by Paul Heald
“Well, let’s just say that I’m not totally worthless as a negotiator.” Max sounded pleased with himself. “I convinced them to add a year to Stanley’s tenure clock. He won’t have to come up for tenure until the year after next. That gives him plenty of extra time to finish.”
She let out a breath. The plan smoothed out things for Stanley and its logic was inexorable. Max was indeed a good negotiator.
“Max,” she said gratefully, “you’re awesome! He’ll be so relieved.” She sat up in the bed and hung her legs over the edge. “It’s been really stressful for him to work under such a tight deadline.”
“No problem. I shouldn’t have approved this junket in the first place,” he said graciously. “Anyway, talk to him and have him call me as soon as he gets back. I want things settled as quickly as possible.”
He rang off and Angela found her way back to the news channel, but she had missed the story. It didn’t matter now. Stanley and she could now go back home and leave the cesspool behind. Max, good old Max, had saved the day.
* * *
Stanley drove into the lot at Boudoir Productions just as the sun was setting over the Pacific. He could not see the ocean from the parking lot, but he stood for a moment appreciating the orange and purple streaking the horizon. Los Angeles might be hot and dirty, full of people scrambling from one place to the other, but on occasions it was sublime, even from the perspective of a sticky, black parking lot. The door to the building was open, but there was nobody in the lobby, so he walked down a carpeted hall looking for Brian Mulkahey. He stuck his head into the first open room and a young man stuffing DVD’s into boxes told him to return to the lobby and follow the other hallway. Stanley eventually found himself outside a door waiting for the florid producer to finish a phone call. He waved Stanley in and motioned for him to sit.
“Yeah, sure,” he said into the receiver, “no problemo. I don’t know about a contract, but we’ll have something soon. Gerry will call you tomorrow. I’ve got someone here now.” He nodded at Stanley. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll call you.” He hung up with a smile.
“That was Crystal Ferrari, one of Don’s hottest properties,” he explained with satisfaction, “totally panicked because production has stopped at Eden. Nobody’s signing any checks and nothing’s getting made. I’ve gotten about five calls today from girls who usually work over there.”
“So, Don’s arrest has been good for business?” Angela’s instincts about the fall out of the murder dead on. A major shake up was in store for the industry and those quick enough to take advantage would make a nice profit from the downfall of Eden Studio.
“It’s been great.” Mulkahey polished his glasses and mopped his bald head with his handkerchief. “Look, I’m sorry Don’s in the soup, but it’s his own fault.”
“So you think he did it?” Stanley watched carefully.
“Yeah, I mean who else? I’m as surprised as the next guy. He always seemed like such a straight shooter, but when you’re right obsessed, you’re gonna get in trouble. You know he paid Janus over one hundred thousand dollars to get Jade out of her contract so that she could come to Eden?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I know she’s hot, but that was fuckin’ insane.”
“It almost paid off,” Stanley countered.
“Almost,” the producer admitted with a shake of his head. “Look, on the one hand, I’m surprised that he’d kill her, but on the other, he never really played by the rules. He didn’t fit in and he pissed off a lot of people over the years.” Mulkahey poked his finger in Stanley’s direction and then slapped his desk. “The bottom line is: He just wasn’t hard-boiled enough, ya know what I mean? And when he runs into a real hard-boiled chick like Jade, you see what happens.”
Stanley felt like he was interviewing a character from a Mickey Spillane mystery, but he was grateful the producer was willing to talk so openly. “How do you think that Jade’s boyfriend felt about all this?”
“It pissed him off,” the producer explained, “but that guy is always pissed off. He called here last week trying to convince me to hire Jade once her contract with Eden was up. He said he had almost closed a deal with Chimera but wanted to give me a chance to get in on the bidding.”
“Jade was thinking of leaving Eden? What did you say?”
“I told him to go fuck himself. He was throwing out ridiculous numbers. I told him she had the best contract in the business with Eden, and that no one else would be stupid enough to match Don’s rate, much less top it.”
“What’d he say to that?”
“He blew up, shouted that he’d worked out something better with Chimera already and hung up on me.” Mulkahey held up his hands palm up, as if to say whachya gonna do?
“But he definitely wanted to get her away from Don?” Stanley pushed.
“I know what you’re thinking. Geary shopping around his girl just before she gets murdered . . . look, if you can hang this on that little scumbag, more power to you. Just take your time, okay? Business has never been better.” He stood up and offered to lead Stanley out of the building.
“One more question. On the night of the murder, where were you?”
If the pornographer was offended, he did not show it. “I was here making a film until about midnight. You can check it out with the crew if you want. The cops already have.”
As Stanley walked out of the building toward his car, he pondered the implications of the police checking out Mulkahey’s alibi. Perhaps McCaffrey only appeared to have prejudged Don’s guilt. Why check on Mulkahey’s whereabouts unless the detective was considering other suspects? Of course, he might just be going through the motions to appear more thorough to a jury. As he turned the key in the ignition, his cell phone rang. He fumbled with it a moment before finally locating the talk button.
“This is Chance.” The high-pitched and wary voice did not sound as menacing as he had expected. “I got your message.”
“Thanks for returning my call, Mr. Geary.” When in doubt, he thought, just be polite, especially when dealing with potentially homicidal drug dealers. He had interviewed some slimy characters for the other chapters in his book. At least two of the carnival workers and one termite exterminator had struck him as sociopaths, if not psychopaths. But they weren’t that hard to deal with: just nod your head, seem completely absorbed by everything they say, and never utter a word of disagreement. “I’m investigating the death of your client, Jade Delilah, and I’d like to schedule a meeting with you.”
“I’ve already talked to a detective. Are you another cop?” He spat out the word with disgust.
“No, no. I’m working on Mr. Johansson’s behalf, trying to get background information on the victim.”
Instead of the explosion Stanley feared, Geary responded with a skeptical laugh. “Are you kidding me? Why the fuck should I talk to you?”
Good question. “Well, I’m trying to find Jade’s killer and the more I know about her, the easier that’s going to be. I’ve been told that you know more about her than anyone else.”
Geary chuckled through the receiver. “How’s this for background information? Don Johansson locked me out of his party and then killed Jade when I couldn’t protect her. That help?”
“Look, I understand you’re upset. I would be too, but I just need fifteen minutes. I could get a subpoena, but it would be easier for both of us if you’ll just see me tomorrow.” Stanley had no idea whether he had any right to subpoena anyone, but he could not think of another way to gain leverage over Geary.
The agent pondered the threat a moment and then replied. “I’ll be in my bike shop all morning. It’s in Las Llaves, on Hortaleza Avenue across from the Taco Bell.” Then he hung up.
Stanley’s confidence surged. The meeting with Mulkahey had been productive, and talking to Geary would make a good start to the next day’s investigation. He would take the interviews and conversations where they naturally led, hoping that he would find someone other than Don at the end of the trai
l. The task of unraveling the murder had begun to take on a familiar feel. It was not that much different from his usual research, except the stakes were higher and he did not have to produce an irrelevant academic paper at the end of the day. The next day’s hunting would be interesting.
* * *
Angela stood packing her suitcase, humming quietly, contemplating sleeping in her own bed after the long journey back. A hot bath would feel good too. Best of all, she could get back to her computer and start writing about her crazy trip out west. The outrageous cast of characters she had met in LA would be good for at least for five or six juicy columns. She specialized in revealing the humor and weirdness in everyday life. One of her favorite columns, a description of an Armenian-Mexican wedding gone awry, had even been picked up by the Morris new service. The porn stars offered similar subject matter. They were both more ordinary and more outrageous than she had imagined. They certainly put the extra back in extraordinary. They also put the whore back in horrible.
As she checked the closet one last time, she heard a plastic key card slide through door lock. She turned to see her husband, a confused expression registering on his face as he looked past her shoulder to the suitcase. She clicked off the television set and gave him a hug. “Stan, you need to call Max right away.” He squeezed her back and then pushed her away gently so he could see her face.
“What’s going on?”
“Max called,” she explained, “with some really terrible news. The university administration is freaked out about your helping Don and has withdrawn your research grant.”
“What!”
“They saw the news reports on CNN.” She grabbed his hand as she talked. “They don’t want you out here on university money defending a porn director in a sensational murder case.”
“But we’ve still got interviews to do.” He shook his head in disbelief and broke away from her grip. “Why should anyone care if I help out a friend at the same time?”
“I think the personal connection actually makes it worse.” She felt truly sorry for her husband. He looked unable to catch his breath, like someone had just sucker-punched him. Even though she had had doubts about their impulsive trip to California, the project deserved a better fate. She reached out to him. “Stan, there may be a silver lining. Max said he has convinced the Dean to give you another year on your tenure clock. As long as you come back now, you’ll have extra time to finish the book.”
“As long as I come back now?”
“Yes, that’s why I was packing. I called up the airline, and there’s a flight out tomorrow morning.”
“So, they take the funding,” she watched in dismay as his shock gave way to anger, “and they want me to give up the interviews and the investigation too?”
“That’s what he said,” she explained. “It’s the publicity . . . the scandal. The university just wants it to go away.”
Stanley suddenly shot up and walked across the room to the phone. “Where’s his fucking number? Did you write it down?” She shook her head and watched him search frantically for the department head’s number on his laptop.
“Stan,” she said, working to keep the panic out of her voice, “what are you going to tell him? Don’t you think you should calm down first?”
“I am calm,” he said in a barely controlled voice. “I’m totally calm, but I’m not going to let a bunch of bureaucrats tell me what to do.” He put the receiver down while he talked but kept his hand on top of the phone. “They can pull my funding; that’s their prerogative. So what if I have to come up with a couple thousand dollars on my own? But I won’t be told that certain topics are forbidden, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to be bullied into turning my back on a friend.”
* * *
Stuart McCaffrey sat at his desk mulling over the short blond hair that had been found tangled in Jade Delilah’s ring. It would be futile to test the hair of everyone at the party. Even if a match were found, that would not prove its owner was the killer. On the other hand, what if the defense proved that it matched the hair of someone with a record of violence? And what if the same person had no alibi for the forty-five minute period when the murder might have taken place? Any decent defense lawyer would love to play that scenario to a jury. The professor had hit a sore spot. A California jury needed to be convinced three times over before it found a celebrity guilty of anything. He decided to give Ellen a call to see how feasible it would be to do the check. He tried her office first, and then caught her at home in the middle of dinner.
“Ellie? I’ve got a question about the Johansson case, if you’ve got a second.”
“Not really, but go ahead anyway.” When he heard her voice, he imagined her sitting in the kitchen where they had eaten most of their meals together for twenty-five years. Hearing irritation in her voice was better than not hearing her at all.
“Johansson’s investigator saw the note in your report about the strand of hair found on the victim’s hand, and he’s asking me to follow up on it. Normally, I’d tell him to go, uh, screw himself, but he understands how it might look to a jury if we don’t do anything to try and find a match.” He swished a couple of ounces of cold coffee around in a chipped ceramic mug. “How hard would it be to run a DNA test on one hundred fifty people?”
“We wouldn’t have to do that. We could eliminate ninety-five percent of the people with just a microscope. If you collect samples and bag them, it wouldn’t take us that long. You’d only need to run DNA on any closely similar strands.”
“So you think we should go ahead and do it?” He knew the answer was yes, but since their divorce he had learned that asking her advice sometimes softened the tone she used with him.
“Yeah, it’s suspicious, and it’s unexplained. I know you’re tempted to say that she could have picked up the hair anywhere, but any defense attorney is going to say that she yanked it from her assailant’s head.”
“Could it have been?”
“Maybe.” She paused for a moment. “It would be kind of odd for a hair of that length to remain lodged for so long after the dinner. And while you’re in a mood to take advice, I’d have everyone sign a receipt acknowledging that their hair was taken.” “We’d do that as a matter of course.”
“Yes, but have the officer note which hand each donor signs with. You’re looking for a lefty, remember.” He almost lied that he had already thought of this, but instead he thanked her for the suggestion. “And one more thing. I don’t know what it means, but nobody’s come forward to claim the victim’s body. I thought you might want to know.”
* * *
For a moment, Angela stared completely tongue-tied at her husband. Max had offered an honorable solution to a terrible situation. How could he not see that? He could not torpedo his career out of some misplaced loyalty to a killer. She would not let him. “Just talk to Max. We need to go home tomorrow.”
“I’ll talk to him, but I’m staying here.” The look on his face and the tone of his voice was maddening. He was so busy standing up for his right to do as he pleased that he could not see the impact on anything or anyone else.
“Stan,” she spoke to him as if he were a man about to jump off a window ledge, “think about it. They’re giving you another year. I know you’re upset, but as far as your career is concerned this is just a bump in the road. It’s really no big deal.”
“No big deal? Don’s put his life in my hands. He’s rotting in jail waiting to be tried for murder, and I’m the only person helping him. I promised I’d do this investigation, and I’m going to do it.”
“Just like that?” Outrage and contempt began to sneak into her voice.
“Just like that. And you know what?” He sat down next to her on the bed, unaware of the volcano of emotions within her. “I think I can do it. It’s just like any other research project. You collect all the data you can; you talk to all the people who know something.” He touched her hand. “I’m not claiming that I can prove he’s innocent. But I can unra
vel the story.” He squeezed. “I can figure it out.”
“You’re not thinking straight, Stan.” She stood up and broke away. “You’re not getting this! Call up Max! These guys are not fooling around. Are you willing to lose your job over this? Are you willing to lose everything that we’ve been working for?”
“I shouldn’t have to lose my job because I want to help someone in trouble.”
“Well, that may be unfair, but it’s the world you’re stuck in.” She started jamming the remaining clothes in the suitcase, shoulders shaking. He had always been such a pragmatist that this idealistic turn completely blindsided her. She knew that the undergrads drove him crazy and that he didn’t like having to crank out an article every year, but he had always seen the massive upside of academic life. What the hell was going on?
“They can’t fire me for staying here. This is a matter of academic freedom, and I have a contract.”
“Sweetheart,” she said with as much sarcasm as sympathy, “they don’t have to fire you. If you come up for tenure without the book, then you’ll be turned down by the faculty and your contract won’t be renewed. They don’t have to do anything special.” She knew the rules of the game as well as he did.
“Then I’ll have to find a way to finish the investigation and the book, even without the extra year.” She stared at him with fury. He was completely immune to reason.
“Then you’ll do it without me! I married a professor, not an amateur detective.” She didn’t care if everyone in the hotel could hear her yell. “I’m leaving this fucked up city and your porn star pals as soon as I can! I’m going to go home and sell some houses, because pretty soon that’s going to be the only income we have.” She turned away from him, threw the rest of her clothes into the suitcase and stormed into the bathroom to collect her toiletries. Stanley sat on the bed staring at the phone. To his surprise, it rang.
“Hello? Yes, I remember. That would be great. Yes, we can talk tomorrow afternoon . . . thanks.” He put the receiver down slowly and sat back on the bed.