by M. Z. Kelly
After introducing Olivia, I asked Cynthia, “Seen any celebrities, so far?”
“Just Britney and J Lo. I think they switched sides and are an item now.” Cynthia, who was pretty, with long brown hair and blue eyes, maintained a serious expression—for about five seconds. She then burst out laughing. “Just kidding.”
“You could be a writer for one of the tabloids with a story like that,” Olivia said.
A waiter headed our way as she said, “Somedays making up stuff seems like it would be a lot more fun than finding the facts.”
The server took our drink orders, then left. We spent the next few minutes chatting about our jobs and personal lives. After our drinks arrived, and we realized we all were single and unattached, we clinked glasses.
“To the single life,” Cynthia said. “And to the freedom to do what we want, when we want.”
After sipping my drink, I said, “If only life was that simple.”
Cynthia regarded us. “I hear you guys have been busy.” She must have seen Olivia’s wariness. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to pry information from you about the Angel.”
“That’s good,” I said, “because, as you’ve probably heard, he and his mother have gone to ground.”
Cynthia sipped her daiquiri. “Yes, and I did hear a rumor that I could pass along, only if you’re interested.”
“Of course,” Olivia said. “We can use any help we can get.”
“Word has it that when he was living in this area, he hooked up with a lot of younger working girls. It might be that wherever he’s staying, he’s doing the same thing.”
I took a sip of my martini, then said, “We’ve heard the same rumors. The information has gone out to law enforcement around the country.”
Cynthia smiled. “Sorry. I guess sometimes the press is the last to know.”
“Don’t be,” Olivia said, apparently warming to my friend. “Most of the time we’re right there with you, trying to put the pieces together.”
I exchanged glances with Olivia, then said, “This is on the QT, but we think whatever happens next depends on what the Angel’s mother wants.”
Cynthia nodded. “She’s running the show?”
“Just between us, he’s her puppet.”
She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Find the puppet master, and you find the puppet.”
“Exactly.”
The conversation shifted after dinner was served, Cynthia mentioning that the city was still in recovery mode from the bombings. “It’s common knowledge that the department has been on tactical alert several times because of the fear of rioting.”
“It’s probably going to take weeks, if not months, to get things back to normal,” Olivia said.
Cynthia looked at me. “Rumors have it the noose is tightening on the Rylands.”
“I keep hearing the same thing, but, so far, it’s not tight enough.”
“Have you heard anything about your bro...?” Cynthia stopped in mid-sentence, cut her eyes to Olivia, then back to me. “Sorry...I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“Olivia knows about Daniel,” I said, glancing at Olivia, before telling Cynthia, “And, no, there’s nothing new on Daniel. From what I’ve heard, he’s still homeless, in and out of shelters.”
She exhaled and touched my hand. “I hope you find him one of these days.”
As we finished dinner, we chatted about Cynthia’s work at the Herald-Press and how difficult the newspaper business had become with competition from the Internet. The topic of Brad Novak’s murder came up, Cynthia mentioning that she’d heard Judy Welch made bail.
“We still have some work to do on our case,” I said. I realized I was feeling the effects of my drink and might have said too much. “Of course, most cases are like that.”
Cynthia, maybe sensing there was something unsaid, asked, “Can I mention something I’ve heard? It might just be another rumor, but it might be worth looking into.”
“Of course,” Olivia and I said at the same time. We giggled, Olivia saying, “We’re always open to new information.”
Cynthia chuckled. “Message delivered, and I’m not expecting anything in return for this.” She took a moment, then told us what was on her mind. “I’ve heard that Brad Novak and his business partner, Garfield Boyer, were at odds over the way he managed the actor’s money.”
“We’ve heard something similar,” I said, deciding to keep the fact that they’d been romantically linked to myself.
Cynthia went on. “I was talking to the business editor for our newspaper the other day. He said that one of the most expensive homes in Malibu just closed escrow. It’s a mega-mansion right on the water. He said the buyer paid over ten million.”
“How the other half lives,” I said.
She nodded. “And, in this case, the other half is Garfield Boyer.”
FIFTY-FOUR
I got home around nine and found two bad ass private investigators in the living room. Or maybe posers would be the more operative word. Natalie and Mo were dressed in black spandex, with knee-high black boots and tool belts, complete with chains, cuffs, and mace.
“Is there a Halloween party somewhere?” I asked, as Bernie trotted over for some attention.
“Mo and me have gone from the Sweet Sistahs to the Chick Dicks,” Natalie said, smacking a wad of gum. “We just got off duty.”
“We’re in charge of special ops, now that Myrna’s taken over Jimmy’s PI biz,” Mo said, lowering her already sonorous voice. “Danger is our specialty.”
I collapsed onto the sofa, feeling the exhaustion of my day settling in. “I don’t suppose there’s any word on your former boss?”
“Nothin’,” Natalie said, taking a seat across from me. “What did Leo find out?”
“There’s no word from our Special Enforcement Unit. He’s now officially a missing person.”
Mo’s chin jutted out, and she looked at Natalie. “Maybe we should go lean on Scarfo again, baby sis.”
Mo’s blonde partner twirled the chain on her belt. “If he’s holdin’ out on us, maybe he needs a little persuadin’.”
“Do me a favor and stay away from him. He said he would ask around about Jimmy, so let’s give him a chance to make good on that.”
“Yeah, in the meantime, Jimmy’s six feet under and eatin’ worms.”
I sighed, deciding it was useless to reason with them. I realized that Otto hadn’t greeted me when I got home. “Where’s our butler?”
“In his room,” Mo said, taking a seat next to Natalie. “I think he talked to Clara—I mean, Clark—and it didn’t go so well.”
“I was afraid that might happen. Do you know what Clark said?”
“Not exactly, but I got me a feelin’ that since Clark got himself a new set of golf clubs, he’s playin’ the back nine with another caddie.”
Natalie agreed. “Too bad for Otto. Clark’s probably gettin’ his new cherry popped.”
“I’m sure it’s a big adjustment...” I chuckled, still feeling the effects of my dinner drinks. “Maybe big wasn’t the best choice of words. I’ll have a talk with Otto about what’s going on tomorrow.”
“Speakin’ ‘bout gettin’ laid, Mo and me invited Freddy over for drinks this weekend.”
“Who?”
“That actor we met on the set of Hollywood Girlz.”
I’d almost forgotten about them trying to set me up with the nerd. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Sure it is,” Natalie said. Her eyes brightened. “Hey, I just thought of somethin’. Maybe he knows who killed Brad Novak.”
“We heard your case is circling the drain,” Mo said.
“It could be better,” I agreed. I then remembered what Cynthia McFadden had said about Novak’s business manager. “Have either of you heard Garfield Boyer’s name mentioned around town?”
Mo answered. “Garfield...yeah, he’s a player.”
“What do you mean by ‘player’?”
; Natalie rolled her eyes. “Player: someone who uses his skills and physical appearance for sexual manipulation and favors.”
I exhaled, annoyed, and said to Mo, “What, exactly, have you heard?”
“Just that he’s spent his time hookin’ up with a lot of Hollywood power players, along with Brad.” She regarded me. “Rumor also has it that if you need something to party with, go see the Cat.”
“They call him the Cat?”
Mo nodded. “Yeah, both on account of his name and the moves he puts on others.”
There was a man’s voice behind us. “Just so you know, I tossed your makeup in the trash.”
We all turned, seeing Uncle Fred in the hallway. He stomped over to us and said to Natalie, “I’m sick and tired of you leaving a mess in the bathroom.”
Natalie stood. “And I’m sick and tired of you moanin’ and bitchin’ ‘bout everything. You’re so full of crap, it’s comin’ out of those giant flaps on the side of your head you call ears.”
Fred put his hands on his skinny hips. “Why don’t you go back to England? I hear they’re looking for a nut that fell out of your family tree.”
Natalie went over to him, until she was standing inches away from his face. She then turned back to Mo and me and sniffed the air. “You smell something? I do.” She turned back to Fred. “It smells like essence of butthole.”
Fred’s thin, ancient features twisted up. “I heard a blind man walked past you the other day and thought he was in a fish market.”
Mo went over and stood between them like a referee. “Enough.”
Despite her attempts to separate them, they continued to go at one another until Natalie said she’d had enough. “I’ve had it with you. I challenge you to a throw down.”
“Say what?” Fred said.
“Saturday night at Club Chub. They got an open mike beat down in front of a live audience. You bring your best stuff and I do the same. The last mouth standing stays. The loser moves out.”
Fred punched the air like a prize fighter warming up. “You’ve got it, Jezebel.”
After Fred went to his room and slammed the door, I said to Natalie, “Do know what you’re doing?”
She glared at me, then looked at Mo. “Your uncle is going down. And, it’s gonna be real ugly.”
***
Bernie and I got to the station a couple minutes early the next morning. I’d managed to get six hours sleep after putting a pillow over my head and drowning out Natalie and Fred. They’d spent part of the night warming up for their upcoming verbal wrestling match that Natalie was now referring to as the “Tinsel Town Beat Down”. Fred, on the other hand, was promising a “Ho Down, Throw Down”. All I knew for sure was that Natalie was right when she said the performance would be ugly. Real ugly.
After meeting up with Olivia and Leo in our cramped office space, I asked about Richard, who wasn’t around.
“Called in sick,” Leo said. “Something about a bad headache.”
I remembered that he and Jessica had a date and mentioned it to them. After some laughter, Olivia asked me, “Did you see Jessica when you got in this morning?”
“Come to think of it, no.” My eyes widened. “You don’t think...”
Leo laughed. “There are some things I don’t even want to think about.”
“My office, now,” Lieutenant Byrd said, interrupting us.
Bernie found a corner, while the rest of us settled around the table in the lieutenant’s office. Byrd wasted no time, showing us that he could be in a foul—or maybe I should say fowl—mood. “I got a call from Norm Van Ness this morning. Bronson’s done a reorg, and Van Ness is our captain.”
There were groans all around. Van Ness had a reputation for being an old school hard ass, just like Bronson.
“I don’t like it any more than you.” Byrd’s fleshy cheeks huffed out a breath. “Here’s the bottom line: He said the DA’s giving us seventy-two hours to make the case on Welch, or it goes downtown.”
“Downtown?” I said. “What does that mean?”
“Bronson’s gone back to our former chief’s practice of moving high-profile cases to Administration. He calls it EO, Executive Oversight.”
“I call it BS, and that doesn’t just stand for Bronson’s Shit.”
“Watch yourself.”
“Sorry.” I realized I’d stepped in it, but I felt passionate about our case. “Olivia and I got some information last night that we think could shake things lose.”
“The clock’s ticking. Let’s hear it.”
We spent the next few minutes going over our interviews with Marvin Lohman and Zelda Mason, and telling the lieutenant what we’d learned about Annie Watts. “According to Mason, she and Novak were involved, but she abruptly quit and dropped out of sight about a month ago. After her mother filed a Missing Person’s Report, she went by the studio. Annie’s best friend there refused to talk to her.”
“The girl’s name is Kiera,” Olivia said, then looked at me. “Not sure of her last name.”
I checked my notes. “Berg.”
Olivia went on. “Berg never mentioned Annie to us, or that she was involved with Novak and had gone missing.”
“We’ve all gotten the impression from day one that something’s not being said at the studio,” Leo told the lieutenant.
“There’s something else,” Olivia said. “Annie’s mother told us that her daughter said Garfield Boyer was a cheater. She thought it might have something to do with him not being faithful, even though she apparently didn’t know he’d been romantically linked to Brad Novak and had managed the actor’s finances.”
I said, “I have a friend who works for the Herald-Press...”
Byrd interrupted. “Don’t tell me you’re talking to the press.”
I shot daggers at him. “Give me some credit.”
He exhaled. “Go on.”
“She said that Boyer just bought one of the most expensive houses in Malibu, something north of ten mil.”
“Maybe on his dead boyfriend’s dime,” Leo said.
I agreed, adding, “My friend, Mo Simpson, says Garfield’s a big player around town. They call him the Cat.”
“Okay...okay,” Byrd said. “I’ve heard enough. You’ve got a bunch of hot pokers in the furnace. Go set something on fire before our case goes away.”
FIFTY-FIVE
After our meeting ended, I suggested to Olivia and Leo that I call Zelda Mason about meeting with Kiera Berg and the other women we’d talked to a few days earlier, because she knew the ins and outs of Lohman Studios. After getting her on the line, Zelda came through.
“They’re actually all on property today,” Zelda said. “There are publicity shoots for the movie going on all day, so you can probably catch them between setups.”
“Thanks. We should be there within the hour.”
“Can I ask what this is about?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
She giggled. “Not really.”
“That’s what I thought. Tell you what, if things work out, I’ll tell you all about it in a couple days over a Jingo.”
“Deal.”
After Olivia, Leo, and I arrived at the studio, we learned that Kiera and the other Mulats were on a vacant sound stage, where the interviews were being held. We waited almost an hour before arranging to see them between interviews.
We met with the four women, who were wearing garb and theatrical makeup reminiscent of Avatar, in an office adjacent to the soundstage. Even before the interviews began, I sensed the hostility radiating from the aliens in the room.
“We’ve already told you everything we know,” Kiera said, looking at the other women for support. “We have back to back interviews scheduled all day.”
Jewel, who previously gave us the impression she was the oldest and most serious of the group, supported her. “The studio expects us on set all day. If there’s nothing else.” She stood.
“Sit down!” Leo barked. My former partner had a way o
f getting his point across, with a voice that brought James Earl Jones to mind. “We expect your cooperation, as does Mr. Lohman, the owner of this studio.”
Jewel slumped back in her chair, as Sloan said, “We’re sorry, not sorry. How can we help?”
I glanced at Olivia, having no real idea what the expression meant. I looked back at the women. “Tell us about Annie Watts.”
Silence.
Olivia said, “We’re all going to sit tight as long as it takes until you tell us what’s really going on.” She smiled. “Sorry, not sorry.”
Kiera exhaled, but didn’t look at us. “Annie was our friend. She quit her job and went missing. That’s all we know.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about her before?” I demanded.
“TBH, it didn’t seem important.”
I raised my voice. “Speak English.”
She looked at me like I was from another planet, her eyes widening. “It means ‘to be honest’.”
I gave them a moment, but no one else spoke up. I then used my best bad cop alien voice. “Here’s the deal. TBH, you’re all going downtown to Hollywood Station. You will sit in a jail cell until we get around to interviewing each of you separately about what you know regarding Annie Watts’s disappearance and Brad Novak’s death. That might take us a day or two.” I looked at Olivia. “Did you bring your Mulat cuffs?”
Olivia found a pair of handcuffs in her purse and held them up.
Maddie, who hadn’t spoken up until now, broke down crying. She looked at Kiera and Jewel. “Tell them, or I will.”
“Tell us what?” I demanded, looking at the women.
Jewel was still defiant as she said to the other women, “You know this will end our careers. People with the studios have a long memory.”
“I don’t care,” Maddie cried. She looked at me. “Annie was crazy in love with Brad. She wanted to be with him every minute.”
“Then why did she quit her job?” I demanded. “And what happened to her?”
“We don’t know,” Kiera said, looking defiantly at Jewel, who remained quiet.