secluded. But that didn’t stop me from snapping shots of them entering the home together. They didn’t waste any time either, and let me tell you, those two are noisy in bed. A lot of passion, also a lot of screaming, grunting, and dirty talk. A couple of alley cats going at it would make less noise. I could hear them loud and clear from outside the front door, and with the racket those two made, they never heard me pick the door lock or realize I was right outside the bedroom taking pictures of them in flagrante delicto.”
“When did you learn Latin?” Bogle asked.
“You pick things up,” Polk said. “I also know e pluribus unum. I can’t tell you what it means, though.”
Morris asked, “Do the photos clearly show their faces?”
Polk chuckled. “Among other things.”
“Okay. Good. Fred is keeping a tail on Big Joe. Give him a call and meet up with him. Charlie and I will join the two of you when we can. We’ll tackle Big Joe then.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Polk said.