He patted the dog with big manly pats then stood before me beaming. I put out my hand to indicate he should have a seat. He placed his surfboard against the wall under the couch. Then he bounced down into the sofa, thrust out his long tanned legs, and crossed them. And made himself much more comfortable than I would have liked. Pancho sat down at his feet. It was quite the social day. My couch had not gotten so much action since I don’t know when. I waited for Eddy to speak. He bounced a couple more times to get perfectly comfortable. He surveyed the room, reached into the pocket of his T-shirt, and pulled out the lighter that looks like the kind you take on a camping trip or into war or something.
“Got a cigarette?” he asked.
I rummaged around in my purse and came up with two cigarettes and he lit us up.
“Nice work,” he said, meaning my mother’s artwork.
I sighed, at a loss. Eddy popped up and crossed over to another canvas that I had placed so that it leaned against the entertainment center. It was a naked woman sitting on a huge golden ball. Her body was cast in partial shadow and her face was indistinct, multicolored. Huge curls of hair emanated out from her head in different colors. My mother had been preparing to add more gold accents to this piece. She had explained carefully how she would apply the gold and how that would give depth and change the piece from ordinary, which it wasn’t, to extraordinary. Eddy considered the painting and looked at me curiously.
“Is this supposed to be you, like a self-portrait or something?”
“Oh, no. It was my mother’s. She said that one was supposed to represent every woman.”
“Every woman?”
“Right. Like all women in one image. I just received it, someone sent several of her unfinished paintings to me and I’m figuring out what I should do with them.”
“The paint and brushes, too?”
“What?”
“The paint and brushes were your mother’s as well?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And the easel?”
“Uh-huh. That was hers. She died…when I was very young.”
“Maybe someone thinks you should finish the paintings.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
He smiled at me like he had figured out a fun puzzle then sat back down on the couch.
I dashed into the kitchen, fetched an ashtray in the kitchen from under the sink, dashed back into the living room, and put it on the coffee table in front of Eddy, then flicked an ash into it. In that moment, I discovered that I was glad to see him.
“Did you hear about my latest win?” he asked.
I thought he might be talking about a surf contest. “No,” I said. “Fill me in.”
“The Ballona Wetlands.”
“What about em?”
“It’s only a few blocks from you; Don’t you know what’s been going on?”
I had heard that three billionaires were trying to put a new film studio there. Wildlife experts said it would destroy habitat for frogs, blue herons, egrets, and the like. But I hadn’t kept up with it. I just figured that the money boys would win out. They usually do.
“Like I said, fill me in,” I insisted.
“It’s over.”
“What, the frogs won?” I asked.
“Basically,” he said with pride.
“And you’re implying that you had something to do with that outcome?”
“It’s easy to manipulate people when you know that their number one motivating force is greed.”
“And what’s your number one motivation?” I asked.
He took a deep drag on his cigarette, French-inhaled it, and gave me a long sybaritic look. I learned that word “sybaritic” from Gus. I decided not to sit on the couch. Instead, I positioned myself on the edge of a wooden chair and smoked my cigarette.
“So, that’s interesting she’s alive, right?” he said changing the subject.
“Right. Do you know somebody by the name of Kunda?” I asked.
“Sure, everybody knows the Malibu Psychic.”
“Have you ever gone to her?”
“Me?” He looked incredulous. “Nah, but I hear she’s ninety-five percent accurate.”
He rubbed his stomach and when he did so his T-shirt lifted to reveal his nice six-pack.
“I’ve already seen your abs. No need to show off.”
“What? Oh, man. No. It’s not like that.”
“So, I take it you’re not here to find out about Autumn’s murderer since you know, for a fact, that she’s alive.”
“Did they do her death certificate?” he asked, smoke coming out of his nose like a dragon.
“No,” I answered. “She left before the autopsy.”
“Tell those guys to hold onto it, because from what I could see, she wasn’t looking too good.”
“You saw her?” He nodded. “Is she being drugged or poisoned, you think?”
“I’d say so, one way or another. She’s not herself, put it like that.”
“Where’d you see her?”
“On Melrose, but I didn’t hang around to talk. I don’t really like that jerk much.”
“What jerk?”
“The Barb, he had her by the arm, dragging her around.”
“I’d think a concerned guy like you would have wrestled her away from him, something along that line.”
“I tried. She told me to fuck off. Believe me, she’s not interested in being saved. There’s more to the story than meets the eye. I have to admit I felt a little foolish.”
“Do you have any idea where I can find her?”
“I don’t know. This Barb guy, he’s a punk, drug dealer, an asshole with big aspirations.”
“Aspirations to what?”
“Hard to say exactly. He has movie and music connections, I think,” he said.
“She never returned to her bungalow. We’ve been hoping she would. We followed up on The Barb but turns out he skipped out on his hotel bill. Do you know where they might be staying?”
“Don’t know. Real winner, that guy.”
“As opposed to you?” I asked and stubbed out my cigarette. I focused my eyes on the ashtray, making sure I had truly put it out.
“No, not me,” he said, suddenly modest. “She liked me enough. I don’t go really for models and actresses much. Don’t have anything to say to them. I mean, it’s like, uh, ‘How was your audition honey? Did your glossies come out okay? What’s the news from your agent?’ or maybe ‘How did your scene play in acting class?’ That’s about it.”
“Sounds like you’ve been there before.” I said.
“No way. I go more for the lady marine biologist or lady environmental lawyer or lady activist. I like having somebody I can talk to.”
“That’s a lot of ladies,” I said.
“No, not at all.” He got quiet, maybe rethinking it. “I did meet this one actress I liked okay. She was interested in saving the ocean, saving the whales, animal rights, gung ho. She wasn’t bullshitting, either. She did eco fund-raisers and got people and a bunch of stars all riled up, started her own organization, even.”
“And?”
“She married an actor. I think they’re divorced now,” he said with a smile. “How ‘bout you?”
“What about me?”
“What kind of man do you like to talk to?”
He had me. “This conversation isn’t so bad,” I said.
My phone rang, crashing into my consciousness. I answered it reluctantly. It was Anthony on surveillance.
“Hey Joan, we got some information on Mason Jones.”
“What?”
“He’s been taking an acting class.”
I glanced over at Eddy who met my gaze with concerned brown eyes. “And?”
“Last night, Mason walked one of the female students home.”
“How old is she?”
“Seventeen.”
“Give me names and addresses.”
Eddy’s face fell and he let out an exasperated rush of air. I took
the information from surveillance and hung up the phone.
“I’m sorry, Eddy. I have to go. Listen, did you ever meet Dani? That friend of Autumn’s?”
“Yeah. What’s going on with her?”
“She’s dead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Look, I can’t talk right now. Call me later, okay?”
Eddy stood up and pulled his surfboard from underneath the couch.
“And,” I added, “anytime you want to tell me what your real story is and what exactly you want from me, I’d be interested to hear.”
“Yeah, well. I might need more than ten minutes for that.”
•••
I CAUGHT UP WITH Mason at his job in the parking lot at Costco. He was diligently stringing shopping carts together with his chain. His blond crewcut was wet with sweat as was his T-shirt. It was early in the week so his clothes were cleaner than last time I saw him. He wore a plastic name tag now that said “Mason” in red and white.
“Mason, how’s it going?”
“Oh, shit. Now what?”
“Don’t be like that Mason, you make me feel bad. Give me that handsome smile when I show up, be friendly.”
“Where’s your man friend?”
“You trying to insult me or something?”
“Fuck you, whaddya want?”
“What are you doing in an acting class, Mason? You recently become a thespian?”
“What’s that? Some kind of pervert?”
“Funny you should mention that.”
“No, there’s nothing on me. I’m clean. Clean, you hear me? I got into acting in the slammer. We did some psychodrama stuff and I was pretty good. What, you think I should push around these shopping carts forever or something? I want to be somebody, make something of myself. What’s wrong with that?”
“Everybody wants to be a movie star.” I took out the flyers of the missing girls. “Recognize any of these?”
“Aw, fuck no.”
“You didn’t look, Mason. That’s not very cooperative. I’ll have to take you in for that.”
“On what charge, not looking?”
“A prosecutor would call it obstruction of justice.”
“Shit. There’s no winning with you.”
“Look at the pictures, Mason.”
He did. His face became more concerned with each girl. He shook his head.
“I don’t know them, man. I swear.
“You’re not done yet, Mason.”
“Goddammit. All right, I’m looking, I’m looking.”
He went through them quickly and then stopped when he came to the black girl. He looked like he’d been cornered.
“I know her. Power of the ute, Vernice.”
“Where from?”
“Acting class. She was pretty good. We did like a reversal on the Othello scene together. I played Desdemona, it was a trip.”
“What’s that mean, power of the ute?”
“Oh, she was always goin’ on about how she had the power of beauty and booty and she gave it like a nickname—ute. She pronounced it like it was French or somethin’.”
“Did you ever walk her home from class?”
“No, man. She didn’t like me much.”
“I don’t know why not.”
“Besides, she has her own car, a Jaguar, too, the bitch.”
“You know, I don’t really like it when men call young women bitches. It offends me. I’m concerned about this young lady.”
“She missing?”
“She’s missing, Mason. Funny coincidence, her being in your acting class.”
“No, man. Don’t say that.”
“If you know where she is, tell me now, it will go better for you.”
“I don’t know shit. I’m clean, man, I’m telling you. I’ll take a polygraph test, anything, please. I’m begging you. I’m begging you, man.”
I believed him. “How did you find out about the class?”
“In the slammer, I met Johan Beaks when he came in on a drug charge.”
“Who’s Johan Beaks?’
“He’s a famous soap star.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He was in the slammer wid me. We did the psycho drama shit together.”
“Psycho drama shit?”
“Yeah, you know, workshops, like therapy. Johan said I had talent, charisma, and he told me about this acting class on the outside. This teacher he referred me to is some kind of acting guru, lots of stars took class from her. I’m telling you the truth, man. I swear.”
“Who’d you walk home from class last night?”
“Huh?”
“The girl you walked home from acting class last night is too young for you, Mason.”
“Oh, man. You’re watching me? Shit.”
“Every step you take.”
“I won’t even talk to her again. Okay? Not even a conversation. She was the one who asked me to walk her home.”
“I bet she had to beg you.”
“I won’t do it again. I tell you that. No, no, uhn, uh.”
•••
GUS WAS STILL IN court so it looked like I was on my own for the rest of the day. I grabbed a quick lunch at a Mexican fast-food joint and drove across the city toward tinsel town.
Hollyweird, they call it. Want to take a picture of the desolate and lonely? Grab your camera and drive down Hollywood Boulevard, stick your arm out the window and snap away. You don’t even have to point the damn thing. Drug dealers, drug users, thieves, transvestites, hookers of every age, variety and specialty, the homeless, runaways, lunatics let out of asylums, crazed whacked-out murderers, perverts, you name it, it’s all there. You could fill up a whole issue of an old LIFE magazine with the photos you got in the first pass. All that is smack in the middle of the specialty tourist shops with pictures of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe and coffee mugs that say I LOVE HOLLYWOOD. There’s that old movie theatre with the hand and footprints of famous stars in cement. You can go there and see if your hands or feet match any of them.
I drove down Hollywood Boulevard and remembered the crime photos of all the butchered transvestites I had to study on the case I worked with Gilda. Nobody cares about these people. They are considered an infestation on the streets of Hollywood. That makes them easy targets. Like shooting fish in a barrel.
•••
MASON’S ACTING TEACHER’S STUDIO was not on the boulevard but rather in the lovely Hollywood Hills, in a modern-looking building adjacent to her home. I figured she didn’t realize she had a child molester enrolled in her prestigious acting class. A thin young man with spikey hair and John Lennon eyeglasses, her secretary, answered the door. He asked me to state my business, which I did as concisely as possible, mentioning Mason Jones but not his crimes. The guy left me standing at the door, I presumed to announce me. When he came back, he led me to Ms. Koch who was sitting beside a small running fountain in one corner of a large room. Her feet were propped up on a yellow ottoman and she had a script in her hand, which she placed beside her on the tapestry-covered couch. Ms. Koch was, in fact, the renowned acting guru, Melanie Koch, a spry older woman with silver-gray hair in a bun and gigantic thick black glasses that gave her severe look a slightly comedic slant.
“Mason is one of our most talented students,” she insisted before I could even speak.
“How long has he been in class?”
“About three months.”
“Did you ever see him hanging around before then?”
“No, we don’t let people hang around. My students are carefully screened and most of them are referred. He came to two classes as an observer before he signed up.”
“How did he find out about you?”
“He was referred to me by Johan Beaks.”
“I’d be careful about anybody Johan refers to you in the future. He met Mason Jones in jail.”
“I appreciate your advice, Detective.”
“I should also mention that your student, Vernice, is
missing.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Did Mason and Vernice get along?” I asked.
“Reasonably well. Mason is a bit of a scene stealer so they had some words about that, but that’s par for the course in an acting class.”
“Do you mind looking at some pictures of the other missing girls?”
“No, not at all.”
I handed her the stack. She pushed her dark black glasses up her nose a bit. “Oh my, there’s quite a few here.”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say.”
“This one, Katrice. She was my student for about two years. Exceptional. She’s missing?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s terrible. I can’t believe it. Often my students drop out without explanation, most of the time they come back after a little vacation. I had no idea that she was missing.”
“Please keep looking, Ms. Koch.”
Her hands trembled as she went through the rest of the flyers and picked out one more. Anne.
“She was my student, too.”
“Do you know of any other connection that these three students, Vernice, Katrice, and Anne, share, other than being in your acting class?”
“Why, no. I don’t really know much about their private lives. I mean, other than what they tell me in class, as it relates to scenes.”
“Were there ever any altercations, arguments, anything at all that you can recall?”
“No, not really. We’re a fairly lively bunch and often students become a bit histrionic. Oh, now that you mention it. I had this one student for a short time. She was a bit of a troublemaker. And all three of these missing girls got into a physical fight with her.”
“Another student?”
“Yes, the girl wasn’t very good, really. She was way over the top. She had a background in opera and therefore was laden with more than a few bad habits. A true prima donna, that one.”
“A redhead?”
“Yes.”
“Was her name Autumn Riley?”
“Yes, Autumn.”
“How was she referred to you?”
“I believe her mother contacted me. The Manchesters are good friends of mine and gave Mrs. Riley my number.”
“She took your class and had an altercation with these three missing girls?”
“Yes, they were doing a scene from Dusa, Fish, Stas & Vi. A dramatic piece, way too sophisticated for any of them, but it had roles for all four, you see. Autumn had convinced the other girls that they could pull it off. I don’t remember how it all came about, but we had to tear them off each other during a rehearsal segment one evening.”
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