Death in Eden

by Paul Heald

  “Don’t you think that’s an odd thing to say about a porn star?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe ‘being with someone’ means loving them. Maybe she drew a line between sex and love.” He shook his head and wiped a coffee drip off the table with his napkin. “Anyway, he didn’t get into her problems, whatever they were. He didn’t hate her because she rejected him. He was absolutely convincing about that. By the time he was done talking about her, he was bawling like a baby.”

  She bit back a sarcastic comment. One of her roommates in college had been abused by a boyfriend who later wept outside their door begging for forgiveness. Guilt and penitence explained many a fit of sobbing. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, Angie.” He looked out the window and paused for a moment. “He wants me to be his investigator in the case. He’s representing himself because he’s broke and doesn’t trust the public defender. He said I’m his last chance to find out what really happened.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. He must still be high.” Then she saw something frightening in her husband’s eye. The same kind of look he sometimes gave an expensive sports car that they really could not afford. “You’re not thinking of doing it, are you?” Something in his eyes gave away the temptation. “But what about the book?”

  He offered an explanation that sounded rehearsed. “The book project would provide pretty good cover for talking to people. You know the woman who discovered the body? She’s already on our interview list. I’d have a great excuse to go back to the heads of the other studios and to talk to Jade’s friends and family. We could keep doing our regular interviews but expand them with questions about the crime.”

  “Alright,” she paused to regroup. Emphasizing the book was an obvious attempt to anticipate her objections. “Helping Don would take more than just a couple of weeks.”

  “You’re right. I could end up staying here for the rest of the summer.” He was unfazed by the realization. “Angela, you know how I’ve felt kinda stuck?” She did not want to admit that he had been unhappy, but she had noticed that he sometimes talked about work like it was a grind instead of a vocation. “I’ve sort of been sliding through life and this has reached out and grabbed me. I know it’s hopeless, but I keep thinking about the girl in the frat house.”

  He traced a circle with a drop of coffee and then looked into her eyes. She looked away. Soul-baring was not something he did often, and it made her uncomfortable. “I just kept playing pool while those guys were going to rape that girl. Don was different. He charged in and prevented me from being an accomplice to a crime.” She studied him carefully, unsure how to respond. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know if he killed Jade, but I owe him something, even if he did.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he spoke quickly, “but nothing is going to put the book off schedule. We’ll do all the interviews and by the time we have the transcripts back, I’ll be ready to write.”

  “How can you know that?” She shook her head. “You’ve never done anything like this before. You can’t possibly predict how long it’s going to take.”

  “You’re right,” he admitted, “but I told Don that I start teaching again the second week in August. That gives me almost three months. He understands that if I can’t dig up anything by then, I’m going back.”

  “And the book?” She gave him a piercing look. Over the last two years, his progress had been glacial. It had taken him forever to complete each new section. Freud would have a great deal to say about this book project and his desire to be a professor. “You’ve got a tenure vote coming up.”

  “Don’t worry.” He reached out and touched her hand. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  XII.

  MACMILLAN AND WIFE

  Stanley could not get to sleep. After hours watching thoughts spinning in his head, he turned on the small light beside his bed, found a pen and jotted down some notes on the back of the room service menu. First, he needed to get as much information as he could about Don and Jade during the regularly scheduled interviews. Beyond that, he needed to speak with everyone who worked in the Eden Studio office and also get back in touch with Don’s competitors. He would also need the guest list from the party and the various forensic reports from the crime scene which should be forthcoming when Don informed the police of his decision. It would also be a good idea to search the office, although he had no idea what he should look for. At the bottom of the page he drew a number of diverging arrows. In every study he had conducted, the first set of questions and informants always led to secondary and tertiary investigations that were frequently more fruitful than the initial line of inquiry.

  He had not been so excited by a project since his study of migrant farm workers had inadvertently uncovered an immigrant smuggling operation conducted by a major agricultural firm. That time he had backed off and kept quiet. The workers had told him that the pipeline to the U.S. was safer and cheaper than paying the typical ruthless coyote to cross the border, not to mention that whistle blowing would have trashed eighteen months of his research. This time, he would be free to take Don’s case as far as it needed to go. No mindless IRB committee would be looking over his shoulder monitoring his questions. No panel of external reviewers would ignore a manuscript for six months and then toss it in the garbage. If he really got his teeth into something, he had a client who would want him to chew to his heart’s content.

  He looked over at Angela before he turned off the reading light. She was worried that he would screw everything up, and she was not being totally unreasonable—there was a danger of getting sidetracked. She had a hard time understanding the motivations of anyone who was not as focused as she was. She was like a laser beam pointed at journalism and a house full of kids, and her tenacity was one of the things he loved about her. She knew what she wanted and was passionate in pursuing it. Where would he be if she hadn’t pursued him? He flicked a hair out of her face and she rolled over with a grump. As long as the book kept moving forward, she’d be okay with his new vocation.

  * * *

  “Who’s first today?” Stanley asked as they set up the interview room.

  Angela looked at a sheet of paper on the table. “Tracey Savannah—no studio affiliation. Let’s hope she comes on time.”

  He sat down on the bed and looked over the additional questions about Don and Jade he had added. Rather than include them in the formal interview, he decided that raising the murder casually before they started might prompt a more open response. Angela would make sure that the video camera and audio recorder were on the whole time, so he would not have to take notes. As soon as they heard a knock on the door, she flicked on the camera, and he waited until she was seated again to let Tracy in.

  “I’m sorry I’m dressed like a slob,” the chestnut-maned beauty said breathily, “but I’m working this afternoon, and I always go to the set in a sweat suit. No sense getting dressed up when you’re going straight to hair and makeup.” She shook Stanley’s hand, and when she turned to acknowledge Angela, he could not help but admire the wide swath of firm, tanned belly revealed by the cut of her outfit. The plush sweatsuit was not made for long distance running. The bottoms were cut low across the curve of her hips and the top barely covered her navel.

  “Don’t worry,” he said honestly, “you look great. And thanks for coming! We were worried that people might not show up after what happened on Wednesday night.”

  “Wasn’t that awful!” Tracey shook her head woefully.

  “Were you there?”

  “No. I got an invitation—I think everyone who ever made a film for Don got one—but I had a headache and my babysitter didn’t show, so I stayed at home. Good thing too. I woulda hated getting stuck there afterward.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “God, I must have spent half the night on the phone. This is a real close group. I mean, everybody knows everybody, or at least has heard of everybody. The c
ell networks were probably on overload.”

  “Were you surprised by what happened?”

  “Oh yeah, totally.” She started to say more, but interrupted herself to take a quick glance at her cell phone and silence it. “At first, I figured it must have been her manager.” Her face looked like she had just bitten into a dead squirrel. “What a total scumbag.”

  “Who do you mean?” Stanley cast a quick glance at the mirror behind Tracey to see if he could catch Angela’s eye in the reflection.

  “Well, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Jade was one of those bitches who just begs to be slapped upside the head.” She seemed oblivious to her choice of words. “And her manager did just that, plenty of times. He’s a big time meth dealer who doesn’t take any shit from anyone. Some of the girls used to say that it was a good thing her skin was so brown, because it made covering up the bruises easier.”

  Stanley nodded his understanding and cast another glance at his wife. “So, in other circumstances this manager—what’s his name?—would be the logical suspect.”

  She hesitated and then shrugged. “You could get his name from anybody. It’s Chance Geary. And I’ve never met a bigger turd in my whole life.” She spat out the words. “He’s hit on, or hit, every girl he’s ever met, including me. Made a pass at, that is. He’s got about ten girls so strung out that they can barely work any more.” She unexpectedly popped a bubble of chewing gem. “He’s still a member of some biker gang.”

  “Why would a big star have someone like that as her manager?”

  “God, do I look like a psychiatrist? He latched on to her real early; I know that.” She reached over and took a bottle of water. “They sort of fed off each other, and in a lot of ways she’s just as hard as he is. I guess she liked having an attack dog close by even if it bit her once in a while. Shit, I don’t know.”

  “And Don?”

  She sighed. “Don was like a good ol’ golden retriever. I don’t understand why he’d do this.”

  Stanley ran a theory past her, one that would save Don years of jail time if it could be proven. “Someone told me that he was pretty drunk and took some painkillers that night. Do you think he could have hit her accidentally, not knowing what he was really doing?”

  She thought for a moment and tugged on her sweat suit. “I don’t know. You’re a friend of his, right?” He nodded. “You tell me.”

  Stanley answered her question with a shrug and guided the interview in the familiar waters of his study. Following up on the theme of managers, he discovered a whole new facet of the porn industry. Universally despised, porn star agents were, according to Tracey, the lowest form of managerial life. Each story she told was laced with fraud, betrayal, and abuse. Many of the agents were boyfriends, excited about dating and managing a porn star, but wallowing in insecurity and self-doubt that they covered with cheesy bravado. Most were amateurs, so they seldom got the best deals for their ‘clients.’ According to Tracey, relationships often ended with the discovery of embezzlement. When confronted, the man would inevitably justify the theft with some uncreative name-calling. She admitted that there were a few good managers out there but insisted that a girl was much better off learning the business quickly and representing herself.

  The interview ended with a crisp rap on the hotel room door. While Angela got up to answer it, he thanked Tracey and wrote his cell phone number on the back of his business card. “Call me if there’s anything else you think of.”

  Tracey took the card and bounced over to the buxom redhead that Angela had just let in. “Hi Jenna! Meet Jenna Jaymes, the Queen of the Pearl Necklace.” She gave her friend a quick peck on the cheek. “Have fun, Jen. He’s a cutie.” With quick wink at Angela, she nipped out of the room.

  Stanley hid his embarrassment with a cough and invited Jenna to sit down. Angela signaled with a twirl of her finger that the equipment was still on. He excused himself to the bathroom and stranded his wife with the curvy redhead.

  “Hi,” she said as she extended her hand. “I’m Angela, Stan’s wife and general gofer.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Jenna wore a short, print dress. Its tailored cut emphasized the generous swell of her breasts, barely managing to stay within the range of acceptable daytime attire. Her most striking feature, however, was the teased and tousled hair that seemed to take up half of the room. She smiled. “Are you a professor too?”

  “No, I’m just a real estate agent.” The starlet looked confused, so she elaborated. “Stanley thought it would be fun if I came out with him and did the audiovisual stuff. After what happened Wednesday night, fun may not be the right word.”

  “Oh my god, were you at the party?”

  “We were sitting at a table in the back. When that woman screamed, I just about had a heart attack.” She could see Stanley standing in the doorway of the bathroom listening to how the conversation was going. She took his cue and asked Jenna about the party. She had been there but had not seen anything suspicious.

  “Did you know Jade?”

  “Well, not really. I worked with her once, but we didn’t talk much.”

  “Did you know Don?”

  “Sure, everybody did.”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “Sure, probably. I mean they found him with the murder weapon, didn’t they?”

  Struggling with Jenna’s curt answers, she tried to come up with a better question. There must be something important left to ask, but she could not put her finger on it. Then she remembered what Tracey had said earlier. “What does ‘Queen of the Pearl Necklace’ mean?”

  Jenna laughed and delivered a response that seemed deliberately calculated to embarrass the uninitiated Midwesterner. “Well, when a pop shot goes just right, the dribbles of cum can look just like a pearl necklace.” She traced a wicked line across the top of her cleavage. “It’s my specialty.”

  Angela looked at her husband with alarm, and he strode into the room holding two bottles of mineral water. “Would you like some water, Ms. James?”

  “Yes, please.” She unscrewed the bottle top and smiled. “Thanks.”

  “And thank you for coming! These are crazy times, and we appreciate you making time to talk to us. Did I overhear you saying that you knew Ms. Delilah?”

  “Sort of. We did a three-way scene together once.”

  “What was that like? I’ve heard so many conflicting things about her. One person even suggested that her manager might have murdered her!” He spoke in a confidential tone, as if he were sharing a choice bit of gossip.

  Jenna took a drink of her water and ignored the reference to Jade’s agent. “Like I said, I didn’t know her off the set, but she was an animal on camera. In the one scene we did, she clamped her mouth on me like she was never going to let go. She just kept going and going until I had the most intense orgasm of my life. And before I could catch my breath, she was stuffing me with this guy and rubbing me with her fingers. It was really an amazing scene. When we were done, she just got up and left. Didn’t say a word. Me and the guy just shook our heads. It was like getting hit by a tornado.”

  “That’s unusual, I take it.”

  “Yup,” she said emphatically, “most sex on the set is pretty mechanical. As soon as you start to feel good, the director wants you to switch positions again. It can really be a grind, but that time was different. Really different.”

  “Do you remember who the director was? Was it Don?” He finished his water and set it on the floor next to his chair. “I guess you know that he and I went to college together.”

  “Yeah, she said that,” Jenna replied without glancing at Angela. “Come to think of it, it may have been Don. It would have been like him to let the talent have a little fun.”

  “Did you like working for him?”

  “Well, like I said: Work is work. But with Don it was usually stress free. You knew you would start and end on time. You knew that the check wasn’t going to bounce.” She settled back in her chair. “It�
�s too bad that Jade’s dead and that Don’s in trouble.”

  “What do you think of the idea that Jade’s manager may have been involved?” He studied his notes as he asked the critical question.

  “When it comes to him, I’ve got nothing to say.”

  Stanley could tell from her body language that she would not offer any dirt on Chance Geary. He nodded to her. “Sometimes silence says a lot.”

  “Sometimes it does.”

  “Well,” he picked up a pencil, “we’ve only got about ninety minutes left. Could you tell us how you got started in the business?”

  * * *

  “You are so much better at getting people to talk than I am,” Angela said as they lay in bed. They had capped off the long day of interviews off with an expensive seafood dinner and had mostly steered clear of conversation about the case. Despite the fancy meal and their swank accommodations, she was ready to go back to Illinois. After interviewing porn stars, she had a new appreciation for the mundane conversation of her middle-class home buying clients.

  “Good interviewing just takes practice,” he explained and then barked out a laugh. “Hey, you got her to explain what a pearl necklace is!”

  “Woo hoo! Jenna thought I was being judgmental and clammed up.”

  “Well,” he leaned back in the bed and smiled. “Weren’t you?”

  “Not really,” she protested, “or at least I’m trying not to be judgmental of the women. I still hate the business.”

  “I’m not sure the actresses appreciate that distinction.”

  “Probably not.” She puffed up her pillow and propped herself up. “I’ll be so glad when this is over and we can go home. I talked to Nanci today, and she said a family was asking about me. Apparently, they’ve got a huge house with a pool that they want to sell. We could use the commission.”

  Stanley grunted and turned on the television to a twenty-four hour news channel. After a story about the wild rescue of some boaters caught in a flooded river, the anchor promised an update on the famous pornographer charged in the death of his bombshell star.