by M. Z. Kelly
“I wish I could confirm what you’re saying, but it’s not my place.”
“I know, and I’m not asking for anything. When, and if, you can talk about the case, I’d like your perspective—strictly off the record.”
“It’s a deal, providing we catch him.” I took a moment, asking about her personal life. “I think you said you were seeing another reporter last time we talked.”
“We’re history. It turns out he was still seeing his ex, so I’m single and looking, if you know of anyone worth spending time on.”
I laughed. “There’s a lot of us in that category.” My thoughts went to Olivia. “I’m planning to have dinner with a friend this Thursday night at the Rectory. Would you care to join us?”
“You sure it’s okay if I tag along?”
I glanced over, seeing that Olivia was talking to one of the studio staffers. “I’m sure my friend won’t mind. I’ll text you and confirm the time.”
After I escorted Cynthia back to the security tape, I met up with Olivia and mentioned the possibility of her joining us for dinner. “We’re all unattached and looking, so maybe we can think of it as a support group for single women.”
She chuckled. “I need all the support I can get. She’s more than welcome.”
We found Chuck Mott, the head of studio security, in a small office. He was around forty, nice-looking, and had a pleasant demeanor.
“We’d like to take a look at the security footage of the backlot from last night and early this morning,” Olivia said. “We’re also going to need records of anyone who came onto or left the grounds over the past twenty-four hours.”
“Of course.” He brushed a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “From the rumors I’ve heard, you think his death wasn’t an overdose?”
“All we can say is that we’re taking a close look at everything.”
“Understood. If it...if it wasn’t an overdose, it’s a terrible shame.” He frowned. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Olivia smiled. “We understand.”
“Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“Do you know if Mr. Novak was having any problems with anyone here at the studio?” I asked.
Mott smiled. “Just between us, he was drunk most of the time and got into a few shouting matches.”
“With who?”
“His manager, Ms. Welch, comes to mind, and then there’s also his business manager...” He scratched his head. “Forget his name.”
“Garfield Boyer.”
“Yeah, Boyer. They had a couple go-arounds.”
“Do you think he might have wanted to harm Mr. Novak?”
“I doubt it. Boyer’s not the time to get physical.”
“What about Ms. Welch?”
Mott drew in a breath. “Just between us, she’s not the nicest person, but I really can’t say if she wanted to harm him.”
“Does anyone else come to mind?” Olivia asked.
“There were some women he was seeing. Extras, I think. I heard rumors about problems, but don’t know for sure. I’ll ask around and let you know what I find out.”
“We appreciate that.”
Mott’s assistant was sitting nearby and offered to pull up the records of studio visitors while we went with her boss to look at the security video. As we walked to a back office, Mott said, “Just so you know, I doubt that the video’s going to be much help.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“We’ve got three cameras on the back of the buildings, all trained on the lot, but it’s an older system. I’ve asked for upgrades, but...” He smiled. “Let’s just say it hasn’t been a priority.”
When we got to the back office, we soon realized what Mott had meant. The security footage from all three cameras provided only distant images of the trailers. Novak’s trailer was angled in such a way that it was impossible to see anyone coming or going. We made out some grainy images of people moving around the backlot, but, due to the distance and lighting, it was impossible to identify anyone.
After spending the better part of an hour looking at the security tapes and becoming frustrated, I told Mott, “We’re going to need a copy of what you have. Maybe our technical people can enhance the images.”
“Consider it done.”
Mott’s assistant appeared in the office and gave him some paperwork. He reviewed what she’d given him, then handed it over to us. “This is a list of everyone who’s entered or left the grounds in the past twenty-four hours.”
As I took the paperwork, Olivia said, “We understand that sometimes people can come and leave the property without checking in.”
Mott rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Mr. Novak’s manager told us that sometimes people are let in without a pass if they know someone. She said there’s also a gate from the cemetery that doesn’t have a card reader.”
Mott exhaled. “I’m afraid that’s all true. We’ve got some staff who want to run their own show. As for the cemetery, the gate is for maintenance purposes, but it’s not controlled.”
“I don’t believe this,” I said, looking up from the paperwork.
“What is it?” Olivia asked.
“My friends, Natalie and Mo. They were here last night.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“Myrna got us a last-minute security gig,” Mo said, as Olivia and I met with her and Natalie in a guard shack at the front of the studio. “Since Jimmy’s still missing, she’s taken over the business.”
“Speakin’ of Jimmy,” Natalie said. “Any word on him?”
I studied my friends for a moment, wondering how they always managed to land in the middle of my cases. “Leo’s supposed to do some follow-up today.”
After Olivia said hello to my friends, she asked about their duties. “Have you been here all morning, working the security gate?”
“Yeah, and we know who killed Brad,” Natalie said. She looked at me. “Took us less than two hours to solve your case.”
Mo spoke up before I could ask her to explain. “Baby sis means we got us a theory ‘bout what happened.”
“It was blackmail,” Natalie said, her hazel eyes growing wider. “Somebody was gonna dish the dirt on bisexual Brad. When she demanded money to keep quiet, and he refused, she stuck a needle in his arm.”
I glanced at Olivia, rolling my eyes. I looked back at Natalie. “And who was this blackmailer?”
“From what we hear, his manager is a piece of work, so it mighta been her,” Mo said. “As soon as we get all the dirty dirt, you’ll be the second to know.”
“The second?”
“We’re gonna give an exclusive interview to the press after we break things open. It’s ‘bout time we took some credit for solving your cases.”
I shook my head out of frustration. “We’ll talk about this some more when I get home tonight.” I turned to Olivia. “Let’s go interview some aliens.”
“Your friends certainly keep you on your toes,” Olivia said, as we reentered the studio.
“Sometimes it’s all I can do to stay upright.” I took a breath. “Do you think Judy Welch could have been behind Novak’s death?”
“You mean, as in hiring someone to kill him?”
I nodded. “Even my friends have her as their number one suspect.”
“It’s possible. If we don’t come up with anything more, I think she’s worth taking another crack at.”
We spent a couple hours interviewing Brad Novak’s co-star, some production staff, and several extras who had been on the set yesterday. Late in the day, we met up with Leo and Richard to compare notes.
“The production people weren’t much help,” Leo told us. “I don’t think they want to look like they’re accusing anyone, so they’re playing it close to the vest.”
“They even said that Welch and Novak got along okay,” Richard added.
“What about his business manager?” Olivia asked.
“Made several calls
to Garfield Boyer that weren’t returned,” Leo said. “He’ll be on our list first thing in the morning.”
“Anything worthwhile on your end?” Richard asked.
We filled them in on Natalie and Mo working security. Olivia then said, “We didn’t get much that was worthwhile from the security tapes—bad camera angles. We also got the impression nobody wants to go out on a limb and talk about what happened, just like with your interviews.”
I got a text and saw it was from Natalie. “It looks like Mario Ford just arrived at the front gate. My friends tried to get his autograph, but he refused.”
“Let’s go have a chat with him,” Leo said.
“Who’s Mario Ford?” Richard asked, as we followed Leo.
I glanced at him, wondering if he lived a sheltered life. “He’s only the most famous director in Hollywood.”
“Oh, that Mario Ford,” Richard said, apparently making the connection. “Of course.”
We met with the director in his office in the administrative wing of the studio. Ford was around fifty, heavyset, with a full head of white hair. I’d heard rumors that he was difficult and demanding of those who worked for him, and had an ego the size of a bus.
“Just for the record,” Ford began, after we took seats in his oak paneled office, “I don’t know anything about what happened here.” He cut his eyes to Leo. “I understand it was an overdose.”
“Maybe,” Leo said. “There’s also the possibility Mr. Novak was injected with drugs.”
“Injected? You think he was murdered?”
“We’re still invest...”
“Don’t give me your line of bullshit.” Ford’s dark eyes bore into him. “Was this a murder or not?”
I’d never seen Leo intimidated by anyone, and this was no exception. “I can’t say at this point.”
Ford held on his eyes for a long moment before lowering his gaze and blinking. “Fuck. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to our production costs, the promotion schedule, and our release date?” He looked back at Leo. “Of course you don’t.”
“What can you tell us about Mr. Novak’s relationships? Anyone who might have wanted to harm him?”
“He was a drunk, barely made it on set for his scenes. When he wasn’t on set, he was fucking anyone who came near him.” Ford rubbed his jaw. “Maybe he just overdosed.”
“From what we know, he wasn’t a drug user, because his brother died of a drug overdose.”
“What was the drug?”
“It looks like heroin, maybe laced with something more powerful.”
The director shrugged. “People who are drunks usually succumb to drug use at some point.” He exhaled. “What does it matter?” He stood. “If there’s nothing else, I need to talk to my staff.”
Leo rose and gave Ford his card. “If you think of anything we should know, please call.”
After we left Ford’s office, we stopped in the hallway to regroup.
“Egotistical asshole,” Richard said, cutting his eyes back toward the office where we’d met with Ford.
“Can’t say that I disagree,” Leo said.
Olivia gave us her thoughts. “He seems as uncooperative as the rest of the staff.”
We took a moment, expressing our mutual frustration with everyone at the studio, before Larry Randolph came down the hallway with Kathy Maitland. The deputy coroner was in his late twenties, tall and gangly, with brown hair and blue eyes. He looked like he could still be in high school.
“I can definitely confirm the COD was an overdose of fentanyl,” Randolph said. “Your victim was dead shortly after the needle entered his vein.”
Kathy Maitland added, “And there were no prints on the syringe.”
“Meaning we definitely have a homicide, rather than an accidental overdose,” Leo said.
“It’s likely someone wearing gloves injected him.”
“What about other prints in the trailer?”
“We have a dozen prints that we’ll need to run comparatives on. No matches are in the system.”
“Anything else that was noteworthy?” Olivia asked.
“We found some more fentanyl in another trailer that’s near Novak’s,” Kathy said. “Our people are processing it now.”
Randolph told us how he planned to proceed. “We’ll run the blood, urine, examine the gastric contents, and take bile samples during the autopsy. I’ll try to schedule it for tomorrow morning.”
After Maitland told us her staff didn’t find anything else that was noteworthy, she and Randolph wandered off. When they were gone, Leo exhaled and mopped his brow. “Let’s call it a day and pick this up first thing tomorrow.”
“Kate and I still have the Mulats to interview before we pack it in,” Olivia said.
“The what?” Richard asked.
“A group of extras that are called Mulats. They’re half alien, half human.”
“Mulats. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling us Yoda did it.”
“A surprise it would not be,” I said, just to irritate him.
As it turned out, the Mulats weren’t little green men, but four rather attractive young women, who told us they were intermediaries between human and alien life forms.
“We’re supposed to be superior to both humans and aliens,” an extra named Maddie told us. We met with her and the three other aliens in a back office. “Our cross-breeding has given us superior intelligence and sexuality.” She giggled and looked at her friend. “Right, bae?”
“The struggle is real,” her friend, whose name was Sloan, agreed.
I glanced at Olivia, realizing there was a generational difference in the way they spoke. Both women were in their early twenties, blonde and attractive. They were with two other extras, introduced to us as Kiera Berg and Jewel Beck. Kiera looked to be about twenty-five, with long auburn hair and green eyes. Jewel was maybe a few years older and had a bit more serious expression than the others, or maybe it was just a look of disapproval about being questioned by the police.
“How can we help?” Sloan continued. “Brad was like a bro, so let us know what you need.”
We asked them about problems the actor was having on set, including his relationship with Judy Welch and Garfield Boyer, but didn’t get much back that was helpful.
“He was always the life of the party,” Kiera said. She smiled at the others. “And he definitely knew how to party.”
They all giggled before Maddie said, “I can’t even.”
“You can’t even what?” I said.
She looked at me like I was clueless and rolled her eyes. “Believe what happened. It’s like something out of a tabloid.”
“We’ve heard rumors that Brad might have partied with lots of women,” Olivia said. “What can you tell us about that?”
The giggles returned, but faded quickly. Jewel finally spoke up. “He was an A-lister and got whatever he wanted. If somebody had a problem with that, we don’t know about it.”
“And none of you ever partied with him?” I said, meeting her dark eyes.
Her gaze fixed on me. “Just because we’re young and work in Hollywood doesn’t mean we approve of the party scene. We did our scenes and then left the studio.”
I studied her for a long moment, before my gaze moved to the other women. “Anything else you would like to say? This is your chance to speak for Brad.”
I watched Kiera as her eyes grew heavy. The dam finally broke, tears running down her cheeks. “We’re just sorry that we couldn’t do something to help him.”
We thanked them for their time, and they left. I then asked Olivia for her thoughts.
“I’m not sure.” Her gaze moved off, and I gave her a moment. She finally looked at me. “Did you ever see that old TV show, I’ve Got a Secret?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“My aunt used to watch it on one of those channels that plays old TV programs. Each show had a panel that tried to guess a contestant’s secret. The secrets were al
ways intended to be unusual or embarrassing.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I think Brad Novak had a secret that no one is talking about, and it cost him his life.”
THIRTY-FIVE
When I got home, I went straight to the kitchen and told Otto, “I’m sorry, but I got busy at work and didn’t get a chance to have my friend do that Internet search we talked about. I promise I’ll check things out tomorrow.”
“I understand. Perhaps...”
When he didn’t go on, I said, “What is it?”
“As I mentioned before, I’m beginning to wonder if trying to find Clara is a good idea after all these years. Maybe she’s found someone else.”
“I think you’re jumping to conclusions. Let’s talk again tomorrow night.”
He exhaled. “If you insist.”
When I got back into the living room, I cringed, hearing Nana’s voice as she came through the door with Howie, her roommate. She looked at me and Bernie, and said, “Look what the dog drug in.”
Howie came over to me. In the voice of what I thought might be Joe Friday, an old TV detective, he said, “There are two things that differentiate the human species from animals. One, we use cutlery. Two, we’re capable of controlling our sexual urges. You might be an exception to that, so don’t drag me down.”
Nana belly laughed. “Sexual urges. Kate hasn’t had an urge in months. Maybe years.”
Mo’s uncle came out of the bedroom, overheard what they’d said, and chimed in, “Sounds like a classic case of being frigid.”
“She’s so cold, her vajayjay should be in the Arctic Circle.”
“Enough!” I said, loud enough to cause Bernie’s ears to go up. “Haven’t you all got something better to do?”
“Yeah,” Natalie said, rising from the sofa and coming over to me. “Kate can’t help it if she’s reachin’ that age where women aren’t that desirable.”
I looked at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just sayin’ you’re startin’ to get a few miles on your motor.”
“You ready to go?” Nana asked Fred. “Greta comes on early tonight.”