Body on the Backlot

by Eva Monteleagre

  “I’m a homicide detective, kid, I’m not paying any fees.”

  “It takes money to run this place, you know.”

  “Well, your boss should give you a raise. Don’t worry, the owners will pay the fees, I’m sure.”

  “Oh yeah? Where are the owners, anyway?”

  I paid the fifty-five bucks and the kid released the dog to me. I had just got the dog I was guessing might be Pancho into the car when my cell phone rang.

  It was Gus. He wanted me to come to his place.

  “You gotta see this,” he said.

  There was a strange note in his voice that told me that something was up.

  “What is it, Gus?”

  “You have to see it in person.”

  “Okay, but I’m bringing a guest.”

  On the way there, I called Missing Persons and told them I had a dog that looked a lot like the one that was with the boy. They asked me to check his back leg for a scar.

  •••

  GUS HAS A SMALL house on Palms and Centinela, a better neighborhood than mine. He’s got this cool architectural catwalk-looking thing that approaches his front door. He told me once it was Japanese and that there was supposed to be water on either side filled with Koi fish. How cool would that be? I wondered when he’d ever fill it with water as I walked across it with the dog. Gus opened the door and greeted us as we approached.

  “Who’s that?”

  “There were dog hairs at the Autumn Riley crime scene,” I said.

  “And this is the dog?”

  “Right. Plus, I think this is the same dog that went missing with the Mexican kid. The one that’s all over the television right now.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I don’t know for sure, Missings told me to see if the dog had a scar on its back leg.”

  Gus checked the back legs of the dog and sure enough, there was a scar going up his right leg to his haunch.

  “Looks like this is the dog,” said Gus. “So, what the heck…”

  “His name is Pancho.”

  “That dog was inside Autumn’s place? What does that mean?”

  “Could mean she took pity on him and let him in the house.”

  “Or if not, maybe someone else brought him in,” said Gus. “So, now we have a dog, a missing kid, a woman who has come back alive, and a dead porno star, all on one case.”

  “Nobody ever reported that they saw the kid with the dog anywhere around Venice canals,” I said. “So, what if the dog was brought to the canals without the kid?”

  “By who?”

  “By whoever visited Autumn Riley,” I said. “The Barb, for one.”

  “Okay, I’ll go for that, but hairs won’t prove it.”

  “Fine.”

  “You’re doing a good job, Joan.”

  “Yeah, I’m just the greatest.”

  “Stop that. Listen, I have to testify in court day after tomorrow. Move ahead on the case but make sure you get everything in the reports and keep me informed.”

  “Sure, of course. What did you want to show me?”

  “Oh, wait ‘til you see this. Take a look.”

  We walked into his super cool living room and sat down on some famous designer’s leather and wood chairs. Gus gave me an imported beer in a designer glass and showed me a professional photo of Dani feeding Autumn Riley fresh raspberries. Obviously a commercial print for a magazine, the scene was erotic and suggestive. The photo had a recent date printed on the back. Gus pointed at the date and said, “Day before yesterday.”

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “Tia.”

  “The waitress?”

  “The Barb came by the diner with Autumn and Dani and gave her the picture, promising Tia some modeling work.”

  “Tia’s not going to do the modeling work is she?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it. He must have scooped Autumn off Melrose and taken her straight to the photo shoot. No wonder Dani didn’t believe Autumn was dead. She had just done a photo shoot with her the day before.”

  “Guess now he needs a black chick,” I said.

  “Tia, yeah. He can sure pick some lookers, I give him that,” said Gus.

  I put my glass down on an ebony black coffee table and stared for a moment at his arrangement of chopsticks in a glass tube surrounding a gorgeous green orchid. For the briefest moment, I wondered if Gus might be gay. He is always so perfectly stylish in every aspect of his life, every moment.

  “So, what’s going on?” I asked. “You think the Barb set Dani up with a bad gig?”

  “It’s a strong possibility.”

  “We could use Tia as bait.”

  “No, forget that.”

  “You know they’re ridiculing us on television.”

  “What now?”

  “Somebody got a copy of the videotape from the coroner’s office and they made a big joke about us investigating the murder of Autumn Riley who isn’t dead.”

  “Ah, who cares?”

  “I do. Why does every move I make have to be on the eight o’clock news? If they’re not making me out to be a whore, they’re pointing out what a clown I am. It pisses me off.”

  “When did they make you out to be a whore?”

  “On the last case with Carl.”

  “How so?”

  “They made innuendos about me and Carl being involved when he beat up the CEO. In the public’s eye I became a whore.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Good, don’t let me remind you.”

  “That might have been just in your own mind. All that whore stuff. A woman can be involved with a man, doesn’t make her a whore. You have issues.”

  “Don’t analyze me right now, all right?”

  “Myself, I think I’d prefer to be a clown.”

  “Well, you got your wish.”

  “Don’t get all riled up over nothing. Go home and get some sleep, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.”

  As I walked out across the catwalk to my car, he called out, “Nice dog you got there.”

  I stopped by the pet store on the way home. Pancho whined when I left the car and I had to go back to give him a pat and reassure him.

  “What’s wrong? You got abandonment issues? Separation anxiety? Join the club, kid.”

  I was cruising the chew toys in the pet store when my cell phone rang.

  “Hey, you fine thang.”

  It was Carl. Dammit. Gus must have given him my cell phone number already.

  “Hi.”

  “Are you still going to go to the fundraiser with me? I raised a lot of money last year with the Mach One. Don’t you want to ride and wave your hand like a homecoming queen?”

  “Oh, Carl. That’s sweet but…no, I don’t think…”

  “Come on, babe. We’re raising money for kids, babies here. Can’t you suffer me for one afternoon?”

  “Did Gus give you this number?”

  “How’d ja guess?”

  “I want you to lose it, Carl. Don’t call me anymore, okay? Please? I’m begging you, now. Don’t call me.”

  “Well, you said you were going to call me and you didn’t so, I just wanted to help things along here. You know, get our communication lines back open, that sort of thing, is all.”

  “What do I have to do to get rid of you, Carl?”

  “Agree to see me.”

  “Nope. It’s not going to happen. It’s not really a good idea for you, either, you know. You need to move on. You have something good going on with Debbie, don’t mess it up. I ride in your car at the fundraiser? That would ruin everything for you. Debbie would really appreciate having that honor more than me so get a grip, Carl. Ask Deb to the fundraiser event. I’m history, babe.”

  “You’re my history.”

  “New era, Carl. Get with it. What do I have to do?”

  “Shoot me like you said. You’d be doing me a favor. Like that dude in Casablanca.”

  “I’m hanging up the phone, Carl.”
/>
  “Joanie, baby…”

  “Don’t call me anymore.”

  I pressed the end button. If only it were that easy.

  I bought some dog food, two doggie bowls, a collar, and a brush. The cell phone rang but I didn’t answer it.

  When I got home, I brushed Pancho and bagged quite a few hairs for comparison.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I WOKE UP EARLY the next morning to a loud pounding on my front door and Pancho’s ferocious barks. I bolted from the bed and peeked through the peephole of the front door. Jesse Cand was standing on my porch with a microphone in his hand. A video camera loomed up large over his shoulder. The guy was merciless. It was 6:00 a.m. for Chrissakes. “Okay, hold on!” I yelled through the door.

  I gave Pancho another good boy pat. “You can bite this one if you want,” I told him and darted back into the bedroom.

  I slipped on a pair of black jeans, searched around for a comfortable bra, got that on, and then grabbed a T-shirt. Sunshine poured in through the bedroom window, the warmth of the rays soft on my face. I sat on the bed, paused for a moment, and decided to try a different strategy today. Maybe I could work an angle with the press instead of them always working me. For one day I would be open to what Jesse had to say. I opened the door and allowed Jesse and his camera guy, Kip, inside.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “The dog is big news.”

  “How do you know about the dog?”

  “We heard about it on the police radio last night.”

  “I didn’t mention it over the radio.”

  “You’re not the only cop who has one, you know. Cops talk to each other just like anybody.”

  “Cripes. Okay, fine.”

  I gestured for them to have a seat on the leather sofa, which they did. Pancho jumped up on the couch and settled in next to Jesse. Apparently, Pancho was allowed on the furniture at his home. I could smell coffee brewing and thanked God I had one of those automatic things. I left Jesse, Kip, and Pancho alone so they could all get to know each other while I poured the java.

  When I came back in the front room, I realized with some distress that my mother’s artwork would certainly be a promising source for questions. I carried a tray of three mismatched cups of coffee which I presented with apologies but nobody seemed to mind. Jesse took a sip off the coffee and smiled back at me, obviously thinking it was a great coup to be sitting on my couch. He eyed my mother’s artwork but didn’t say anything.

  “What do you need?” I asked.

  “How about a shot of you with the dog?” he asked.

  “Just the dog,” I said.

  He wrote something on his pad.

  “When did you find the dog?” asked Jesse.

  “I noticed the dog the day we were investigating the Autumn Riley case.”

  He wrote more, picking up the scent.

  “I understand that investigation was officially terminated?” he prodded.

  “No.”

  He scowled and scribbled more notes. Exciting stuff.

  “But, Joan, she’s alive.”

  “Jesse, could you stop scribbling for a moment and allow me to say something off record?”

  “Could I? You bet.” He put down his pad but hung onto the pen and angled himself on the couch to promote more eye contact, as if that were possible. He was super attentive, panting for a treat. I had to be careful what biscuit I gave him.

  I handed the leash to Kip. I was still kinda pissed at him for that surprise photo he snapped of me at City Hall.

  “Would you mind taking Pancho for a short walk? He hasn’t been out this morning.”

  Kip took the leash and his cup of coffee and headed for the door; Pancho followed him.

  “Guard that dog with your life,” I said.

  “Isn’t he supposed to guard me?” Kip asked.

  Once they were safely attached to each other and out the door, I turned back to Jesse.

  “Go ahead, shoot,” he said.

  “Promise me you won’t write about it.”

  “Promise.” Jesse put his hand on his heart.

  “Autumn Riley is not dead, true, but there are other concerns here.”

  “Like what?”

  “We have reason to believe that the situation is more complicated than it looks.”

  “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “I can’t tell you right now. I couldn’t speculate at this time. Believe me, in this case, the truth may be way more bizarre than fiction. I’m concerned that Autumn’s in trouble, maybe under the influence of bad people.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not sure, yet. But last night, her best friend turned up dead.”

  “Who’s her best friend?”

  “A S&M porno star from Australia by the name of Dani.”

  “This just gets better and better.” I scowled at him. “I mean, sorry, but you don’t want me to write about that?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, I understand that you don’t want to talk about your investigation at this point and really I don’t blame you. So don’t tell me anything more, just promise me I get first story.”

  “Promise.”

  “Okay, we’ll just do some videotape of you and the dog.”

  “Why do I have to be in it?”

  “Joan, you could stand some good PR. Don’t be an ass. I can get a picture of you from archives anyway. You might as well give us some different footage from what they’ve been using.”

  “What about all those photos you took last time at Parker Center?”

  “Oh, well, those are for the LA Times Magazine.”

  “I want you to know that I think you’re stalking me.”

  “Come on, Joan. I’m a professional. It’s time you became more so.”

  “You took a picture of me when I was crying.”

  “And it came out wonderful, let me show it to you.”

  I said nothing, so he pulled out a file folder from his briefcase and handed me the photo. It was as I expected: a big tear dropping down the side of my cheek, wind blowing through my short hair, a tormented cast to my eyes. I had to give Kip credit for his composition, as he had managed to get the entrance of the Parker Center building in the background, but I didn’t consider it a professional portrayal. It was a dramatic, narrative thing that made me uneasy.

  “I know you’re not comfortable with it, but it gives a face to the LAPD, a face that is far and away from the shooting of a homeless woman with a screwdriver in her hand.”

  I sighed and Jesse gave me his best “I’m a good guy” look.

  “Okay. I’ll have to put on a suit.”

  “So, do it. In fact, how about your uniform?”

  “No, I’m not putting on my blues. That’s too hokey.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Kip came back with Pancho. A quick walk in anybody’s world, but Pancho did look relieved.

  “Why don’t you set up, Kip?” I said. “I’ll go get dressed.”

  Pancho came into the bedroom to check on me while I changed clothes. I found it hard to believe that dog ever let the kid out of his sight. I slipped into a black suit. When I reentered the room, both men gave me appreciative looks that I was not entirely comfortable with. Pancho was right behind me.

  “Okay, no fancy stuff, just shoot,” I said.

  Kip took shots of me with the dog. It was a matter of seconds. He was quick, that guy. “Thanks, Joan. It’s good to work together,” Kip said as he packed up his equipment.

  Jesse reluctantly rose from the couch. “Yes, thank you,” he said with a meaningful look.

  I guess he thought we were close now. He’d caught me last week on camera crying and this week I was serving him his morning coffee and posing for his news stories. I could just see him and Kip in a dark room blowing up all the shots of me and gloating. Now, they had a video of “Joan and the big black dog” to add to their collection.

  “I had no idea that you were an artist,” said
Jesse.

  “Oh, well. I, uh…haven’t done much since I was a kid.”

  Jesse walked over to the painting on the easel and examined the woman’s form emerging from the earth. “Is she submerged, like in the ground?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure I know. Not yet.”

  I went to the door and opened it and waited until they were both out the door, then shut and locked it. I watched them through the window as they made their way to the van parked at the front curb. Jesse shot glances back at my house. A man in baggy khaki shorts carried a surfboard past the van. As he came closer, I recognized the dark, perfectly unkempt hair and the broad chest in the orange T-shirt. It was Coastal Eddy. Jesse noticed him, then stared at him with curiosity. Kip had packed it in and was ready to take off, but Jesse was still standing there when I opened the door and let Coastal Eddy in my house before there was even a knock.

  “What’s up?” Eddy said.

  The banana-yellow surfboard came in with Eddy. I guess he didn’t want anyone to steal it. I gaped at it as if it were the second coming of the Messiah. I closed the door behind him and looked out the peephole. Jesse peered at my house a little longer before he got in the van. Then unaccountably, the words to that Donovan song “There Is A Mountain” played over and over in my head. I guess it had something to do with the big yellow surfboard.

  I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know if I was happy to see Eddy or irritated by his arrogance. He had a weird effect on me. In a way, I had invited this visit by challenging him to find me with his investigating skills. I wanted to pick his brain and get a grip on him, find out what his take was. I decided, for the second time that day, to let things be revealed to me. Like I really had a choice anyway.

  Pancho ran around in a circle, then jumped up and put his paws on Eddy’s chest. I suppressed a nervous laugh, my right knee bent and my left hip shifted to one side. I found that my left hand had come to rest at my waist and my right hand floated up and touched the back of my neck. My eyes went down to the floor in embarrassment, then over to Eddy’s big rubber sandals with cut tire treads for soles. Pancho panted happily, his expression one of expectation. I forced myself to look up at Eddy. His hair was wet. The ends were in curly points. He’d probably come from a morning of surfing. I resisted the urge to say “Que hondas?” and instead just stood there.